Page 39 of Twisted Tate

“Is that a problem?”

He’s quiet for a moment. His hands settle on my hips, and I feel the tension in his grip.

“I’ve never had a woman fuck me before.”

“Never?”

I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. He’s a man used to being in control. It must take a lot of effort for him to give me what I need over how he’s wired.

“Never once.” His jaw tightens, and I can’t read the emotion on his face. “I do the fucking”

“I don’t have to do it.”

His eyes lock onto mine. He looks almost lost, like he’s standing at the edge of something he doesn’t understand.

“Don’t you dare tease me like that and then not deliver.” The words come out rough, dragged from somewhere deep. “I was just waiting for you, baby girl. The thought of you taking what you want from me makes me harder than I’ve ever been in my fucking life.”

I reach down between us and wrap my fingers around his dick. He groans, his hips jerking.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I say.

“Baby girl, the only way you’re stopping is if you want to.” His hands tighten on my hips. “Ride me. Use me. Take whatever the fuck you want.”

I position him at my entrance and sink down slowly.

The stretch is incredible. I watch his face as I take him inch by inch—the way his jaw goes tight, his eyes go dark, his fingers dig into my hips. By the time I’m fully seated, we’re both breathing hard.

“Fuck.” The word comes out strangled. “You feel so damn good, baby girl. So fucking tight.”

I start to move. Slow at first, rolling my hips, finding a rhythm. I’ve never done this before either. It’s different from this angle. It’s deeper, and I can control how fast, how hard, and exactly where he hits inside me.

For years, men have taken what they wanted from my body. I learned to go somewhere else in my head, to let them use me while I disappeared. Sex was never about my pleasure. It was about survival. Not until Tate. Even when I wanted to choose a man for myself, it was always just sucking their dick, because I didn’t want them to touch me.

But this is different. Everything with Tate is different. It’s what it was always supposed to be.

“That’s it.” Tate’s voice is wrecked. “Fuck, look at you. You’re so goddamn beautiful riding my dick.”

I plant my hands on his chest and move faster. His hips buck up to meet me, and I cry out as he hits a spot that makes my vision blur.

“Right there?” He thrusts up again, deliberately.

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

“Then take it. Take everything you want from me.”

I ride him harder, chasing the intoxicating way this makes me feel. My nails dig into his chest. My thighs burn. The only sounds in the room are skin against skin and our ragged breathing.

“Tate.” I’m close. I can feel it building, the release I’m chasing. “I’m going to—”

“Look at me.”

I open my eyes. He’s staring up at me like I’m the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.

“You’re in control, baby girl. You decide when you come.” His thumb finds my clit, pressing in tight circles. “But your eyes fucking stay on mine.”

The orgasm crashes through me. My whole body locks up, and I hear myself crying out his name as my pussy clenches around him.

He flips us over before I’ve even finished coming.