“Pardon?”
“Crawl to me,” I tell him slowly.
“What?”
“Get on your hands and knees, and crawl to me.” I open my legs and tap the side of the bed in front of my crotch.
It’s a much bigger test than I had in mind, but I can’t help but think there’s nothing I want more than to see him submit to me like this. Because despite what I said about talking, I do want to know what his limits are, where his boundaries lie, and I figure this is a good way to determine if I’m crossing one.
Charlie opens his mouth then looks away and runs a hand through his hair. He sort of smiles to himself, like he’s just remembered something that makes him laugh, but then it’s gone as he looks back at me.
“You’re serious?” he asks.
“Yes,” I confirm.
And I count down from ten in my head, fully intending to tell him to forget it when I get to zero but much to my surprise, and so thrillingly to my delight, Charlie drops to his knees somewhere between four and three.
His eyes stay on mine as he bends forward and places his hands down. I stare into his sea-blue eyes loyally, encouragingly, even though I want to take in the whole image of him crawling towards me in.
I can’t say exactly that he’s smiling as he approaches me but he doesn’t look uncomfortable and he doesn’t look like he’s in pain, and when I notice his pupils swelling, growing dark and intense, I know this does something for him.
And fuck, if it doesn’t do something to me too. My pussy feels wet, my thighs long to squeeze shut and rub together and my breasts have never felt heavier. But I don’t move, I just watch Charlie as he finally arrives between my legs and sits back on his heels.
Not saying anything, I reach out my hand and cup his cheek and that’s when he smiles, really smiles with his eyes closed, rubbing his face against my palm.
“Lenny Kravitz is your safe word,” I tell him, a little shocked at how thick and low my voice is.
His eyes flickering open, he nods.
I lean forward. “You can say the word orange when things feel too much or you need me to slow down.”
“You? Slow down?”
“Yes, Charlie. I want to be in control. Can I be in control of you tonight?”
Although he takes a few seconds to reply, it doesn’t look like he’s thinking about it as his eyes search my face. It looks like he’s drinking me in, and that makes my cunt clench, hard.
“Yes, you can be in control tonight, Mina,” he says in little more than a whisper.
“Good, now I don’t want to talk anymore. And I don’t want you to talk. Unless it’s for me to give you orders, and for you to accept them. Does that work for you?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” I say, sliding my hand around the back of his head and digging my fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Now kiss me.”
“Yes, Mina,” he whispers before his mouth collides with mine.
Chapter Eighteen
Freedom Train
Charlie
Who knew crawling would have me harder than I’ve ever been? Who knew being on my knees in front of Mina and agreeing to let her be in charge of me would have me feeling a headily light ease in my whole body, a small but not insignificant sense of peace like I’ve not experienced in years? Who knew that feeling her fingernails scratch at my skull would have me wanting to purr, to moan and to groan all in the same breath? And I do. The noise I make is a messy, ugly, sighing exhale.
“Yes, Charlie,” Mina breaks away to say. “I want more noises like that from you.”
I nod as we kiss again, this time with so much force that I feel like Mina is going to push me backward so I bring my hands up to rest on her thighs and steady myself. Her skin is so smooth and her flesh so soft and giving, I can’t stop myself from exploring as my palms glide up and down her legs.
