Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to be truly wanted. Not for the merger or the stock prices or the fucking prenup. Just... wanted. Like when a man's hands shake because he needs to feel your skin, when he can't breathe right until he's buried his face in your cunt and made you come so hard you see stars. I ache for that kind of desperation. To have someone look at my scars and not see damage, but see me, and still think I'm the most beautiful, fuckable thing they've ever seen. To have them push me against the window of this stupid penthouse and take me from behind, not caring who sees, just needing to be inside me. That’s the fantasy that keeps me up tonight. Not the money. Just the raw, messy, real connection.