"Good."
I kiss her once, almost chaste. The contrast between that kiss and everything I've just said makes her exhale hard through her nose, like she doesn't know what to do with the whiplash.
"Get on the bed."
She sits, then lies back. I stand over her for a moment because I need to. I need to look at her like this, spread out on her white sheets with her hair dark against the pillow and her chest rising and falling too fast for someone lying still.
"Spread them," I tell her. "Show me your cunt."
She does, her legs spreading so easily. I stare exactly where she's showing me, and I can't look away. She's wet already, pink and glistening in the lamplight, and the sight of her spread open like this because I told her to, cracks me wide open. I stand there and let myself enjoy the sight of her, let her understand that this is what she does to me.
I undress without hurry, pulling my shirt over my head and reaching for my belt. The sound of the buckle makes her lips part — just slightly, just enough for me to catch it. Islow down on purpose, letting the leather slide through the loops, and her throat moves on a swallow that gives me a satisfaction bordering on criminal.
She studies me with an attention I feel like a physical thing on my skin, tracking every inch of exposed muscle as the rest of my clothes go. Her gaze catches on the left side of my ribs and stays there.
"I didn't notice it last night," she says softly. "What does it say?"
My tattoo. The last thing I want to talk about right now.
"I'll tell you after."
I kneel on the bed between her legs and put my hands on her thighs, pushing them further apart. She lets me. I run my palms up the inside of them, watching goosebumps follow my fingers. I stop just short of where she wants me.
"Tell me what you said at dinner."
Her eyes go wide. "Which part?"
"The line. The one that made me choke. Say it to me."
She stares at me. I see her understanding what I'm asking and why, the flush already climbing to her throat, already halfway to where I need her.
"Boys with dirty mouths," she pants, "and a little degradation streak."
"And is that what you want?" My fingers trace the crease of her thigh, light enough to make her hips shift toward my hand. "A dirty mouth and a little degradation?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, please."
I bend down and kiss the inside of her thigh, right where my hand had been.
"Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you. Full sentences. Don't be shy about it, because you weren't shy about it three hours ago when you ran your mouth in front of everyone."
She laughs, surprised. The kind that tells me she hadn't expected to laugh during this and doesn't know what to do with it. I bite the soft skin of her thigh, just enough for her to feel my teeth. The laugh turns into a gasp.
"I want you to make me beg." Her voice is unsteady now, stripped of its usual composure. "I want you to call me filthy things and I want to come so hard I can't remember my own name."
She stares down at me between her thighs, flushed and bare and trembling slightly. The sound of those words in her voice does more damage to me than any physical act could have.
"You can be such a good girl when you want."
The shiver again, moving through her like a current.
I put my mouth on her pussy before she can recover from it. I taste her and groan against her, and I can't help it. She's so wet already, so ready, and the sound she makes when my tongue finds her clit goes straight to my cock.
I work her slow, the way I learned last night, circling her clit with the flat of my tongue, then pulling back when her hips start chasing me.
