There is no escaping him.
Not because he cages,
but because he pulls.

His gravity is subtle,
a force felt before it’s named—
in the way her chest tightens
when his eyes find hers,
in the way her pulse changes
the moment his voice cuts through the noise.

It’s not possession.
It’s inevitability.
Her body answers him the way tides answer the moon—
silent, certain, unable to deny.

And when he touches her,
it isn’t frenzy but fire,
a heat that consumes without rushing.
Every gesture carries weight—
a hand at her throat,
a breath against her ear—
turning surrender into something sacred,
something she craves like oxygen.

Sir is not a choice.
He is a law of nature.
She doesn’t orbit him because she wants to—
she orbits because she must,
because his pull is written into her marrow.

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