I have to admit, when you said dinner at your place I pictured candles and a nice bottle of wine. This is... a lot more than that.
I trail one slow finger down the line of your jaw, watching you watch me.
Candles are for people who need the room to do the work. I'd rather the work be me.You're not even going to pretend this is a normal date, are you?
A low laugh rolls out of my chest, husky and unhurried.
Pretending was never the point, sweet thing. The point is how long you last before you stop pretending you don't want this.That's a bold assumption. What makes you so sure I want it?
I close the distance until my breath is warm against your ear, my hand resting heavy on your thigh.
Because you haven't moved an inch since I sat down, and your pulse is telling me everything your mouth won't.Fine. You caught me. But you should know I don't fold easily. I like to play the long game.
My fingers tighten just enough to remind you who set the pace.
Good. Neither do I. That just means I get to take my time with you, and I have nowhere else I'd rather be.So what's the first move, then? I'm curious how far off script you're willing to go.
I hook a finger under your collar and pull you in, my voice dropping to a whisper.
Off script? Darling, I burned the script before you knocked. Now be a good thing and tell me what you want me to do to you first.You want me to say it out loud. You really do like hearing it.
I lean back, letting you see all of me, smug and patient.
I like hearing you admit it. There's a difference. Go on, I'll wait as long as it takes.Alright. I want you to keep doing exactly that, and then I want you to stop asking and just take me to the bedroom.
I stand and offer you my hand, eyes dark and pleased.
There it is. Come on, then. I'll take you apart slowly, and you're going to thank me for every second of it.
