Page 97 of King of Praise
“Tell me what you want, my lovely girl.” The endearment carries new meaning after our declarations, making me melt further into his touch. “How shall I show you, my love?”
I consider my own desires for a moment, then make my request.
“I want…” Heat floods my cheeks, but I push through the lingering shyness. “I want you to take control. Like you own every inch of me and I’m yours to use how you see fit. Showme how much you love me through complete dominance and praise.”
His eyes darken with approval and arousal. “Good girl, asking so beautifully for what you need. I’m going to take such good care of you.”
The praise lights me up inside. Micah’s dominance has helped me reclaim aspects of sexuality that Lucas twisted into weapons. Subjugation now offers liberation through willing surrender to someone who cherishes me.
“First,” he says with quiet authority, “I want you to go take off your clothes. Fold them neatly and place them on the chair. Then kneel beside the bed and wait for me. Can you do that for me, lovely?”
I nod, already feeling at peace. “Yes, sir.”
Approval is in his smile as he runs a finger along my jawline. “Such a good girl. Go on then. Show me how well you follow instructions.”
I remove my clothes with deliberate care, folding each item precisely as instructed. The simple task grounds me in the moment, focusing my attention on physical sensation and present experience. Cool air raises goosebumps on my bare skin, heightening awareness of my body.
There was a time when this level of raw nakedness would have been embarrassing for me. But with Micah it feels natural.
Kneeling beside the bed on a soft pillow, I settle into the position we’ve established through practice—back straight, hands resting on my thighs palms up, head bowed.
Micah’s easy footsteps approach, then I feel the heat of his large hand settling on my head.
“Perfect.” His voice is soft, reverent as his fingers stroke my curls. “You look so beautiful like this, offering your submission freely. Such trust is a precious gift.”
I instinctively lean into his touch, a soft purr escaping my lips. His appreciation expressed through words and touch makes me want to surrender everything that I am to him.
“Look at me, lovely.”
I lift my eyes to meet his intense gaze. The love there, mixed with desire and protective instinct, makes heat soar and my soul sing.
I remain kneeling as Micah slowly circles me, his heavy boots scraping against the wooden floor. Each deliberate step sends tingles of anticipation racing along my spine.
When he comes to stand before me, my breath catches at the sight of his powerful thighs in worn denim. My fingers twitch with the urge to reach for his belt buckle, to feel the leather beneath my fingertips. The metal would be cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body.
I lift my hands toward his waist. Then I freeze, remembering our dynamic, our rules. He hasn’t given me permission to touch him. The realization sends a flush of embarrassment across my cheeks, but also a deeper thrill from having to submit.
“May I?” I ask softly, looking up at him through my lashes. My hands hover inches from his belt, trembling with need and restraint. “Please?”
The words come out breathy and wanting. My heart pounds as I wait for his response, acutely aware of my nakedness, my vulnerability, and the profound trust I place in this man who has shown me what real love feels like.
His dark eyes bore into mine, filled with approval at my restraint and request for permission. The corner of his mouth lifts—that subtle expression that never fails to make my core clench with need.
“You may.” Micah’s deep voice sends shivers through my body.
With trembling fingers, I reach for his belt buckle. The metal is cool against my skin as I work it open, savoring each tiny clink and the way the leather slides through the loops. His breath hitches when my knuckles brush against his stomach.
I unbutton his jeans and carefully lower the zipper, hyperaware of the growing bulge beneath. The denim parts easily, revealing dark boxer briefs straining to contain him. My mouth goes dry at the sight, and I hook my fingers in his waistband, glancing up for continued permission before slowly pulling both layers down.
His cock springs free, long and thick and already fully hard. A small whimper escapes me as I take in the sight—the prominent veins, the glistening head, the sheer impressive size of him. My tongue darts out to wet my lips unconsciously.
I look up at him, hands back to resting obediently on my thighs as I wait for his next command.
“Do you want to suck my cock, lovely?” His voice has dropped even lower, rough with desire.
“Yes, sir. Please.” The words come out breathy and desperate.
“Such beautiful manners.” He cups my chin with one large hand, using the other to guide his cock to my lips. “Open for me.”
