"I want to." I hold his gaze as I run my hands up his thighs. "Let me."
For a moment, I think he might object. Will likes control, needs it the way some people need air. But then his hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing my lower lip.
"If that's what you want," he says. "Then take it."
Permission granted, I lean forward and wrap my hand around him. He's already hard, thick and straining toward me. My hand settles at the base and I draw one long stroke, then asecond, watching his stomach muscles clench in response. Then I lean forward and run my tongue along the underside, base to tip, tasting salt and heat and him.
The sound he makes is raw, almost pained. His fingers slide into my hair, not guiding, just holding on.
I take him into my mouth slowly, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, the way his thighs tense beneath my palms. This is mine. This moment, this power, this man who trusts me enough to let go. I work him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, finding a rhythm that makes his breath come faster. When I glance up, his head is tipped back, the cords of his neck standing out, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.
"Gemma." My name sounds like a prayer on his lips. Like a warning.
I don't stop. I take him deeper, relaxing my throat, and his hips jerk involuntarily. His fingers tighten in my hair, and the sharp sting of it sends a pulse of heat between my own thighs. I moan around him, and the vibration makes him curse under his breath.
"Enough." His voice is strained. "Come here."
He pulls me up onto the bed and flips me beneath him in one smooth motion. His mouth finds mine, demanding, kissing me deep and thorough.
"My turn," he says, and his mouth trails down my throat, my collarbone, the swell of my breast. He takes one nipple between his lips and sucks, and I arch off the bed with a gasp. His hand slides down my stomach, fingers tracing the crease of my thigh, teasing but never quite touching where I need him most.
"Will." His name comes out broken.
"Patience." He shifts lower, pressing kisses down my ribs, my hip, the inside of my thigh. His breath is hot against my center, and I'm shaking before he even touches me.
When his tongue finally strokes through my folds, I cry out. He licks me slow and deliberate, learning me all over again, circling my clit with maddening precision. Two fingers slide inside me, curling to find that spot that makes my vision blur. He works me higher, lips and tongue and fingers moving together until I'm writhing beneath him, my hands fisted in the sheets, begging for release.
"Not yet." He pulls back, leaving me aching and empty. "Tell me what you need."
"You. All of you. Please, Master."
He goes still. His eyes find mine in the dim light, a question in them.
"You've earned it," I whisper. "A hundred times over."
The sound he makes is low and rough, almost a growl. He positions himself at my entrance and pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching me until I feel impossibly full. The fullness of it steals my breath.
"Look at me," he orders, and I do. His eyes are dark with desire, but underneath that, there's tenderness. Reverence. "You're perfect. You know that?"
"I'm starting to believe it."
He moves then, setting a rhythm that builds and builds until I'm clutching at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. His hand slides between us to find my clit, rubbing in tight circles that match his thrusts.
"Let go," he says, his voice rough. "Give it to me. Everything."
The orgasm crashes through me, intense and overwhelming. I cry out his name as my body clenches around him, and he follows moments later, driving deep and shuddering against me.
We lie wrapped in each other afterward, catching our breath. His hand moves slowly along my hip while I rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
"I've been thinking about something," I say.
"Mmm?"
"The Forge. The lifestyle. Everything I've learned since I came here." I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him. "I want to help other women who've been through what I experienced. Women who had BDSM used as a weapon against them. Who think that what was done to them is what the lifestyle is really about."
He's quiet for a moment, considering. "What did you have in mind?"
"Consent education workshops. Maybe partnering with The Forge, using it as a space to show people what healthy power exchange actually looks like." The words come faster now, the idea taking shape as I speak. "I've been reading about it, and there are programs that do this, but not many. And most of them are in big cities. There's nothing like it around here."
