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A graphic featuring a handwritten letter, a yellow envelope, and a black rose. The letter reads:

My dearest Mel Medarda,

My golden rose. I know you must be hungry. 

Am I the one that aroused this twisting in your stomach? You decide. You’re welcome to lie to yourself, if you’d like. That ache you feel, that gnawing need, can be but a hushed whisper between you and I. I’m already intimately acquainted with your deepest, darkest secrets, as you’re well aware. You can’t hide what I already know… and I do make it my business to know absolutely everything.

I can’t help but notice how beautifully your new outfit suits you. You seem very comfortable, almost content with my design. Don’t play dumb, Mel. Those are my thorns around your waist, are they not? That’s my touch cupping chest, my hand sliding up your thigh. How does it feel, when you move and you feel the faintest memory of me holding you tight? That’s my breath, but a hair’s width from your lips, haunting your most sordid dreams. Your heart must be pounding as you read this. Perhaps your pretty lips have parted for me again. I think you’re nearly panting. It’s alright, little rose. I love to see you like this. 

You’re already anticipating me, Mel. The gold that shields your skin must feel terribly tight, like someone has to touch you or you’ll shatter. I think you want to be firmly held together. You’re still here, aren’t you? You’ve made it this far, and you’re too stubborn to stop now. You can never walk away. And you won’t. I’m already all you think about, your most beloved enemy, your guiltiest pleasure. 

Why not lay down as you finish my letter? Fall back into your warm, soft bed, shivering as your sheets brush your bare skin. I didn’t have to tell you to undress, now did I? You already knew. You wanted to. We work so well together, you, wanting, and I. Slide your elegant hand down your stomach. Just like that. You may go lower. You may dip your hand between your legs. Imagine, as you often do, my body

A graphic featuring a handwritten letter, a yellow envelope, and a black rose. The letter reads: My dearest Mel Medarda, My golden rose. I know you must be hungry. Am I the one that aroused this twisting in your stomach? You decide. You’re welcome to lie to yourself, if you’d like. That ache you feel, that gnawing need, can be but a hushed whisper between you and I. I’m already intimately acquainted with your deepest, darkest secrets, as you’re well aware. You can’t hide what I already know… and I do make it my business to know absolutely everything. I can’t help but notice how beautifully your new outfit suits you. You seem very comfortable, almost content with my design. Don’t play dumb, Mel. Those are my thorns around your waist, are they not? That’s my touch cupping chest, my hand sliding up your thigh. How does it feel, when you move and you feel the faintest memory of me holding you tight? That’s my breath, but a hair’s width from your lips, haunting your most sordid dreams. Your heart must be pounding as you read this. Perhaps your pretty lips have parted for me again. I think you’re nearly panting. It’s alright, little rose. I love to see you like this. You’re already anticipating me, Mel. The gold that shields your skin must feel terribly tight, like someone has to touch you or you’ll shatter. I think you want to be firmly held together. You’re still here, aren’t you? You’ve made it this far, and you’re too stubborn to stop now. You can never walk away. And you won’t. I’m already all you think about, your most beloved enemy, your guiltiest pleasure. Why not lay down as you finish my letter? Fall back into your warm, soft bed, shivering as your sheets brush your bare skin. I didn’t have to tell you to undress, now did I? You already knew. You wanted to. We work so well together, you, wanting, and I. Slide your elegant hand down your stomach. Just like that. You may go lower. You may dip your hand between your legs. Imagine, as you often do, my body

A plain text version of LeBlanc's letter to Mel:

My dearest Mel Medarda,

My golden rose. I know you must be hungry. 

Am I the one that aroused this twisting in your stomach? You decide. You’re welcome to lie to yourself, if you’d like. That ache you feel, that gnawing need, can be but a hushed whisper between you and I. I’m already intimately acquainted with your deepest, darkest secrets, as you’re well aware. You can’t hide what I already know… and I do make it my business to know absolutely everything.

I can’t help but notice how beautifully your new outfit suits you. You seem very comfortable, almost content with my design. Don’t play dumb, Mel. Those are my thorns around your waist, are they not? That’s my touch cupping chest, my hand sliding up your thigh. How does it feel, when you move and you feel the faintest memory of me holding you tight? That’s my breath, but a hair’s width from your lips, haunting your most sordid dreams. Your heart must be pounding as you read this. Perhaps your pretty lips have parted for me again. I think you’re nearly panting. It’s alright, little rose. I love to see you like this. 

You’re already anticipating me, Mel. The gold that shields your skin must feel terribly tight, like someone has to touch you or you’ll shatter. I think you want to be firmly held together. You’re still here, aren’t you? You’ve made it this far, and you’re too stubborn to stop now. You can never walk away. And you won’t. I’m already all you think about, your most beloved enemy, your guiltiest pleasure. 

Why not lay down as you finish my letter? Fall back into your warm, soft bed, shivering as your sheets brush your bare skin. I didn’t have to tell you to undress, now did I? You already knew. You wanted to. We work so well together, you, wanting, and I. Slide your elegant hand down your stomach. Just like that. You may go lower. You may dip your hand between your legs. Imagine, as you often do, my body over yours. Of course I know. I always know.

A plain text version of LeBlanc's letter to Mel: My dearest Mel Medarda, My golden rose. I know you must be hungry. Am I the one that aroused this twisting in your stomach? You decide. You’re welcome to lie to yourself, if you’d like. That ache you feel, that gnawing need, can be but a hushed whisper between you and I. I’m already intimately acquainted with your deepest, darkest secrets, as you’re well aware. You can’t hide what I already know… and I do make it my business to know absolutely everything. I can’t help but notice how beautifully your new outfit suits you. You seem very comfortable, almost content with my design. Don’t play dumb, Mel. Those are my thorns around your waist, are they not? That’s my touch cupping chest, my hand sliding up your thigh. How does it feel, when you move and you feel the faintest memory of me holding you tight? That’s my breath, but a hair’s width from your lips, haunting your most sordid dreams. Your heart must be pounding as you read this. Perhaps your pretty lips have parted for me again. I think you’re nearly panting. It’s alright, little rose. I love to see you like this. You’re already anticipating me, Mel. The gold that shields your skin must feel terribly tight, like someone has to touch you or you’ll shatter. I think you want to be firmly held together. You’re still here, aren’t you? You’ve made it this far, and you’re too stubborn to stop now. You can never walk away. And you won’t. I’m already all you think about, your most beloved enemy, your guiltiest pleasure. Why not lay down as you finish my letter? Fall back into your warm, soft bed, shivering as your sheets brush your bare skin. I didn’t have to tell you to undress, now did I? You already knew. You wanted to. We work so well together, you, wanting, and I. Slide your elegant hand down your stomach. Just like that. You may go lower. You may dip your hand between your legs. Imagine, as you often do, my body over yours. Of course I know. I always know.

💌 LOVE LETTER #14 💌

Don't be deceived, past the smoke and mirrors, you're sure to find the true meaning of pleasure.

Are you brave enough to face it?

- xoxo 💛✨ #submelweek#goldenthorn #goldenrose #melblanc

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This smell is so familiar
#OC #goldenthorn

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MERRY X-MAS
#OC #goldenthorn

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