Page 58 of Crave Me

He shot me a look while he dug through a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew. “Only when I ask nicely. Come here.”

I joined him at the counter. He opened a bottle of white wine and poured me a glass. Before I could reach for it, his hands were on my waist. He lifted me, sat me on the counter in front of him and handed me my drink. Then his hands went to my thighs, where he ran them slowly up and down. “I do have food. You hungry?”

I had barely eaten dinner before he picked me up, too nervous to munch on anything more than cheese and crackers.

“Yeah, I could probably eat.”

“Good. Then you can sit here and look pretty while I get something ready for us.” He turned to put the cork back into the wine bottle but flashed me a wink. “And spread your legs. I want to be able to see your pussy whenever I want.”

And just like that, I was ready to play.

* * *

Thrilled we weren’t having anything fancy, I smiled while Simon pulled out basic ingredients.

He didn’t touch me while he prepared a simple, homemade pizza.

We ate at the kitchen table where he sat at the head and placed me around the corner from him. We noshed on pizza, drank a glass of wine and switched to water, which he chose without offering to me, and talked about our lives. The entire time, he kept me open for him, one knee of his pressed against the inside of mine so he could see me if he wanted.

By the time he cleared the plates and loaded them in the dishwasher, I was hot for him. I was dripping wet and my thighs shook with anticipation when he told me to go stand by the edge of his couch.

I’d expected to kneel, so the order threw me off for a moment.

“Here?” I asked, next to the couch, facing the fireplace.

“No.” His voice seemed to echo through the kitchen and living room’s vaulted ceiling. “Face the couch. Lift your dress and bend over.”

Damn. A wave of pleasure washed over me. Without hesitating, I bent for him so my ass was in the air.

The fabric of the couch was cool, eliciting goose bumps down my back and legs as I tried to make myself comfortable.

His footsteps grew louder as he walked closer until I sensed him behind me. My face was turned toward the fireplace but I could only see the shadow of him behind me. His hand brushed against my backside and I wiggled, surprised at the movement.

“Still, Little Bird,” he said. “Place your hands on the arm rest and curl them around the edges.”

I dug my fingernails into the soft fabric of his furniture. Already my breaths had quickened. He’d barely touched yet when he did, I would love every moment of it, whether it be soft and slow or hard and rough.

“Do you know what I love about your body?”

“No.”

A sting hit my ass, and made me yelp.

“Excuse me, Little Bird?”

“No, sir,” I quickly corrected. I’d forgotten through dinner, through pleasant conversations about our week and our jobs to address him properly. “No sir. What do you love about my body?”

“Good job, Little One.”

God, that nickname. I loved it. Almost more than Little Bird, which I knew came from the masquerade mask I’d worn months ago.

“I love that you’re small.” He caressed my back, down my spine and over to the side of my waist. “You’re breakable. It makes me feel like I could conquer you, break you and ruin you if I wanted to. I could destroy you and you’d let me, and not only let me, you’d love it. You enjoy the idea of my powerful body pushing you.”

I did, I really did. A shudder rolled through me and I couldn’t respond. He’d stolen my speech like he’d taken me earlier, and it didn’t matter anyway. The rustle of clothes behind me, the clink of a belt, and his zipper being pulled down focused me.

“I want to take you here, to worship you here, and you’re not going to move, are you?”

“No sir,” I quickly responded. My legs were shaking. My toes barely reached the floor and I had to stay on my tiptoes, but I already want to collapse to the floor, roll to my back and hold him.

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