I feel myself go red. He expects me just to answer that? To just talk about what I like in bed like it’s no big deal? “I—I thought you said you were in charge.”
“I am. And I’m asking you how you like to be fucked.”
I can still count on two hands how many times I’ve had sex. You shouldn’t ask a person who can still count how many times how they like it. “The, uh, usual way?”
“What positions do you like?”
“Um...”
“How have you thought about me fucking you?”
I twist my head and look up at him, but he’s barely in my peripheral vision. “Are you trying to get me to talk dirty?”
He smiles. “Maybe. I like your voice. I like hearing it change as you become more aroused.”
Oh. He likes my voice, too? I didn’t think there was anything particularly special about my voice. “I...have thought a lot about the way you made me come.”
“What else?” One of his fingers homes in on my clitoris and I moan.
“I’ve thought about how much I like your strong hands and how they make me feel—ah.”
“My hands doing what?” he asks.
I hesitate, panting. “That.”
“Say it, Adrienne,” he orders.
My voice becomes taut with arousal. “Touching my clit. Rubbing it just so. Your fingers filling me so that I clench around them as I come.”
His voice smolders like embers as he says, “Good girl,” and I feel a ripple of pleasure pass through my body that has nothing to do with what his fingers are doing.
“How—how do you like to have sex?” I ask, because I’ve got my eyes closed and I’m skimming the brink of orgasm, which makes me brave.
“It depends. Sometimes slow and languid, watching my cock slide into you over and over, feeling your orgasm build by increments, hearing you moan, watching your face as I push you closer and closer to the edge. Sometimes rough and fast, with my belt around your neck after I’ve just used it to stripe your ass and make you wet.”
Oh, god. Both sound amazing. “How do you want it now?”
“I’ll show you.” And he lets go of my hands and turns me onto my back once more. He’s kneeling on the bed, his knees between my thighs, and he’s very, very aroused.
I reach out and caress the silky length of him, tracing my fingers down over the thick veins and then back to the swollen tip. I run my eyes over his body. He’s almost overwhelming, naked and up this close. “Wow, you’re, um, big all over, aren’t you?”
He watches my fingers for a moment and then grabs my legs and tugs me down the bed, away from the headboard. Reaching beyond me, he takes a condom out of the bedside drawer and rips open the foil. He looks me right in the eye as he rolls it on, wearing that sinister what-are-you-going-to-do-now-little-girl look. The one he gave me in life-drawing class when I goaded him into stripping, which feels like a lifetime ago. I have no idea what I’m going to do now. Actually, I do—I’m going to get fucked.
Dieter puts his hands on the backs of my thighs and presses my knees up toward my shoulders, pinning me hard beneath him. With a little whimper I wait, suddenly conscious that it’s morning and bright daylight. There’s nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. One of his hands stays where it is, holding me in place, while the other wraps around his cock. He looks down at me, and slides his tip over my slippery folds. I gasp as he traces my clit and then slips down, pressing into me just a little. But he withdraws again and continues teasing.
“Aren’t you a pretty sight, my little brat,” he murmurs, and then pushes half his length into me. I cry out and clutch at his shoulders. I can’t quite believe this is Dieter, who I thought was so aloof and unfriendly when I first met him. He begins to move, pressing deeper with each stroke, and I feel myself yielding before him.
“Does that feel good, babygirl?” he asks, pushing all the way to the hilt with deliberate slowness.
I bite my lip and nod rapidly, unable to form words. He makes a growling sound in the back of his throat and starts thrusting, deep and slow. Both his hands are on the backs of my thighs and the weight of his upper body presses me down into the mattress. I guess this is one of his languid times, as he shows no sign of speeding up.
I can feel myself tightening around him as my body responds to his rhythm. The constellation of nerves deep within my core start glowing white-hot. It’s very much his way. He’s driving what’s happening, and the more I give myself up to that the better it feels.
Dieter reaches forward and wraps a hand tightly around my throat. “Don’t close your eyes. Look at me.”
My eyes fly open, startled. It’s unsettling, being watched so closely throughout something so intimate. I’m not used to it and I want to look away at first, but his gaze holds mine. He doesn’t want me to hide anything from him, he said. Nothing I can do or say will make him think badly of me, if it’s the truth. I want to believe him. Can I believe him? His hand around my throat makes me feel lightheaded, and he shifts his weight to change the angle of his thrusts.
“Look at me as you come, my little brat. I want to see it in your eyes.”