I’m thinking about the scent of her, sweet and musky and all mine. I’m thinking about the way she looked, spread out for me, begging me to fuck her, take her virginity.
I’m thinking about how easy it would be to flip her over right now, to peel back the covers and claim her again. To make her mine.
To make her admit she wants it.
And she would. Oh, she would.
So naturally submissive and responsive to my touch, to my dominance. Her body, a perfect instrument tuned to my desire.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
I would prefer her to come to me.
I want her to need this as much as I do.
I wait.
The only sounds in the room are our breathing—hers shallow and uneven, mine deeper, more controlled.
My arm starts to ache from the awkward angle, but I don’t move.
I don’t want to break the spell.
I wait another minute. Two.
Then, I feel it.
A tiny, almost imperceptible shift.
She leans back.
Just a fraction of an inch.
Just enough to press her back more firmly against my arm.
Encouragement.
An invitation.
My lips curve into a smile in the darkness.
But it's not enough.
Taking her again, before she's ready to accept her submission, before she's ready to admit how much she wants it, would only lead us right back to the same place.
With Erica unable to deal with her feelings of shame and guilt. With her running from me.
With her on the floor, in tears.
And that is the last thing I want.
So, I keep my arm where it is.
And I wait.
She shifts again.
