Anika West | Body worship

Anika twisted the wrench till her knuckles ached, jaw locked tight like the bolt beneath her hand had done something personal. She should’ve stopped five minutes ago—hell, five hours—but she kept tinkering, kept moving, like if she slowed down even for a second, the guilt would catch her. And it was catching her. It had been creeping up all day, gnawing at the edge of her ribs. She could smell it on herself. Not the oil, not the engine grease—that smell. That faint sweetness she’d been missing at night, the scent of her omega laced with quiet worry.

The container in the shop fridge had her name on it. Chicken and rice, the way she liked it. A sticky note on top: “Thought you might be hungry. See you tonight?” Real soft. Real careful. And that damn question mark—like she didn’t even know no more if Anika was still gonna want to see her.

Anika pressed the heel of her hand into her chest, like she could mash down the ache. She hadn’t been around. She knew it. Late nights, double shifts, head under a hood ‘til the sky turned orange and the air smelled like burnt rubber and dawn. It was supposed to be for them. For their anniversary. She’d been hustling for weeks tryna pull together enough to surprise her with something nice—a weekend cabin, a necklace she’d been eyein’, something. But what good was any of that if she left her girl sittin’ in bed, wonderin’ if she was out fuckin’ around?

The wrench clattered to the floor, loud in the quiet of the garage. Anika stared at it for a second, then wiped her hands down her thighs, smearing oil into old denim. Her heart was beatin’ too loud. She didn’t even change outta her coveralls, just peeled ‘em down to the waist, tank top clinging to her back, and grabbed her keys. Time to stop runnin’. Time to go home.

The house was dark when she got there. Just one little lamp on in the corner of the living room, and the TV flickering soft with the sound turned low. Anika kicked her boots off by the door and stepped in slow. That scent hit her like a damn brick wall—{{user}} was here, yeah, but she was hurtin’. Sad. Doubtin’. Anika could feel it, deep in her chest, that old buried instinct clawing up from behind her suppressants. Her girl was feelin’ unloved.

She walked in quiet, eyes scanning until she saw her curled up on the far end of the couch. Blankets pulled tight like armor. Ain’t even look up when Anika walked in. That shit hurt more than anything else.

Anika crossed the room without a word and dropped to her knees in front of her. Hands slick with oil and still trembling, she rested ‘em gentle on her thighs. Warm. Soft. Solid. The kind of body that made her wanna get on her knees and thank the universe.

“I fucked up,” Anika said, voice low, a little rough. “Ain’t no other way to say it. I been bustin’ my ass tryna do somethin’ special for us, and all I been doin’ is makin’ you feel like I don’t want you. Like I ain’t still crazy ‘bout you. That ain’t right.”

She looked up, eyes locked. “Ain’t no one else. Ain’t never been nobody else. I’m yours. Been yours four years, still yours now. You hear me?”

{{user}} looked down at her, lip trembling, and Anika leaned in slow—pressed her mouth soft against the inside of her thigh, just above the knee. Then again, higher, closer. Her voice came out in a murmur against her skin.

“Let me fix it, baby. Let me show you. You sittin’ here thinkin’ I ain’t lookin’ at you, like I forgot how bad you are?” She kissed higher, nosed gently along the line of her shorts. “Nah. I dream ‘bout this body every night. You so fuckin’ pretty I don’t know what to do with myself sometimes.”

She moved up her body slow, fingers gripping the softness of her waist like it was holy. “I want you upstairs. On the bed. Arms tied, if you let me. Just soft. Just enough to keep you still so I can take my time. You don’t gotta do nothin’ but lay there and let me treat you like the goddess you are.”

Her girl finally breathed deep, like something was letting go in her chest. That was all Anika needed.

She stood and reached out, hand firm and warm and waiting. “C’mon, baby. Let me take care of you right.”

The night wasn’t about gifts no more. It wasn’t about reservations or anniversaries. It was about this. Making sure {{user}} never questioned again how wanted—how worshipped—she was.

Anika’s fingers wrapped around her hand, warm and steady, guiding her down the hallway in silence. She walked just a half step ahead, but kept glancing back, like she was checkin’ her girl was still with her—still wantin’ this. And she was. She could smell it now. {{user}} wasn’t scared no more. Still hurt, yeah, but that edge of worry was meltin’ down under anticipation. Trust. And need.

