Oh, God.
“Alana.” I give another warning, but she ignores it. Her finger slides between my ass cheeks, then draws away. All I feel is nervous energy, the uncertainty of what will happen next. She drops to her knees and slides between my open legs, her breasts right at my cock. Her wet finger reaches between my legs and returns to the spot from seconds ago.
“I’m going to make you lose control, Grae. And you’re going to come on my tits.” The way she commands me, the confidence and certainty in her tone, it’s a foregone conclusion.
Her finger presses my hole, and without warning, she eases it in it. I gasp. The sensation is intense pleasure and burning mixed together. She works me until she hits a spot inside that causes an explosion of colors and music, and a guttural cry escapes me as I spray her chest. Panting and dizzy, my legs melt into the mattress.
“Good boy,” she whispers.
She’s made me come twice and nothing for her. The post-orgasm glow and peace can’t make their way into my brain or body because anxiety and guilt clench my heart. What kind of man am I?
I want to rub my eyes with the base of my hands, but the cuffs keep them trapped. I try every breathing technique I know to keep the anxiety attack at bay. But my breathing doesn’t slow down, and the shakes I thought were from exertion are something else entirely.
The bed dips beside me, and her hand rests on my thigh. “It’s okay to enjoy it.”
“I do, but I need you to enjoy it too.” My eyes slam shut as a cool bottle of water brushes against my lips. As I take a long drink, she strokes my hair. The whole room feels like it’s a billion degrees. Her lips press to my neck, hot breath burning my skin.
“Your value as a man doesn’t relate to your ability to please your lover.”
I shake my head. She’s wrong. “If I don’t… it's selfish.”
“You like getting me off, right?”
“I love it.”
“Then why would you deny me the same experience?”
What? Am I being selfish by not letting her have the same experience that I’ve been chasing? Or is this not about selfishness at all, but partnership.
Before I can spiral in a new direction, she places her hand on my neck and her thumb on my chin. Lightning hits my nerves. This is her spot. No one touches my neck like this. Only her. Slowly, comfort and acceptance flow through me.
“You are not your father. You don’t use people.”
It feels like a gunshot. My eyes burn so I slam them shut.
“Your brother was wrong about you.”
My throat feels like it’s on fire.
Her lips brush against mine, pulling me out of it, “Your worth isn’t connected to pleasing your lover.” She repeats more gently, like a lullaby. “And it’s okay to take whatever your lover gives you without concern of reciprocation.” I want to argue, but words can’t form.
“Your value comes from your compassion,” kiss. “Your passion,” kiss. “Your loyalty,” kiss. “Kindness,” kiss. “Talent,” kiss. “Intellect,” kiss. “And the way you love something with all aspects of your being.” She rests her forehead against mine. “Do you understand?”
I don’t speak. My emotions rob me of words. So, she speaks instead.
“You are worthy of love and pleasure, because of everything you are and everything you are not.” She unhooks my wrists from the bedframe, and it's an instant relief.
I throw my arms around her and bury my head in her neck. They were words I needed to hear all my life, and when she says them, I believe her. The panic and anxiety are locked back into their cages, for now.
“When you’re ready, you’re going to bend me over this bed and do what you need to me.” I squeeze her tighter, and she continues, “When you believe you are worthy, you’re going to make me come. Because you are very, very good at it.” She chuckles and adds, “But that’s never defined who you are to me.”
The words probe their way into my brain. I was never just a good fuck for her. I can give her more than just sex and pleasure. I can be a true partner.
“You’re right.” I whisper.
“My favorite words.” She lifts her head and kisses my neck.
Now I need to be the man she thinks I am.
