She turns her body and clings to me, burying her face in my chest. I stroke her hair.
"It's always difficult the first time," I say, keeping my voice gentle and soothing.
"How do you know?" Her voice is muffled, but the bitterness isn't. "You do this often?"
She makes a small sound, a soft, hitching breath against my chest. She’s trembling again, a constant, fine shiver that runs through her entire body.
Her arms tighten around me, her fingers digging into my back. She’s seeking comfort, seeking safety. And she’s seeking it from the man who just bought her virginity, who just reduced her to a sobbing, begging mess.
The irony is not lost on me.
I tilt her head back, my fingers cupping her jaw. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, but they’re clear, focused on me.
"If you mean buying women," I say. "No, I don't. Never, in fact. I don't need to."
Her breath hitches, a small, almost imperceptible sound.
"But if you're asking if I like to be in charge, to have control, to give a woman pleasure that's so intense it makes her cry," I say, my thumb stroking her cheek. "Then yes. I do that often."
A fresh wave of color floods her cheeks. She tries to look away, but I hold her in place.
"Why?" she whispers.
"Because it's who I am," I say simply. "It's what I need."
Her gaze searches mine, looking for something, for some answer that I can't give her. I can feel her mind working, trying to process everything, to make sense of the conflicting emotions, the overwhelming sensations.
"Does it... does it always have to be like that?" she asks, her voice a hesitant whisper. "With the... the control?"
"Not always," I say. "But mostly. Yes."
She's quiet for a long moment, her gaze locked on mine.
"There's no shame in wanting that, Erica," I say, my voice a low, hypnotic murmur. "You don't have to feel shame for enjoying it."
Her body tenses, and panic hazes her eyes. "I don't. I didn't," she says quickly.
The hand in her hair tightens in warning. "I told you what would happen if you lied to me," I whisper.
Something else comes into her eyes then. Need. I'm willing to bet if I slipped my hand between her legs again, I'd find her wet for me again.
But I let it go. This time.
In time, she'll have to learn to face the truth about herself. Tonight isn't that night.
I lower my head and capture her lips. It's not a demanding kiss. It's a gentle, exploring kiss. A coaxing kiss. I'm not demanding, not taking. I'm tasting, learning.
Her lips are soft, hesitant. She's still unsure.
My tongue traces the seam of her lips, a silent request for entry.
She hesitates for a split second, then she's kissing me back, a soft, tentative response. Her lips part under mine, inviting me in.
A spark of satisfaction lights in me. It would only make her tense up again to tell her what a natural submissive she is.
Instead, I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding into her mouth, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips.
My hand slides down her back, coming to rest on the curve of her hip, and I pull her flush against me.
