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“But below the face-fucking?” I clarify.
“Correct.” She replaces her hands between her legs.
I trace my hand down her arm, over her wrist, fingertips brushing across her thigh where they disappear. “Are you sore?”
She snorts. “It was barely tight.”
I chew on that, calling to mind the few moments I thought she might push harder, might brat more in the hopes of a reaction. And each time, I wished she would have. I lift her chin to meet my eye. Hers are bright, as if the sun is lighting them up from the inside. “Would you like it tighter?”
“I think I would.”
I cock my head. “And the spanks?”
A shiver echoes over her body, and I don’t think it’s the temperature. “Harder next time.”
Interesting. I drop my hand to her knee. “How do you feel about orgasm denial?”
“I could be interested.” She scoots closer, head resting against the sofa cushions.
“And toys?”
She grins, eyes closed. “The more the merrier.”
Her expression screams content, sated, and I want to bottle it up and keep it tucked away for later. I settle for gathering her as close as possible without dislodging her hands and feet. “Would you ever want to fuck while people watched?”
“Maybe.” Her head falls onto my shoulder, my lips in her hair. “I’d fuck myself while you watched. You like to watch, don’t you?”
How’d she know? “I do.”
“You’re not the only one who pays attention,” she says, smug.
“Cute.”
“What else do you like?” Zarina asks.
The question is so simple and innocuous, but it sits heavy on my chest. I’m always leading the conversation, providing answers without being asked the question. Because no one ever asks. They expect me to lead, and I want to, I do. But I also want sex to be a conversation as much as it is a pleasurable act.
I press my lips to her crown and hum. “I like to be in control, see the walls topple brick by brick because of what I’m doing or saying. I like leaving marks. And I really like to hear brats like you beg me to touch them.”
“I can tell.”
I smile into her hair and pinch her thigh.
She smacks my ribs. “We should fuck more,” Zarina says. “Might keep me from strangling you the next time you piss me off.”
I laugh. “I doubt it would help, but I’m willing to try.”
“Noble of you.”
“Thanks.”
Quiet settles around us, soft as a blanket and just as unassuming. I rub her arm and leg, trying to keep her as warm as I can, and Zarina settles further into the couch. Into me. My mind circles back to the glaring reality that I just fucked Zarina Gallo in my queer, kinky club.
And goddamn, I want to do it again. And again. And again.
And I can. She lives in my house, under my rule. My Gallo princess to wreck and ruin until both our games are played out and I get what I want—a seat at the table.
“Tamayo?” Zarina’s voice is a whisper, as if she doesn’t want to disturb the quiet moment.