I want him

And I know it's "not a good idea." He's a figure of some controversy, after all. And do the math -- for every woman who went to him claiming she knew the score and who managed to walk away unscathed, there are two who fell for him anyway and were bitterly hurt to realize that he wouldn't change for her. Women who say they knew better but couldn't help wanting to be the one who made everything different; the one he had to break the rules for.

That won't happen to me. This is why: I don't want to be anyone's "the one." If you know me well enough, you know that's true.

Of course, that doesn't change the intensity of my desire. I want to experience him. I want to feel the line of his teeth on my skin. I've encountered very few men I feel the need to submit to -- he's one of them. It's a curious and rare reaction, and I have no idea how far it could take me. And I want to challenge him, too. Not overtly, but sexually. I want to see his eyelashes flutter with pleasure and know that he is feeling every bit as shattered and fulfilled as I am. I want to break his heart, just a little, just in that "I wish I'd known you all my life" way. Just in that "I wish you didn't have to leave" way.

I want to feel his hand on my throat. I want to hear him groan. And when I do leave, I want to feel branded. I want people to look at me and wonder what's happened.

But most of all, I want the connection between our minds made manifest in the connection of our bodies. Those playful words we tease out of each other; those careless insights and terse, coy promises ("oh, I will"); I want them to become shockingly, inescapably real, however transient that shared reality might be. It would be worth it. It would be worth anything.

I want him. I want him. I want him.