Page 67 of The Butcher's Wife
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing behind his ear.
“Upstairs. My knees can’t take this tile floor shit.”
My laugh follows us all the way to the master bedroom—our bedroom.
Dom tosses me lightly on the bed. He’s breathing a little heavier after our trip.
I rub my thighs together. “Tired?”
“Not even a little.”
I wet my lips. “Alright.” Time to test how serious he was about giving me what I want. “Get undressed then.”
If he thinks today is a repeat of our last encounters, that I’ll use his mouth or hand and let him come into my panties without touching him in return, he doesn’t show any sign of disappointment as he drops his pants and boxers to the floor and his cock springs forward. It’s uncut—and every bit as thick and heavy as I imagined it would be.
He’s confident, as he should be, as he stands there in the center of our bedroom, waiting for me to finish my inspection of his body. I know some of the stories of the tattoos covering his body, but not all of them. One day, I plan to fix that.
Since I’ve been here, I haven’t noticed him working out in his personal gym upstairs, but his body is stacked with thick, well-defined muscles like he’s been sneaking off to chop firewood in the forest while I sleep.
I slip a hand between my legs and rub against the achypressure there while he watches. I think if I asked him to stand there and watch me get myself off and told him he wasn’t supposed to touch me, he would listen. I don’t know if it’s a form of love or kink or patience or something else entirely, but for me, it feels like power. For once, I get to sink my teeth into it.
“Everything to your liking,reginetta?” His cock bobs gently in the air with a pearl of pre-cum gleaming in the bright daylight.
The idea that this could all be for me and not the idealized woman I mold myself to be is a little terrifying, but it’s a different kind of scary, where there could be something good at the end of it if I can just be willing to open myself to him.
I swallow.
“You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” I murmur in open awe. “And I want to taste you now.”
His physical reaction is immediate. His cock jerks upward, fists clench, nostrils flare.
“Yeah,” he says in a voice like gravel.
His reaction—his clear arousal formefills me with confidence.
He’s so damn tall that if I kneel at his feet, I won’t be able to reach his cock. I slip onto the ottoman at the foot of his bed. “Come here.”
He takes one long step forward, spilling a drop of pre-cum onto the carpet.
“Aren’t you going to undress?” He sounds hopeful, but I don’t think it’s to see me naked. I think he wants to spoil me with his generosity again, to get me off.
This time, I want to give him the same gift.
“No.” I grip his cock in my hand.
He groans.
His hands rise to touch my hair—but he said I could havewhateverI want.
Before my brain can tell me to stop, I glance up at him. “Hands behind your back.”
We lock eyes—I’ve gone too far, no man likes being spoken to likethis—and just as I open my mouth to apologize, to take it back, he complies. His arm muscles flex as his hands disappear behind his back.
“You like telling me what to do?” He sounds dangerous.
Anticipation needles at my skin. “Is that okay?”
He tilts his head back with a grin, only a sliver of his dark eyes visible. “Angel, you can tell me what to do any day of the week.”
