29 #3
"Not in charge anymore, Sergeant?" she drawls, slow, seductive, in that voice that gives me a rush.
Today I just want to look at her, let her do it. Let her take me wherever she wants.
"Not today," I answer quietly, almost without a voice. "Today you’re in charge."
She peels off her hoodie without hurry. Her top rides up, her stomach shows, and fuck, my mouth is on fire.
She’s warm, gorgeous, with that new certainty that makes me soft and turns me on at the same time.
She brushes my bangs aside with cold fingers, undoes the knot of my robe without breaking eye contact, and takes my breast in her open hand, firm, in total command. She is.
She lowers her head and kisses one nipple first, then the other. Wet tongue, soft mouth, just enough teeth to make my skin prickle. I arch without meaning to.
"Just like that. Still," she whispers.
I bite my lip so I don’t beg her to keep going, all at once.
She sucks, she licks, she blows cool air and then warmth, and I catch fire fast. She squeezes a tit with one hand and with the other holds my jaw so I don’t turn my head.
She wants me to look at her. I look. My skin is boiling, and on the outside I keep my chin up, out of sheer pride.
"You’re behaving," she says, mocking and sweet.
"I’m trying not to beg," I confess, out of air.
"No rush, Nat," she murmurs, pressing her nose to my chest.
She trails kisses down my sternum, over the pit of my stomach, then comes back up to bite my nipple in the exact spot. A whimper slips out. My belly trembles under her tongue. She strokes the insides of my thighs, doesn’t quite get there, and that not getting there speeds me up.
"You like it like this, Nat?" she asks in my ear, hip to hip.
"I like everything you do to me," I admit, softened, in a voice I don’t recognize.
She laughs, pleased. She kisses my mouth once, brief, firm, and pulls back.
She stands, strips without a show, leaves only her panties on.
She settles her hips into mine again and presses her heat against my pubic bone.
I can feel how wet she is through the cotton.
My head sparks. She pins my hands to the couch so I don’t move and, with her thumb, opens me a little.
She strokes me slowly, small circles, pure patience.
"You’re so wet," she says, low.
She wets her fingers with her tongue and comes back. Nothing corny. Straight up. She knows me too well.
"This is on you," I say, half laugh, half moan, looking into those gorgeous green eyes of hers.
"I love it."
She presses my clit with her finger and then eases off, short, steady rhythm, never losing the beat. Her breath brushes my mouth; mine breaks into pieces. She watches me closely, studies me, and I let her. It’s hard to stay still and it blows my mind at the same time.
"Who’s in charge?" she whispers, playful.
"You," I answer without hesitation.
"Say it."
"You’re in charge, since you’re a little princess now," I shoot back, teasing.
She leans without climbing off me and takes a nipple between her lips while working me with her hand. I grip her forearms so I don’t move my hips. My whole body vibrates; a wave of heat rises from my belly; I get wetter.
"More," I ask. "But just like that."
"That’s it, ask me," she answers with a smile that goes right through me.
She doesn’t speed up. She holds me at the edge, precise, a hair from losing it. She kisses my tongue calmly, wets my mouth, bites my lip, and lets out a sigh that goes straight into my chest. She looks at me, steady, sure.
"Don’t hide, Nat."
"I’m not hiding."
She skims between my lips, up, down, up again. She parts me with two fingers and rubs right on my clit. My thighs shake and a low curse slips out. She holds my hands tighter. I chase her with my hips, and she holds me in place with her weight without stopping, still hitting right there.
"Just like that," she says.
"I'm about to," I warn her, unashamed.
"Give it to me."
I nod, close my eyes for a second, and she opens them with her thumb on my chin.
"Here," she tells me. "With me."
Everything tightens; a warm, full wave runs through me, my breath rushes out, and I clutch her forearm, digging in my nails. I let go in her hand, in her eyes. She doesn’t look away or change the rhythm until I go slack.
I breathe. The pit of my stomach is still trembling. She kisses my forehead, my nose, the corner of my mouth. She lets my hands go and I slide them to her back, her waist. A silly tenderness washes over me.
"Come here," I tell her, pulling her closer.
"I'm right here," she answers, curling on top of me, warm, with that smile that fixes my whole day.
I bite her shoulder, gentle. I run my fingers down her back to the waistband.
I don’t want it to end. I want to be with her like this, no hard edges, no war.
Flip everything that drove us apart, without losing the spark.
Me—who used to boss around even the air—now I just want to say yes to everything.
I look at her. Her hair is a mess and her mouth is wet; it heats me up just seeing her take her time looking at me.
"Not the boss anymore?" she teases me again.
"Not today," I whisper. "Today I’m yours. I love you." It slips out before I plan it, and my face burns.
Alaska pauses for a second, grips the back of my neck, and kisses me with a tenderness that leaves me soft, surrendered, my hands trembling against her waist.
"Me too," she says against my lips. "Stay with me."
I press to her chest, still sitting, bury my face where her neck meets her collarbone, and breathe there. Her heartbeat thunders in my ear. I kiss her collarbone, give her a little bite, cling to her.
"What else are you going to teach me?" I ask, my voice wrecked.
"You take charge," she suggests, provoking me.
"Not today. Go on."
She takes off her panties without a show, finds my hands and places them on her waist. Her fingers tighten and keep me still.
"Touch me when I ask," she warns me. "Until then, stay still."
"Yes," I answer, obedient, surprised by how easy it comes.
She slides along my thigh, presses her center to my skin, and starts to grind, slow, hungry.
She’s hot, wet. She slicks my thigh and pulls a moan from me I try to swallow and can’t.
She holds my gaze, bites her lip, and uses me shamelessly.
I give in. I have to grab the couch so I don’t throw her to the floor.
"Tits," she asks.
She guides my hands calmly, sets my fingers where she wants them, tighter, looser. I spread my palm, circle her nipples, pinch when she wants. She has me saying "yes" and "more" and "like that" without shame. She knows me by heart and still discovers new things.
"Do you like watching me?" she asks, setting the rhythm with her hips.
"I love it," I answer, flushed and happy, mouth open.
"Then watch me," she orders, tipping my face up with her fingers, firm.
I watch her come on top of me with a long sigh, stomach taut, eyes wide, gorgeous.
I hold her under her ass so she doesn’t lose the rhythm and meet her with my hips, gentle, patient.
Her name slips out between my teeth. When she trembles, I hug her tight and take her into my mouth—nipples, shoulder, neck, whatever I can reach.
She buries her fingers in my hair and lets me.
We stay pressed together for a while, sweaty and calm. The robe in a corner, her clothes tossed. She strokes my face with the back of her hand, careful, as if I were fragile and not the woman who used to squeeze until things broke. Today I let her.
"So… you’re not in charge anymore?" she repeats, with that smile that melts me and pisses me off a little.
"When you look at me like that, no."
She kisses my forehead, tucks the blanket over my back, and settles on top of me again. Just the right weight. Just the right heat. Calm, sure, owning herself and me. I take her face in my hands, look her straight on, unarmored, my eyes stinging from the inside.
"Stay," I ask her now, no detours.
"I’ll stay," she answers without hesitating. "And tomorrow too, if you want."
"I want that."
We laugh under our breath. She lowers her head and kisses my chest again, slow, like someone savoring what’s hers.
My belly trembles, and for the first time in years, I have no urge to take back the reins.
I’m good here. This is where I want to be.
And that turns me on even more. I can’t. I shouldn’t. But I choose her.