She’s lying. And if I was her best friend right now, I’d call her on it. I’d dig. Fix it. But that’s not who I get to be tonight. This is about sex and a means to an end. Her words, not mine.
And I get to take what I’ve always wanted without giving myself away.
‘Keep your hands where I put them,’ I tell her. ‘Understood?’
She nods, and I feel my mouth curve.
Control is her prized possession.
Too bad it’s mine too, and I’m the one holding the dose that matters most.
I wrap her fingers around the bedpost and step back. She stays exactly where I left her: my obedient little submissive. Body stretched out, breasts lifting with every breath, stomach curving in… and her pussy?—
Fuck me, she’s bare, no hair. Just need, slick and plentiful and all for me. The scent of her hits me anew and I wet my bottom lip.
‘Spread those legs,’ I murmur, unbuckling my belt. ‘Show me how bad you want it.’
She inches them apart…
‘Wider.’
She bends her knees, drops them open. Fuck, yes.
I thread my belt free, toss it aside, pop the fly. My cock strains against my briefs, leaking, throbbing. I fist it as I strip down, one hard pull to bleed off the edge. Her eyes lock on the movement, her thighs twitching wider without me asking, a breathy whimper slipping out.
I do it again, and she shamelessly drinks it in, watching as I spread pre-cum from the tip to the base. Over and over.
‘You want this?’
I let her see every inch of what she’s begging for, veins standing hard, fist tight.
She reaches for me and I still, eyes warning.
‘Hands back, Baby Girl.’
She obeys instantly, no questioning the name, no questioning my command.
I grab my discarded belt and stand over her.
‘I want words,’ I rasp. ‘You want this, you say it.’
Her breath shivers. Cheeks flushed. Eyes bright. ‘I want you.’
‘Better,’ I murmur. ‘Much better. Hold still.’
Her brows knit, confusion flickering across her face as I feed the belt through the slat in the headboard.
‘What are you?—?’
‘You trust me?’ I cut in, pausing to look down at her.
She nods even as her eyes show her hesitation, her uncertainty…
‘Words, Tay. I want words.’
‘Always,’ she whispers. ‘I’ll always trust you.’
And I believe her. Whether I deserve it or not. She means it. And it guts me. Because trust means giving her a baby and letting her go. Easy. Clean. If I weren’t already so fucked up over her.
