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"Oh." I tensed. "Maybe I…" I tried to get up, embarrassed that he could smell me but he stopped me.
"I love how you smell. Your female scent and the thought of how wet you are makes me so hard."
He took my hand and pressed it against his erection, sliding my fingers along its length so that I knew how hard and thick he was. I couldn't help but imagine him filling me up.
That flustered me, and I felt caught between wanting to run away from embarrassment and wanting to stay. Other than my own arousal, a pleasant swollenness, a wetness between my thighs, butterflies in my stomach, I was warm in his arms, comfortable nestled against his chest.
"So we just sit here like this?"
"Yes," he said, stretching out again, his arms on the back of the couch. "We can just talk. With my new subs, I always let them choose the time of our first fuck. If t
hey want anything to happen, they have to make the move. If they want me, all they have to do is kiss me. But I warn them. If they do, I take that as a sign they want to fuck me and I take over. I take control and I fuck them. If they change their mind, they have to use a safe word. If they do, it all stops right then, and I go home."
I relaxed just a bit, knowing that I had ultimate control over whether and when we would fuck the first time. It would be my choice.
He caught my eye for a brief moment.
"So be warned. Don't kiss me unless you mean it." He held my gaze, grasping my chin when I tried to look away. "I can sit here like this for as long as you want and talk if that's all you want tonight. Sure, I'm hard as rock, but it will fade eventually if nothing more happens. But if you kiss me, I'll take it to mean you want me to fuck you. I'll take your clothes off and I'll eat you and then I'll fuck you. I'm not a frat boy, Kate. I don't like to play games."
My cheeks heated at that and I stiffened. "I thought you liked playing games. Isn't that what people in the lifestyle call it? Playing?"
"Fuck games, Kate. Not emotional games."
We sat like that for a few moments as his warning sunk in, his arms on the back of the couch, me nestled against him, my arms around his neck. He wasn't touching me. I was touching him. If anything was going to happen, I had to make it happen.
And the thing was, I wanted it to happen.
He had me right where he wanted me. He knew exactly how to manipulate me, knew what to say, how to get me to think and feel the things he wanted me to think and feel.
He was a Master. I could see that now.
Sitting on his lap like that, his body warm beneath mine, his shoulder muscles beneath the expensive white shirt solid under my hands, his aftershave masculine, his slight male musk intoxicating. His very large and very hard erection pressing against me was a reminder of how aroused he was.
He was mine – this gorgeous powerful man – if I wanted him. I had never felt this much lust for someone and I felt almost out of control, my body warm, swollen, my breathing shallow.
Yet, I had ultimate control. I decided if anything happened. But I decided only if he would fuck me or not. Once I kissed him, he'd take over and have his way with me.
He was right. I always felt guilt for wanting sex. I always felt bad when I fantasized about sex with men I'd just met or seen – like it was wrong for me to just feel horny. When I did have a boyfriend, even then, I couldn't really let go. Orgasms were so hard and took so long because I always felt insecure, unsure if my noises and movements and preferences would turn my lover off. Like how I was feeling – my body's arousal – was somehow unsightly and offensive.
He made me feel as if my body and my desire were intoxicating to him. As if he knew what to do when it came time for sex. I wouldn't have to worry.
All I had to do was kiss him and he'd take over. If I didn't kiss him, we'd just talk and then, when it came time to leave, he'd go.
"Why do your subs need a safe word if the first time is just vanilla sex?"
"It's always good to have a safe word. Things get passionate. Heavy. Hard. Fast. If I overwhelm the sub and she can't handle it, I need to know. But Kate," he said and turned my face to his. "Using red as a safe word isn't a request just to slow things down a bit or to adjust things. It's a signal for a full-stop. Once they use it, it's over. So I warn my subs not to use red unless they really are unable to go on."
"What exactly do you mean by heavy? Hard?"
"Kate…" He smiled indulgently, as if I were a child. "Have you never had really passionate sex with a man before? A little desperate? He's pounding into you from behind, grabbing your hips, thrusting hard and fast?"
Oh, God… Those words and the thought of how big he was made me clench.
I swallowed, my throat dry. I looked in his eyes, and I could tell he was a bit amused at my inexperience, but even his cheeks were flushed. I took him in all at once as he leaned back against the couch – his face so symmetrical, his jaw square with a day's growth of whiskers, his eyes so blue and fringed with thick dark lashes. His mouth was soft, his lips parted. His black hair a bit mussed, collar open, shirt undone just enough to see his chest.
He was the most desirable man I'd ever seen.
"Red is a stoplight," he said. "You say red, everything stops."
