Start by dimming the lights. Warm, soft light spilling from hidden corners, shadows that invite secrets. Music low and slow, a rhythm that makes the heart relax but the mind wonder what’s coming next. The air should carry a faint scent—sandalwood, vanilla, or something they can’t quite name. Make them curious.

Tell them to lie down. On their stomach first, because tonight is about surrender. About giving up control, one teasing inch at a time.

Take the oil. Don’t pour it quickly—no, let it fall in thick, golden drops onto the small of their back. Each drop is a promise. Spread it slowly with your hands, palms warm, fingers following the shape of their body like you’ve studied it a thousand times in your head before touching it for real.

And here’s the secret: never give too much at once. Let them want. Your hands should press firmly on the shoulders, then lighten, fingertips drifting until they almost leave the skin. Every time they think they know what’s next, change it. Keep them guessing.

Now the breath. This is where the real heat lives. As your hands slide across warm skin, lean closer. Let your breath fan across the back of their neck, the edge of an ear. Close enough that they feel the warmth, but don’t let your lips touch. Not yet. It’s the almost that drives them wild.

Whisper, but not words yet. Just let the sound of your breath tease them, as if you might say something sinful but you’re not ready to give it away.

Slide your hands lower, tracing the line of the spine, thumbs pressing just enough to make their body arch without thinking. Work slowly over the curve of the hips, then back up again, never rushing. Every stroke is a sentence; every pause, a question mark.

“Do you want me to go deeper?” you finally ask, voice low, breath skimming the ear so softly it feels like a kiss made of air.

They always say yes.

When they do, slow down even more. Because deep doesn’t mean fast. It means every nerve awake. Dig your thumbs into tense muscles, but let your fingers wander, exploring places that make them shift under your hands without meaning to.

Now let your lips join the game. The back of the neck first—a single kiss so light it almost isn’t there. Then nothing. Pull back. Make them wait for the next one until the wanting hums in the air between you.

The body will tell you where to go. Follow the shivers. The goosebumps. The places where the breath catches in their throat because your fingers pressed there, or your mouth hovered here.

Switch sides slowly, dragging your fingertips across their skin so lightly it could almost be imagination. Knead the shoulders, then trail off into barely-there touches down the arms. Sometimes, lift your hands completely so they feel nothing but the ghost of where you were.

When they turn to look at you, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, just smile. Don’t explain. Don’t rush. The mystery is part of the heat.

Now tell them to turn over. Watch the anticipation flicker across their face as they lie back, open, waiting.

Start at the ankles this time. Small circles with your thumbs, slow strokes upward, inch by inch. Calves, knees, thighs. Never too high yet—make them ache for it.

Lean close again so your breath brushes their stomach, their ribs, the curve of a hip. Your hands stay busy, gliding with oil-slick warmth while your lips hover close enough to make their pulse jump.

When you finally let your mouth touch skin, it’s soft, slow, barely there. A kiss that lingers just long enough to make them need another.

The rhythm should change now—hands firm, lips teasing, breath hot. Switch between pressure and feather-light touches until they can’t tell what they want more.

Whisper again, this time a little rougher: “Tell me… how much deeper?”

Their answer barely makes sense because words are hard when the body is begging louder than the mouth can speak.

Give them more, but always in pieces. A deep stroke here, a warm breath there, a kiss that lands where they least expect it. Keep them on the edge of knowing and needing until their whole body feels like it belongs to your hands, your mouth, your teasing control.

End only when you decide. Slow the rhythm. Let the touches fade, lighter and lighter, until they’re nothing but warmth on the skin. One last kiss where it will haunt them later, and then stop.

Pull the blanket over them. Let the silence settle, thick and satisfied, music fading like the last flicker of candlelight.

And when they finally open their eyes, dazed and flushed and completely undone, just smile like it was nothing. Like you didn’t just rewrite the way they think about touch forever.

Because that’s how you leave them breathless.