"You want all of me?" I ask, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. Low. Rough. Hungry.
She nods, backing away slowly, deeper into the suite. But it's not retreat, it's invitation. Her eyes never leave mine as she moves toward the bedroom, her lips parted, chest rising and falling with quick breaths.
"Even the parts I've been hiding?" I follow her, stalking her steps, maintaining the distance between us. Building the tension. "The parts that want to possess you completely?"
She swallows, her throat working in a way that makes me want to put my mouth there. "Yes."
The single word hangs in the air between us. I stop, forcing her to stop too, making her wait.
"Take off your shoes," I say, testing this new dynamic. Testing her.
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't hesitate. She slips off her heels, leaving them where they fall. The loss of height makes her smaller, more delicate. I remain fully dressed, fully in control.
"Good," I say, and I see the flush that creeps up her neck at the simple praise. Interesting. "Now come here."
She crosses to me, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet. When she's close enough to touch, I reach out and trace one finger along her jawline, down the column of her throat. My thumb presses gently into the hollow of her throat, right over her pulse. I feel it race beneath my touch. Mine. The urge to mark her, to own this softness, presses hard against my control.
“Tell me exactly what you need from me, Sadie. I want to hear you say it. No hiding, no pretending. Use your words.”
She takes a shaky breath.
"I want you to take control." Her voice drops lower, almost a whisper. "I'm tired of being in charge. Of making every decision. Just for tonight, I want someone else to be responsible."
She’s fighting herself to give this to me. I can see it in the tension in her jaw, the way she forces herself to meet my eyes. This isn’t just sex for her. It’s surrender. It’s trust. It’s a gift I don’t deserve, but I’ll take it all the same. My dick aches with the need to claim her, to show her she’s safe letting go with me.
"Look at me," I command gently. When her eyes meet mine, I cup her face in my hands. "I'll take control. I'll make the decisions. But you have to promise me something."
"What?" she breathes.
"If anything, anything at all, feels wrong or uncomfortable, you tell me immediately. Say 'red' and everything stops. No questions asked."
She nods, and I can see relief in her eyes, relief that I understand the weight of what she's giving me, that I'm taking it seriously.
"Say it," I insist. "I need to hear you say it."
"Red if I want to stop," she repeats. "I promise."
"Good girl."
The words slip out without thought, but the effect is immediate. Her pupils dilate; her lips part on a soft exhale. Oh. That's how it is.
I smile, slow and deliberate. "You like that? Being my good girl?"
She bites her lip, nodding almost imperceptibly.
"Words, Sadie," I remind her, my thumb brushing her lower lip, tugging it free from her teeth. "When I ask you a question, I want to hear your answer."
"Yes," she whispers, the single syllable rough with need. "I like it."
"I thought you might." I let my hand slide down her neck, resting lightly at the base of her throat where I can feel the rapid flutter of her breathing.
Not squeezing, just letting her feel the weight, the potential.
"I've been watching you, you know. How hard you work. How much responsibility you carry. Always in control, always making the right choices."
My other hand finds her waist, drawing her closer until our bodies are nearly touching. "But that's exhausting, isn't it? Always being good. Always doing the right thing."
She nods, then catches herself. "Yes. It's exhausting."
