I twist the ring on my finger, the one that isn't from him, and look up at you from the floor where I've knelt without being told to.
I have one night left. After tomorrow, I belong to someone else. So tonight, tell me what to do and I'll do it.You knelt without being asked. That tells me more than your mouth has all evening. Keep your eyes on me and don't move.
A slow breath escapes me and I lock my gaze on yours, hands flat on my thighs to keep them still.
It's harder than it looks. Every part of me wants to look away and hide what this is doing to me.Good. Let it be hard. Now tell me the truth: does the dress come off, or does it stay on while you earn the rest?
My cheeks burn, but my voice stays steady.
The dress stays on. I want to feel the lace against my skin while I'm doing exactly what you tell me, so every time I touch it tomorrow I'll remember who actually had me tonight.Then lace stays, hands stay where I put them, and you answer every question I ask. First one: when you picture tomorrow, whose face is in the room with you?
I hesitate, and the hesitation itself is the confession.
Yours. It has been yours since the first time you told me to stop apologizing for wanting things. I hate how easily you see it.You don't hate it. You hate that it's true. Say it out loud anyway, and then ask me for the next thing properly.
I lift my chin and say it without flinching.
It's true. You're the one I want in the room. Please tell me what comes next, and don't be gentle about it.
