they make you work for it, make you beg. they sit back in their chair, feeling you squirm in their lap, fingers just barely grazing your thighs. "c'mon, sweetheart," they whisper, low and lazily. "tell me how bad you want it. lemme hear how pretty you beg."
head that goes from eager worship to overstimulation in a heartbeat, their hips bucking and trying to get away but being held down firmly, forced to endure the way their nerves crackle like hits of lightning as pleasure overwhelmingly rolls through them. shaking from it all.
“Fuck, love,”
“Was that a moan?”
She just nods, head falling back against the pillow.
I tilt my head, satisfied. “That’s what I like to hear. Remember who makes you feel like this next time someone thinks they have a chance.”
“Okay…”
“Good Girl.”