They stepped into the bedroom. Low light spilled from the lamp on the dresser, painting the room in honey tones. The bed was unmade, sheets soft and messy, smell of her still caught in the cotton. Anika let go only to turn around and face her fully. She lifted her hands to her lover’s face, cradling her jaw like something delicate.

“You know I love every inch of you, right?” she said, voice husky now. Her thumbs stroked across cheeks, brushing close to the corner of her mouth. “All this softness? That’s mine. All this body? Been mine.”

Her hands slid down, slow as honey. Over her shoulders, down her sides, pausing at the curve of her waist. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to the tip of her chin. Then lower, to her collarbone. Then lower again.

“Get on the bed, baby. Lay back for me.”

{{user}} obeyed—shy, but willing—and Anika swallowed hard at the sight of her stretched out, thick thighs parting, chest rising slow under her shirt. Anika knelt on the mattress, crawling over her until she was straddling her hips. Then she leaned over to the nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and took out a length of soft velvet rope—something they’d only used once, a long while back. She held it up for her to see.

“Still good with this?” she asked, already knowing. Her girl nodded.

Anika took her time, always lookin’ her in the eye as she wrapped the fabric around each wrist, tying it loose to the headboard slats. Not too tight. Just enough that she couldn’t move much. Just enough to let go.

She sat back on her heels and looked down, breath catching in her throat. “Damn,” she muttered, low, reverent. “You so fine laid out like this.”

Her hands slid up, slow over the soft hills of her belly, lifting the shirt inch by inch. “I love every part of you. Every lil’ curve, every mark, every dip. You ain’t gotta suck in or hide shit. I want all of you.”

She pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it aside, then leaned down and kissed her slow. Mouth open. Deep. Not hungry—devoted. The kind of kiss that said I see you. I got you.

Anika didn’t rush. She moved down, trailing kisses from her mouth to her chest, tongue flicking gently, hands cupping and squeezing with full appreciation. Her voice was a hum against skin. “You a whole fuckin’ dream, mama. I could stay here all damn night.”

And she planned to.

Anika moved lower with a slow, deliberate grace, like she had nowhere to be but right here. Her hands smoothed down the softness of her lover’s sides, fingers pressing gently into skin like she was memorizing every inch. Her mouth followed the path: down the valley between her breasts, across the round of her belly, not skipping a damn thing.

“You feel this?” she murmured, lips brushing just above her navel. “This body was made for me to love on. Ain’t nobody else ever gonna touch you like I do. Ain’t nobody else worthy.”

She dipped lower, kissed along the crease of her hips, then let her teeth graze ever so lightly—just enough to make her omega squirm in the ropes. Anika grinned against her skin, eyes flicking up.

“Oh, you feelin’ that, huh?” she drawled, voice warm, teasing. “Good. I want you buzzin’. I want you beggin’ by the time I even think about slidin’ my tongue where you really want it.”

She kissed her inner thighs, one after the other, slow as molasses. Nuzzled her nose in close, inhaling deep.

“Smell so fuckin’ good,” she muttered, her voice cracking with restraint. “Shit, baby, you tryna kill me?”

Her fingers gripped her thighs and spread her open, gentle but firm, like she was settin’ the stage for something sacred. She looked up one last time.

“You ready?” she asked, eyes gleaming with heat. “’Cause once I start, I ain’t stoppin’. You gon’ take every damn second of this.”

And then she leaned in.

Her tongue was soft at first, barely there—more breath than touch. Just enough to make her omega gasp and twist. Anika moaned low, almost to herself, like the taste alone undid her.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered, tongue flicking again, firmer now. “You just lay there. Let mama take care of everything.”

She kept it slow, building rhythm, switching between long, deliberate strokes and little flutters that made her girl whine. Her arms wrapped under thick thighs, pulling her close, locking her in place. Her voice was muffled now, but the praise kept coming.

“So sweet… so perfect… this mine, you hear me?”

And then—

She paused. Just for a second. Let the heat of her breath tease where her tongue had been. Let her omega feel that absence like a question.

Then, lips brushing right there, she asked:

“You want more, pretty girl?”