athens 23f whispers of devotions

Lord have mercy, y'all it's me again, that 23 year old mama holding it down in Athens, North Alabama, where the church steeples dot the skyline and the river runs slow like forgotten prayers. My days are a whirlwind of sippy cups and Sunday school runs, raising my little blessing while sharing a roof with my baby daddy in our separate rooms close enough for the routine, far enough that my soul's been aching for something real. Something holy in its fire. I've been praying for it, quiet like in the still of the night, and I know He's listening because my heart's pulling me toward a man who fears the Lord but claims me like I'm his God given treasure. I dream of you: a straight, dominant Christian gentleman strong shouldered, Bible in one hand, the other possessive on my hip like I'm the rib He took just for you. You're respectful in your obsession, the kind who kneels in prayer but rises to worship my body like it's sacred ground. No games, no fleeting touches just a fierce devotion that sees past my tired eyes and stretch marked skin to the woman God made me. You'd call me your "sweet obsession," your voice low and reverent over the phone after my baby's asleep: "Darlin', you're mine to cherish, mine to protect come to the edge of the porch, let me show you how a real man honors his vow." I'd creep out into the warm Alabama dusk, the cicadas humming like a hymn, and there you'd be waiting in the shadows of the oak tree, eyes burning with that holy hunger. Your hands, calloused from honest work, would frame my face first, thumbs tracing my jaw as you pull me close. "I've been praying for you all day," you'd murmur, your lips brushing mine in a kiss that's equal parts command and communion deep, unyielding, pouring your obsession into me like anointing oil. Possessive fingers slide down my back, gripping my waist to press me against you, your body hard and unapologetic, whispering promises of forever even as we steal this moment. It's different with you no rushed heat, but a slow, consuming fire. You'd lift my chin, making me meet your gaze, that dominant spark reminding me I'm cherished, coveted, yours in ways my baby daddy never was. Your mouth trails to my throat, nipping softly as you growl, "No one else gets this you're my blessing, my everything." My knees weaken under your respectful claim, my hands clutching your shirt as waves of need crash through me, our breaths mingling in the humid air. In your arms, I feel seen, owned in the best way obsessed over like Ruth was to Boaz, but with a passion that sets my skin ablaze.