“Yes,” she says. “That is right.”
My gaze lowers, raking over her high, full breasts, her pebbled nipples, my finger lightly teasing one stiff peak, her back arching into my touch. “Can I have it now, Faith?” I ask, my eyes rocketing to her face. “Or am I being too controlling?”
“Not even close,” she whispers, her voice low, raspy. Affected.
I respond to that bold sexual challenge in her that has been in the air between us from the moment we met and turned me on right out of the gate. I’m hot. I’m hard. My blood is pumping, but I am not blind to the fact that she ran from me minutes ago, vulnerability in that action, but now…There is none. Because being sexually daring is her emotional shield, something I suspect she learned at the club she and Macom frequented. Maybe that is even why the club worked for her. She didn’t have to be present with him there. She didn’t have to be present in life there. And that might have worked for her and him, but it no longer does for me or us.
I brush my lips over hers and release her hands, turning her to face the opposite direction, while I skim her bra away, my hand flattening on her belly, my teeth on her shoulder. “I’m going to keep asking for more, you know that, right?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
I settle on one knee, my hands on her hips, my lips on her naked back, my tongue licking the delicate spot. And when she draws in a shaky breath, I stand up, my hands falling away from her. “Undress, but don’t turn around.”
I want her to turn and look for where my head is right now. To look into my eyes, and see the test I’m giving her. To be present with me, right now, in this moment, in all possible ways. But she does it. She walks forward and starts undressing, so emotionally removed that she takes my commands that I’m giving her almost coldly.
And it both challenges me and pisses me off, and not at her. At me. I want her to be present, but I haven’t given her a reason. I haven’t let her know that I see her, really see her. Hell. Maybe I didn’t until now. Until she almost walked out the door over a control issue we haven’t even come close to solving.
Now I see that she is guarded in all the ways that matter, the ways that make her think we will end and I will leave. And now I refuse to let her hide. I walk around her and sit on the stool beside her workstation, directly in front of her. Our eyes meet and still I see no trepidation. No vulnerability. She verbally said she was in, not out, but she has shut down on me.
She watches me watch her, stripping away her socks and jeans, gauging her control over me. Making sure her fa?ade of submission still gives her control and on that Faith understands sexual play, while I suspect Macom did not. The reality here is that submission, when done right, is all about the sub’s control. But Faith is no submissive and I want more than her body.
Her gaze finds mine as she twists her fingers into the thin black lace of her panties at her hips, and drags them down the silky expanse of her legs. The way I plan to drag my tongue down them, in the very near future. The tiny triangle of blonde hair in the V of her body, sexy as hell, but then, everything about this woman is sexy as hell to me.
I stand up and move behind the stool. “Come to me, Faith.”
Her lips curve ever so slightly, oh so sexily, and she walks toward me, her hips and breasts swaying seductively, stopping in front of the stool. I could tell her to bend over the stool, and stick that pretty ass in the air for me, and I suspect that is what she wants. For me to spank her. I give myself just a moment to think of her creamy, curvy perfect ass waiting on my palm. The way her back would arch in anticipation when I warmed her cheeks. How wet her sex would be when I slide my fingers between her legs. How hot she would be when my cock followed my palm. But now is not a spanking that would give her that ultimate rush, and force her to forget everything. I don’t want her to forget. I want her to be right here, with me, willingly, emotionally exposed.
“Turn around and sit.”
Her teeth scrape her bottom lip, and she does as I say, sitting down. I move to stand in front of her, squatting down, my hands on my knees, when they want to be on hers. “Open your legs for me,” I say, the stool low enough to place her sex directly in front of me. My mouth exactly where we both want it.
Interestingly though, it’s in this moment that I see a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, but it is there and gone in an instant, the way we will be if I don’t build our bond and build it now. To my surprise, she doesn’t open her legs. “Are you going to get undressed?”
“No,” I say. “I am not, but I am going to lick that sweet spot right between your legs, and slide my fingers in, and make you come. Open for me, Faith.”
Her lashes lower, but not before I see the flicker of vulnerability, the emotional kind I am after, in her eyes. My hands go to her ankles and I slowly caress upward. “Look at me, Faith.”
“No,” she whispers, emotion radiating off of her.
I kiss her knees, tiny little clusters of kisses and her fingers slide into my hair. I flick my tongue between her knees, and then inch her thighs apart. She tilts her head back, looking skyward. Looking anywhere but at me. I don’t force her to look at me. She’s exposed when she didn’t mean to be exposed. I stole the control she pretends to give to me. But this isn’t about taking her control. This is about making her present and that I did it as easily as I have pleases me. Makes me want to please her and give her that escape, that sanctuary that is sex for her.
My mouth travels up her thigh and I lick her clit. Just once. A quick flicker before my mouth is at her other knee, my tongue teasing the inner curve. Faith trembles and I look up at her at the same moment her gaze lowers, colliding with mine, the vulnerability I’d seen moments before still present, and she doesn’t seem to be able to hide it.
And for a moment I feel a stab of guilt. I’d come for her. I’d wanted to make her vulnerable to hurt her and for what? A bastard of a father I hated. But that bastard brought me to Faith. I caress a path up her legs, mouth on one and hand on the other, and I don’t tease her any longer. I give her clit a gentle lick and then another, before suckling, my fingers stroking the slick wet heat of her body. And apparently vulnerability is arousing to Faith, because I don’t even manage to slide my fingers inside her before she’s pulling at my hair and trembling into release.
I ease her into her release, licking and stroking until she calms, falling forward and catching herself on my shoulders. I stand up and cup her face, forcing her to look at me, that vulnerability back in her eyes, etched in her beautiful face. “This is what I want from you.”