#lapspace

[romanticsoftheart]

A partner who never lets you walk on the outside of the sidewalk.

You try to argue, joke, brush it off—

but their hand on your lower back just presses you into place and they say,

“You don’t have to earn protection. Just accept it.”

[yummysmellsca]

When your lap space is at a higher premium than residences in downtown Toronto. Who knew I was so comfy to lie on? Soon I'll be charging rent! #pets #petsofinstagram #catsofinstagram #cats #bombaycat #domesticshorthair #blackandwhitecat #dishy #blackcat #preston #lapspace #feline #cute #cuddles #furbabies @teaghan_r https://www.instagram.com/p/B2FJFPIJSTd/?igshid=2mrxy4ggdwe6

[orlissa]

We have an ongoing fight. Nowdays I usually sit with my laptop propped up against my thigh, the bottom resting right under my ribcage. That leaves not a lot of lapspace for a cat. But she LOVES being on me, so she'll jump on me, and walk all over my boob and clavicle, and press every bit of her body against my face. I'm trying to make her stop doing that. This she wanted to come at me from the left, but I didn't let her jump on my chest. So now she's dozing leaning against my shoulder :D

[theuserformerlyknownas778]

Apparently both #cats wanted attention and lapspace #FamilyPhoto #catstagram #catsofinstagram #blackcat #persiancat by lanceeaton01 http://j.mp/2tAjX46

[baryest]

willie has reclaimed his lapspace ~♡~

[kaymariethemommytus-blog]

Need more lapspace... #momlife #mommytus #lotsoflittles #dailydrawing #yearchallenge #autodesksketchbook

[romanticsoftheart]

He was still fully clothed.

I was bare, desperate, trembling.

Grinding against his thigh while he whispered,

“Look how good you are for me. That’s it, make a mess.”

[romanticsoftheart]

He let me grind in silence.

One hand on my thigh, one over my heart.

No pressure—just presence.

Like he wanted me to fall apart without fear.

[romanticsoftheart]

A partner who grounds you in public with nothing more than a hand at the small of your back,

a thumb tracing lazy circles just below the hem of your shirt.

You don’t even realize how unsteady you were—until you settle.

[romanticsoftheart]

A partner who fucks praise into you like it’s a mantra.

“Good girl. That’s it. Take it for me. So proud of how open you are. So proud of how you listen. So proud of how much you feel.”

[romanticsoftheart]

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just reaches down, slides your underwear to the side, and presses his fingers into your heat while you’re still tucked into his chest, legs tangled.

The TV’s still playing. You’re both half-dressed.

But his mouth is right at your ear as his fingers move slow and deep, like he has all the time in the world.

“This is mine,” he whispers, curling them slightly.

“You forget when you get too far into your own head. So I’ll remind you—soft and slow—until you come apart for me.”

And he keeps holding you there, bare and trembling, until you melt.

[romanticsoftheart]

He doesn’t say a word when I get snappy.

Just shifts his chair closer, rests a heavy hand on my thigh under the table, and keeps it there.

That’s how he tells me:

“You’re okay. I’m here.”

[romanticsoftheart]

I was too in my head.

So he bent me over the bed, filled me slow, held me still.

“Stay like this. Feel me. Breathe.”

That’s how I came back to myself.

[romanticsoftheart]

Sometimes I resist softness because I forget I’m safe.

He reminds me—with his hands, with his weight, with his voice.

“You don’t have to be in control here. I’ve got you.”

And he always does.

[romanticsoftheart]

A partner who catches the shake in your inhale and moves behind you, hands on your hips, anchoring.

Not saying anything at first.

Just standing there like a lighthouse until your breath evens out.

Then:

“Better. That’s my girl.”

[romanticsoftheart]

I was anxious. Picking fights. Pushing.

He didn’t flinch.

He pulled me close, pressed his thigh between mine, and said, “Use me. Get it out.”

I did.

He held me after. Tight. Wordless.

That’s what I needed all along.