There wasn’t an ounce of argument in him after that.
By the timewe moved to the bed, Pip was flushed from the shower, restless with waiting. It was that particular energy he got when he was trying to hold himself still and losing the fight. I sat on the edge and watched him stand in front of me, towel gone, hands fidgeting at his sides.
"Why aren’t you doing anything?" he whined.
"I'm looking at what's mine." I reached out and drew him in by the hip. "Stand still."
He stilled. Just like that. The fidgeting stopped and his chin came up and his breathing slowed, like he was concentrating on it. The transformation never stopped affecting me, how quickly he could drop into this once he let himself.
I ran my hands over him unhurriedly. Shoulders, chest, the flat of his stomach. He made a soft sound when I dragged my thumb across his hip bone.
"Tell me what you want," I said.
"You know what I want, Daddy."
"I do. But you're going to say it."
His jaw set, the sass flickering back to life. "What if I don't want to?"
I stopped touching him.
He lasted four seconds. "Henny!"
"That's not what you call me right now."
A pause, then a soft, "Daddy. Please."
"Please what?"
I watched him struggle with it, the way saying things out loud cost him pride, maybe, or the armor he wore everywhere else. And then I watched him let it go.
"I want you inside me. I want," he exhaled. "I want you to take your time. I want you to make me wait for it."
"You want me in control."
"Yes."
I pulled him down onto the bed.
What followed was slow by design. I knew Pip's body the way I knew the business inside and out. Every variable, every pressure point, what would yield and what would hold. I used that knowledge without mercy. Hands and mouth trailed over him until he was shaking, until the brat had gone completely quiet, and there was nothing left but this. Pip underneath me, open and trusting, saying Daddy like it was the only word he had left.
When I finally pressed into him, he went still with his surrender, a full-body exhale, both arms wrapping around my shoulders like he was anchoring himself.
"Okay?" I asked, low, against his temple.
His voice was rough when he replied. "Yeah, I'm—yeah."
I held there. Let him feel it. Let him breathe through it.
He made a small impatient sound, and I pressed my mouth to his ear.
"You said you wanted me to make you wait for it."
"Daddy."
Ragged.
Pleading.
