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“I didn’t tell you to be pretty about it. I told you to use your mouth.”

Jamie makes a sound against my skin. His tongue finds pussy and his hands hover again until I catch one wrist and put it on my hip.

The first pass of his tongue is careful. The second isn’t.

I take a handful of the hair I just brushed and set his mouth where I want it. “Slower.”

Jamie obeys. His tongue flattens. I feel him try to make it pretty and I tighten my fingers until pretty stops being an option.

“There. Stay on that.”

He stays. When his tongue finds the place I want, I pull him closer and stop letting him choose anything.

“Use your finger. One.”

He slides it into me careful, then deeper when I tug his hair in answer. I keep him on my clit with the same fist and make him work both at the pace I choose. If he speeds up, I drag him back. If he goes shy, I put him where he was.

“Don’t get clever. Lick. Curl. Stay.”

His other hand grips the sheet.

I come with his hair in my fist. I hold him there through it. When I let his head up, he’s breathing hard, mouth shining, eyes already hunting for the words.

“That’s how you apologize with your mouth. We’re not done.”

He looks lost the second I stop talking.

“On me. Eyes on my face. Don’t you dare come until I say.” I take his cock and drag the tip across my pussy. “Now.”

He sinks in and holds, watching me.

“Fuck me.”

He moves. I let him have an inch of rhythm and then I take it back with my hands.

I slide my hand up his chest and settle it over the bruises on his neck. I feel the swallow. I squeeze just enough that he remembers how he got them. “Whose throat?”

“Yours. Heather. Please.” He fucks me like the answers are part of the stroke. His eyes never leave my face. “Am I doing it right?”

I don’t answer.

He tries every version of good he knows. Deeper. Slower. Prettier. I keep my face blank and make him invent another.

I press my thumb into the darkest oval on his neck. “You don’t hide that pretty face.”

“Please.” My thumb feels the word move through his throat. “Heather. Tell me.”

“Earn it.”

I use him until his control is thin enough to feel under my hand. Then I lock my legs around him and make him spend the last of it proving he can obey. “Whose good boy?”

“Yours.”

“Come now.”

He comes with his eyes still on mine. I keep my hand on the bruises through it so he feels who those marks belong to while he finishes.

“Good boy. Stay inside me.”