“Tell me I feel good.”
The validation she sought wasn’t a requirement of hers. Yet, it was paramount. Sheknewshe felt like everything I needed. Still, my words were necessary to add cushion to the fall she was taking for me.
For us.
Royce was self-indulgent. And because she spent her days handling everything for everyone else, it was imperative I was as permissive as her heart needed me to be in order for her to understand that it was my job to handle her.
And all of her things.
And all of her needs.
And all of her desires.
And all of her fears.
And all of her troubles.
And all of her tears.
And all of her good.
And all of her bad.
“Tell me,” she begged, vulnerability peaking.
Up.
“You feel like a fuck– a fucking dream, my baby.”
The exchange was swift. Her submission consumed her. I pulled her tongue into my mouth. I was no longer privy to her orbs. Dark, flawless skin lowered on top of them.
Down.
I lifted my hands, placing them on both sides of her face to make sure she understood every word I was preparing in my head.
Up.
“You feel like everything a nigga needs, Royce.”
Down.
“Everything a nigga wants.”
Up.
“I’m completely and utterly obsessed with your presence in my life.”
Down.
“I want you here.”
Up.
“Fucking me like this.”
Down.
“Touching me like this.”
