CHAPTER 22 #2
Everything after that was mine to take, and I took it in the order I wanted.
I had put my fist into his face down in the Cage and it moved nothing in me at all.
Standing over a half circle of brass shavings with the only key to my own corridor shut in my hand, my eyes went hot and I had to look at the boards until they quit.
I did not put the new key into the new lock. I opened my own door instead and looked at him until he understood he was being asked in.
“Come in and take your shirt off.”
He came in and got the shirt up over his head one-armed with his teeth in the cuff, and it cost him more than the drilling had.
“Tell me where you want me,” he said.
“On your back, on top of the covers, and leave the lamp on. I am saying all of it now so that nobody in this room has to guess at the order. Your mouth on my clit. Your cock in my mouth. Then you underneath me while I take the rest of it at whatever speed I decide on.”
He went down on the bed and let the left arm go wide and gave up on it entirely. His chest was moving hard from the shirt.
“I have one arm tonight,” he said. “I am going to use my mouth and my right hand, and I am going to keep both of them where you put them. Your nipples, your pussy, your order and your count. Nothing happens in this room that you have not said out loud first.”
I undressed standing at the foot of the bed, in my own order, sweater and then the rest of it, and he watched me do it and kept the hand open on the covers. When I got up over him the mattress took my knees on either side of his ribs. He waited under me and did not reach for anything.
I took a fistful of his hair and put his mouth on my left nipple. He opened for it and used his tongue and did what he had been given and nothing past it.
“The other one now. Slower than you did that one.”
I moved him across and his tongue came flat on my right nipple, wide and unhurried, and my back came up off nothing at all.
“Good girl.” His mouth came off me shining. “Your nipples come up before you decide anything.”
“Higher,” I said. “I want your mouth higher and I want something to hold on to while it is there.”
“Then bring it up here and put it where you want it,” he said. “I am going to put my tongue on your clit and keep it there until you tell me to stop.”
I came up over his face on my knees and took the headboard in both hands and found my own angle.
It took me two tries and I did not apologize for either of them.
His tongue came onto my clit slow and wide and settled in.
Two fingers went into my pussy and curled up toward the front and worked there in that same unhurried count, and the rest of him under me did nothing whatsoever.
“A third one,” I said. “And do not change anything you are doing with your mouth.”
He got a third finger into my pussy and kept the count he had. Then he turned his head far enough to speak.
“Look at me. You are wet enough that I can hear it.”
He was back on my clit before I had an answer for that, and I lost my right hand off the headboard and put it in his hair instead.
“Look at you,” he said into me. “Take it. Take as much of that as you want and take it slow.”
I came on his tongue with my thighs shut against his ears, and he kept working through the whole of it until I pulled his head off me by the hair. His fingers came out of my pussy last and slow, because I had said nothing about those.
“You are so wet I cannot taste anything else in the world,” he said, with his mouth wrecked and his eyes running water. “Say the next thing you want.”
“I am going to get your cock out and put it in my mouth,” I said. “You keep that hand on the covers where it is.”
I went down his body and got his belt and his fly open, and his cock came up hard into my palm before I had the fabric out of the way. I took as much of him as I could hold and worked the rest with my fist. The sound he made had no words in it anywhere.
“That is my name coming apart in your mouth and nothing else in your head, sparrow.” The hand did not move off the covers. “Tell me when you want it back.”
“Now, and I am putting it where I want it.”
I came back up his body and set his cock against me and sat down on it in stages, on my own count, stopping twice for no reason except that stopping was mine to do. At the bottom of it I held him as deep as I could hold him and made us both stay there.
His right hand lay open on the covers with the fingers spread.
“Tell me to hold your hip and I will hold it,” he said. “Tell me to keep this hand here and it stays here until morning.”
“Hold it. Hold it open and do not push me anywhere.”
His hand came onto my hip with no grip in it, a warm weight and nothing more, and I took the whole stroke myself, up off him and back down, and set the count where I wanted the count. He got my nipple again on the way down and I let him keep it.
“Slower,” I said. “Slower than that, and do not ask me for anything at all.”
“I will not ask.” The hand under my hip opened wider on the bone. “You set the count. I am furniture until you say different.”
Then I put my own hand down between us and worked my clit while I rode him. He watched me do it with his jaw open and his hand lying where I had left it.
“Your nipples,” I said. “Mouth and no teeth. Then stop talking to me.”
“I am going to come if you hold that count,” he said. “Say yes or slow me down. I am not deciding it from here.”
“Yes. Inside me, and that hand stays open.”
He came with his eyes on mine the entire time, and I stayed down on him until he was finished and a while after that.
“You put my cock exactly where you wanted it,” he said, when he could talk again. “You did not check my face one time to see whether it was allowed.”
“I am not going to start checking now.”
Afterward he lay with his good arm out and let me get my breathing back against his chest. The radiator ticked under the sill. Out in the hall the shavings caught the light off my open door.
“You never reached for it tonight,” he said. “Bellwether. My mouth on your clit, my cock inside you, and that word sat in this room the whole evening and never got used, and out of everything on this floor that is the part I will carry around tomorrow.”
He dressed slower than he had undressed. At the door he stopped with his good hand on the frame and looked at the new plate and the bright curls of brass still lying on the boards.
“I will pull that corridor door to behind me,” he said.
I stood in my own doorway with the key shut in my fist and the corridor-head door standing wide open past his shoulder, and he waited two steps out in the hall for whatever I was going to say to him.
“Leave it open tonight. The first time that lock goes over, I want it to be my hand that does it.”