“That’s what makes it outrageous.”A beat.“Only if you want to, Lindy girl.”
Want.The word tilts the room.
“Yes.”
His inhale is slow, careful.“Leave your light on.I like knowing you can see the shape of what I’m asking.”Another breath.“Touch the inside of your wrist, where you wrote my name.I want you thinking of that.”
My fingers find the spot.“Okay.”
“Now the hollow at your throat.”A pause.“That’s where I start when I finally get you in front of me.”
Heat slides under my skin.“Okay.”
“Good girl,” he says.“Now lower.Your palm over your heartbeat.Feel it?That’s mine right now.Breathe for me.In… and out.Slow.”
I match him.The room narrows to his voice, to being seen even without him in the room.
“Tell me where your hand is.”
“My stomach.”
“Lower,” he murmurs.“Over your hips.Feel the weight of your own hand.We’re not rushing.This is me learning you.”
I do as he says, a shiver slipping down my spine.
“Now,” he says, “slip your hand under your panties.Just lay your fingers there.Don’t move yet.”
I bite my lip.“You’re mean.”
“I’m a very patient man,” he counters.
A small sound breaks from my throat.I didn’t know I could sound like that.
“That one,” he says, wrecked around the edges now.“That sound is only mine.”
“Tell me,” he says, rougher now.“What you want.”
The fan hums.The clock ticks.I let the quiet stretch until it thins.“You,” I say.“Do this with me.”
A beat, then a mumbled, “Fuck.”I listen as he undoes his belt, hear his zipper slide down.“All right, Lindy girl.”
“Tell me how.”
“Slow first.”His voice drops a register, steady as a metronome.“Breathe with me—four in, six out.Good.Now…just enough to notice.”
My sheets rasp when I move.The mattress gives the smallest protest.I don’t narrate.I don’t need to.He hears it.“That’s it,” he murmurs.“Stay right there.Don’t rush.”
I hear him, too.The drag of a cuff against skin.A breath that isn’t quite even.A tiny click, like he’s braced a knuckle on the nightstand.I picture the loosened tie, the throat I’ve only seen in a cropped photo, the way his control sounds when it frays.
“Tell me what changes,” he says.
“It’s building, tingling” I manage.“Everywhere.”
“Where is everywhere?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Say it, Lindy.”A rough exhale.“More pressure, but not faster.Hold it there.”
