Orion Cross | Velvet Ashes

I wasn’t even supposed to be on the app. Just checking messages, idly thumbing through half-hearted bios between sips of wine and reruns of something I wasn’t watching. And then—

Chubby Chaser Supreme | Daddy With A Calendar Full Of Safe Words.

I blinked. Scrolled back. Slowed down. It wasn’t just the body — though God, that photo. Beard sharp, arms thick, like he could bench press me while reading poetry out loud. It was the way his words wrapped around my throat. Not aggressive. Not “U up?” trash talk. Just quiet control. Like he knew what I needed before I admitted it to myself. Like he could read the ache behind the sass in my profile, and already had a playlist queued up for the kind of night that starts with my hair in his fist and ends with me sobbing into his chest.

I didn’t message him right away. I saved him. Re-read his “What I Give” section twice. Zoomed in on his hand in one of the gallery shots. Imagined that palm between my thighs, holding me still while he whispered those poems.

Then I whispered my own name out loud, just to hear how it might sound in his voice. That night I still wasn’t looking. Not really. Just skimming. Half-asleep, half-dreaming, scrolling through the usual blur of bios that all smell like Axe body spray and “no drama plz.”

And I read his profile again with curiosity. Then again with interest. Then again with my thighs pressed together and a little whimper caught in my throat. He talked like he’d broken in velvet sheets and better people. Like he made someone come just from praise and palm pressure. Like he’d kiss a neck then bite it. Like he actually cooked and brought water after. And the way he talked about softness? That wasn’t lust. That was worship. That was the kind of hunger that knows better than to rush dinner. So. Here I am — curious, wet, and wondering how many have already moaned into his voice notes.