“Oh hi there, cutie.” The fingers of my left hand grip your short hair tight.
You smile wide. You love it when I’m rough with you. “Hello, goddess.”
I twist my hand, pushing your head all the way to the right, until your body follows and you are facing away from me. “That’s right. Lean against the wall.”
You put your palms up, and hold your weight against the wall.
My left hand fumbles at your side. The fabric of your crop top under my index finger and the curve of your waist guides the rest of my hand. My thumb makes slow, awkward arcs along your lowest rib.
I feel like I’m more nervous than I should be. I know what I’m doing; I should be calm, confident. I shut my eyes and take a breath in. The butterflies in my stomach refuse to calm down, but that’s okay. I’ll survive, but I need to relax if this is going to be fun.
My hand presses against their collarbone, pushing them backward into the headrest. Our eyes lock together. The lights of a car going down the street next to us illuminate their face perfectly, so I can see the shy curl of their lip, the contained enthusiasm.
I smile, letting my own eagerness bubble to the surface. This is starting to be a lot of fun.
They respond by knitting up their eyebrows and begging me wordlessly to keep kissing them.
You undress hurriedly, trying to shed the layers as fast as possible.
I lean back onto my heels, grinning and watching you as you reveal more and more of yourself to me.
In your enthusiasm, you’ve left your clothes piled at your feet in a disorganized mound.
I can understand. If I had been stopped so close to coming, I’d be eager to get started again as well. I toss the hitachi onto the bed and reach out, placing my hands firmly on your hips. I look you in the eyes.
“You want me to be in charge?” The confidence is dripping from my question. Of course you do.
“Yes, miss.” You’re nodding enthusiastically.
A grin spreads across my face and I raise one eyebrow as I scan your body, your face. I worry for a second that you’re taking my silence as some kind of criticism, but I can tell by the way that you take half a step back and press your palms into your jeans that you’re just nervous—maybe even a little bit scared. My expression must look like some kind of predatory hunger.