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“Isn’t power bigger than control?” I moan when he pulls my hips forward.
Leaning in, he bites my nipple, and I yelp. “Power can’t thrive if it isn’t controlled, if someone can’t harness it. That someone is me.”
“Theo, it feels so good,” I moan, the combination of his words and more becoming too much.
“Yeah, it does. You can’t deny that I was right about this, can you?”
“No.” After that, we fall silent for a moment. Instead, we are lost in one another—with me feeling pleasure that seems like it will forever be unmatched. This is what I will envision for the rest of my life. True lust, raw carnality.
He grips my hip tighter, reaching up with the other to grab my neck and keep my eyes on him. He keeps our pace steady and without fail.
“You take my cock so well. If only you could see what I see,” he groans. This time, his head rolls back, and I watch the Adam’s apple bob with his male appreciation.
“I think I’m going to come,” I cry.
“Reach down and pinch your clit when I say. You come when I’m coming. I need you squeezing the cum from me with your tight cunt.”
“Oh God, yes! Please!” I yell out.
“Right there. I’m there. Pinch it, puppet.” Reaching between us, I pinch my clit, and I detonate around him, my core clenching tightly, and that’s when I feel it. Hot spurts of his cum filling me as he keeps me riding out my orgasm, and I do until my body jolts and twitches from oversensitivity.
“Good girl.” He leans in and kisses my neck, and I focus on breathing, trying to come down from the high. Except when I do, I regret it. Those pesky insecurities come washing over me again, drowning me in their depths. Coupled with me just having sex with Theo, a man I’ve barely known for a week, who I’m only having a sexual relationship with.
What do we do? Shake hands and say good day?
“What’s going through your head, Hanna?” he asks me, the water behind us starting to turn lukewarm as it hits my back.
“Nothing. The water’s getting cold, and we should probably shower?” I phrase it as a question. For what reason? I don’t know. I’m nervous as hell if I’m being totally transparent.
“Yes, let’s shower before I leave for the night.”
There it is. Why do I suddenly feel dirty?
“Yeah, yes. Sure.” I stand, and he slips from me, and I make sure I don’t make a noise or look at him directly. This could be awkward for all parties involved. Yet, he seems so cool and collected. And it has me spiraling. “How many women have you been with?” I turn, the water cascading down my shoulders and back.
“Is that why you look like you just sinned in the middle of a church? Because you want to know how many women I’ve had this type of relationship with?”
Crossing my arms, I tilt my head up. I don’t want to seem meek. “You know more about me than I do about you. And I think you and I should know a little bit about each other. Is this a fuck-and-bye type of thing, or are we at least going to attempt to enjoy each other’s company?”
“That would imply dating, Hanna,” he tells me, reaching for the shampoo. “Turn. I’m going to wash your hair.”
I lift my hand before he does. “Enjoying each other’s company is too serious, like dating, but washing my hair isn’t?”
That has him stunned for a minute, his eyes searching mine back and forth. “Touché. Now, turn. We can talk more about it.”
Rolling my eyes, I do so, and the second my back is to him, he slaps my ass. I turn my head and look over my shoulder, the movement not only surprising me, but it jarred me just enough to where the water hit my face.
“Ouch,” I scold.
“Get used to it. We will get there soon.”
I turn back slowly, making sure he sees my annoyance in my eyes before I do. He starts to put the shampoo in my hair, and the second his long, thick fingers work at massages it in, I curse myself inwardly that it feels nice. Some moments go by before I ask him my question again. “So…how many women do I need to live up to?”
“None. I don’t think about past flings.”
“Ouch, that’s harsh.” I’ll be one of those one day, but hey, I agreed to this.
“It’s the truth.”
“Can I just get the number?” I ask, exasperated.
“Forty-six.”
I nearly choke on my damn breath. “Forty-six. You’ve been with forty-six women?”
“Yes.” Collected. Unfazed. Unbothered. And any other word that could describe being completely careless.
“And we didn’t use a condom.” My stomach turns.
“Don’t worry, Hanna. I’ve been checked since my last partner. I may not be into relationships, but I’m not a tool bag who is going to risk someone’s health,” he reassures me, and I release a deep breath.
