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“You ready to let go, cupcake?” His teeth graze my earlobe. “Give up all that precious control?”
My head bobs in response, craving everything he’s willing to give me.
“And what does it mean when you let go like this?” His fingers dig deeper into my flesh. “When you submit so beautifully?”
It’s about trust. About finally letting someone see all my broken pieces and trusting them not to cut themselves on the sharp edges or cut deeper into me.
“It means…” The words tangle on my tongue.
His hand slides around to my throat, resting. A reminder of his control. Of my surrender.
“Say it.” Pure sin drips from his voice. “What does it mean when you’re spread out for me like this? When you’re wet and wanting and completely at my mercy?”
He knows exactly what this means, what I’m giving him. What I’ve never given anyone else.
“It means I’m yours.” The words tumble out, raw and honest. “It means… I trust you. That I’m safe.”
His grip tightens fractionally. “Say that again.”
“With you,” I whisper, “I’m safe.”
Silence. A beat where he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.
Then—his forehead presses against my shoulder, his breath shaky. Like he’s trying to swallow something too big for words.
“I didn’t mean—” I start.
“Don’t take it back.”
“I wasn’t going to. No more running, remember?”
“No more running.”
My eyes fall shut.
“How do you want me? Hard and fast until you forget everything but my name? Or slow…” His fingers circle my clit. “Until you’re begging?”
“Both. Either.”
He presses in, just an agonizing inch. “Want me to fill you up?”
I try to rock my hips back to take him deeper, but his grip is ironclad, his hold unbreakable. And I don’t want to break it.
“You are not in charge,” he says. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He pushes in further, stretching me with a delicious burn.
“Like this?” His voice is strained, like he’s fighting for control.
“More.”
“Be a good girl.”
“Brandon—”
“Shh.” He pulls out almost completely before slamming back in.