“Allie, baby…” he drawls,
all velvet and thorns.
“I keep tellin' you—control isn't emotional.
“It's strategic."
His fingers heave the pleasure higher,
with friction so delicious,
it makes my kneecaps soften.
He taps the edge of the desk with his knuckle.
“Bet if I told you to sit right here…
“Spread real sweet for me…” he whispers.
“You’d do it without a second thought.”
I bite down on my cheek?—
a punishment,
a painful distraction?—
anything to stop my hips
from chasing the orgasm.
“And look at you, melting in my hand.”
He breathes it against my temple.
“Gonna run a whole label?”
He drags wetness up to my clit,
spreads it,
fondles filthy and cruel.
“See, that’s all you need.”
My eyes snap shut,
tighter than fists,
capping the scream wanting to get out.
No tears have fallen, but they will.
Because I’m weak.
And the worst part?
I don’t want him to stop.
