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“And still you come prepared to wrestle me into submission?” he asks, a kiss moving to the corner of her mouth.
Bold. Very bold. His breath hitches as she gropes him, his rapidly hardening cock grinding against her through his sweatpants.
“My weakness?”
“My weakness?”
Her thighs squeeze around him. This is silly, but she's enjoying it, and it's clear in the brightness of her eyes.
"One of them. I'll share it with you: you like me on top of you. Why would you fight that off? You're happy under my legs."
She grabs his ass again, pulling him towards her, as if she could get him to press harder against her.
"One of them. I'll share it with you: you like me on top of you. Why would you fight that off? You're happy under my legs."
She grabs his ass again, pulling him towards her, as if she could get him to press harder against her.
He gasps against her cheek, his cock grinding hard against the seam of her thigh, obedient to her slightest touch. She’s right. He is happy between her legs. Just the thought of being under them makes his heart pound.
“I want to live underneath you.”
“I want to live underneath you.”
"Content to bury your face or your cock between my thighs," she purrs. Those sweatpants really are thin for how it feels like he's right against her. All of him feels hard, muscles tensing as he moves, and her hands leave his bottom to roam up his back once more.
"But I've known this for a very long time now, Clive."
"But I've known this for a very long time now, Clive."
“A very long time, hmm.” There’s a twinge of shame with that, being known for a thought and not his commitment to such a thing, but he can’t care much when he’s rubbing against her so tautly. “I hope it’s not any less enjoyable for being so predictable…”
“I’m glad,” he says, choosing relief over the terror of boring her, of being selfish with his wants. “I really could just service you for the rest of my days.”
Which he is only not doing now, he tells himself, because he wants lunch before he develops a temper.
But she’s still tempting, and under him, and he kisses down her neck.
Which he is only not doing now, he tells himself, because he wants lunch before he develops a temper.
But she’s still tempting, and under him, and he kisses down her neck.
He lifts his head just to look at her and ask, carefully:
“For the sake of it, or because you’d want me to make demands?”
“For the sake of it, or because you’d want me to make demands?”
She meets his gaze with an amused smile.
"Because I love you. You ask me for so little, Clive. I know you worry about your desires being too much... whatever that is. Could it not be that I enjoy being under your command as you do being under mine?"
Though perhaps for different reasons, at the heart of it.
"Because I love you. You ask me for so little, Clive. I know you worry about your desires being too much... whatever that is. Could it not be that I enjoy being under your command as you do being under mine?"
Though perhaps for different reasons, at the heart of it.
“That may be,” he says, but he feels his own hesitation in a way he’s immediately self-conscious about. He doesn’t want her to feel poorly, but he’s been feeling too tender towards her to have much of a poker face. Gently: “I’d like to discuss what that means when I’m not already on top of you…”
“If we take it out of the restaurant, perhaps,” he says, eyes soft but concerned, his cheek resting in her hand.
“About what?”
They were supposed to talk about these things more before falling into bed together.
They were supposed to talk about these things more before falling into bed together.
He presses a swift, polite kiss to her lips and then eases off her, getting to his feet without going too far.
“And then the moment passes, and we’re hesitant to spoil another by bringing it up later.”
“And then the moment passes, and we’re hesitant to spoil another by bringing it up later.”
“I don’t either,” he says. The thought of having even one more conversation like this makes him restless, even nauseous. “Right here? Right now?”
He looks at the floor for a long moment, and then he sits, obediently. The playful intimacy is gone, leaving him full of shame and dread, forced to think about what they’re doing.
He just asks: “Why do you want me to hurt you?”
He just asks: “Why do you want me to hurt you?”
He isn’t confused.
“That night many months ago, when I came home and wasn’t myself,” he says. “I stalked outside your room, and when you came to me anyway, I tore your gown and plundered you mercilessly.”
He looks at her, apprehensive.
“And you liked it. You wanted more.”
“That night many months ago, when I came home and wasn’t myself,” he says. “I stalked outside your room, and when you came to me anyway, I tore your gown and plundered you mercilessly.”
He looks at her, apprehensive.
“And you liked it. You wanted more.”
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