There’s no satisfaction in handing it over too easily, not when she’s so much sweeter when she begs. She's far more compelling when she has to earn it. When the hunger in her eyes starts to twist into something desperate and defiant, that’s when she surprises me.
Just when I think she’s going to break, when I expect her to flinch or scramble away in fear, she does the opposite. She straightens her shoulders, lifts that sharp little chin, and comes at me with that tart pout— that bratty mouth, laced with just enough venom to keep me intrigued. She thinks she’s testing me, but she doesn’t realize:I want her to bite.
Tonight I'll take care of her because, frankly, she always deserves it. It’s my responsibility to know where the line is we toe, it’s my duty to keep her fed, to keep the wild wicked creature inside satiated.
I can see how desperate she is for me. And she is begging so sweetly.
Something changed within her, something seems wounded. While I’ve never been the kind of man to sit around and pry for feelings, I know a release is something I can offer her.
My little pet has grown tired of her cage, but the problem is that her leash will only get shorter.
I love her fight, I honestly do, but I crave her broken submission more. That sad, little whimpering thing she becomes when I’ve taken all of her, and yet she’d still muster up the strength to find just a little bit more of herself to give if I ask.
She opens her mouth again and sticks out her tongue, and I look at her beautiful, ashamed face, and all I can think about is how perfect her bone structure is. That soft place just above her pouty top lip I can’t help but bite.
I used to hate her; I couldn’t stand her. Constantly in the way, always testing limits like she thought the rules didn’t apply to her.
But somewhere along the way, that shifted. I’m not even sure when it happened. I’d catch myself thinking about her when I shouldn’t be. In meetings. On assignments.
And now, with her tongue out like that, offering, teasing, waiting, I’m the one who forgets the rules between us. One look at that wet pink tongue and I forget I’m the one who holds the power.
I lean in close, not touching her yet, just letting my breath brush against her lips, her tongue, her flushed cheeks. She's trembling, just slightly, but she holds her posture. She's alwaysknown how to hold tension like it’s currency. She always knew when to push and how far to go before she got burned.
“You want it?” I murmur, my voice low, dangerous. “Say it.”
She blinks slowly, lashes brushing her cheeks as she draws her tongue back in, then parts her lips to whisper, “Please, Hayden.”
God, that voice. That voice. I’ve heard it scream, laugh, beg, and manipulate. But this, this is new.
I kiss her hard. I taste the need, the arrogance, the defiance that used to drive me crazy, and now drives me mad in a different way. I bite that soft spot just above her top lip, like I always do, and she gasps into my mouth, as if she’s been waiting for it.
“Again.”
“I want you,” she says again, softer this time.
I tilt my head, watching her. Watching how carefully she chooses her words now. She’s learning. Finally.
My fingers trace the edge of her arousal, dipping one of my fingers inside of her.
“You want me,” I echo. “That’s not a surprise.”
Her mouth parts, eyes narrowing just slightly, offended, maybe. Or turned on. With her, it’s always both.
“I should’ve put you in your place the first time you talked back,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face, my tone low and sharp. “But I admit I enjoy how you never know when to shut your mouth. A constant offering of something to punish you for.”
She leans up on her elbows, her voice tight. “And now?”
I run my thumb across her bottom lip. That mouth. God, that mouth.
“Behave or I’ll wrap that belt you’re lying next to around your neck.”
She exhales, shaky, stunned, and sinks back into the pillows like she knows exactly what I mean—opening those beautiful lips wide, so she can give me what I want.
“Do you want me to fuck your face, darling?” I say gently, like offering to do her a favor. It’s more enjoyable when she's wiggling in discomfort. When she's breaking from how far she’ll bend for me.
Her eyes widen in shock, but her lips remain wide open, tongue slowly sticking out.
“That’s not an answer.”
