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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

LIAM

Stepping from a post-workout shower, I’m overwhelmed with the delectable aroma of whatever Sasha is making for dinner. Her cooking ability was unexpected but a remarkable perk to our arrangement.

“What’s for dinner,” I call, walking down the hall toward the kitchen with my shirt in hand. When she turns around to answer me, her eyes drop to my bare chest. They rake down my chest to my abs, and her mouth slowly falls open with every inch. Pulling my T-shirt over my head as I approach her, I tease. “Are you drooling over the amazing smells coming from this kitchen or me?”

“Both,” she exhales before facing the stove, trying to hide the undeniable look of lust in her eyes. We have spent nearly every waking moment of the past three days together, and there is undeniably a physical attraction between us. I’ve caught her eyes lingering on me on more than one occasion, and I sure as fuck have been thinking about her.

Usually, my submissive moves in after we’ve established our dynamic and we’re already intimate. As much as I want to touch Sasha— actually touch her— I also want there to be some semblance of comfort and trust between us first. I just didn’t realize how fucking unbearable waiting for that would be.

Sliding my hand down her back and slowly through the dimple above her arse, I hook it over the curve of her hip and ask, “So, what’s for dinner?”

You? Because I’m fucking starving.

“Spaghetti Bolognese.” She crooks her neck to glance at me over her shoulder to answer, continuing to stir the sauce on the stove. Letting her finish, I pour two glasses from the bottle of Merlot she used to make dinner. I place them both on the island and grab silverware while she plates our meal. Taking seats beside each other, we eat at the island.

“That was fucking delicious,” I praise again when we finish. Rising from her barstool, she grabs my plate, and I wrap my hand over it to stop her. “I’ve got it. I’ll clean this up.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, her eyes drifting from me to the pile of pots and pans in the kitchen sink and sauce splatters on the countertop.

“Yes. I am.” Grabbing our plates, I place them into the sink before returning to her. “You worked very hard on this for me. I want to make sure you know I appreciate it. I will clean up.”

“I like cooking for you but thank you.”

“While I take care of this, I want you to take care of you .” Tucking her hair behind her ear, I softly insist, “I want you to go take a shower to relax. I’ll be on the couch when you’re done.”

I take a seat on the couch after finishing the dishes, wondering how we’ve fallen into a rhythm and comfortability which each other so quickly. A few minutes later, Sasha returns from her shower. Her ash-brown hair, still damp, darkens the front of her camisole where it has dripped onto the fabric. Beneath it, her breasts bounce with every step she takes in my direction. Unable to tear my eyes from her, I feel beside me for a cushion and drop it to the floor between my feet. Gesturing to the pillow, I instruct, “Please kneel for me.” She looks between me and the floor a few times, draws a slow breath, and falls to her knees between my feet.

“Straighten up and shoulders back,” I correct, watching her posture improve. “There are two different commands I will give when I ask you to kneel for me: kneel and admire.”

Her throat bobs, and she gives a nod, acknowledging her understanding. “Kneel is for both play and when I need you to await correction. I expect this posture from you, your hands on your thighs and your head bowed to the floor. Show me.”

We have been working our way through various standing and floor positions. I am teaching her my terms, how to correctly present herself in each of them, and slowly working them into our lives. Eventually, they will be second nature, and she will comply perfectly without question or hesitation.

“Good girl,” I praise, appreciating how she maintains her posture with her head bowed and how still she is as she awaits my next command. “In the future, kneel will not come with the comforts of the pillow beneath your knees.”

She is a remarkable student.

“When I instruct you to admire, I will provide you with a cushion. You will kneel at my feet, place your arms on my legs, and lift your head.” She follows my final instruction and tentatively rests her elbows on my knees. Grabbing her hands, I adjust each of her arms so that they run the length of my thighs. This position puts her face and breasts on display for me. Brushing her damp hair from her face, I tuck it behind her ear and marvel at her beauty.

Her eyes reflect the glow of the full moon shining through the windows behind me, and in this light, I first notice the tiny flecks of green around her iris. The natural rosiness of her cheeks slowly begins to burn as she grows uncomfortable with the passing minutes of my admiration. I could stare at her for hours. “This position allows me the pleasure of looking at you.”

Or to let her worship my cock with her mouth.

My cock twitches at the thought of being taken between her lips and over the slickness of her tongue as she slides me down her throat. Sasha drags her tongue along her lower lip, and I can’t help but wonder if she is thinking also about swallowing my cock. I press my thumb to her lips, and she leans her cheek toward my palm, seeking my touch. Trailing my thumb through the wetness on her lips, I ask, “Do you want my touch?”

“Yes.” Her quickly delivered answer is drawn out and breathy.

She doesn’t just want my touch. She needs to be touched.

“I need you to trust me before I fuck you the way I truly want to. I will be much less rough than I prefer this time, but I will not be gentle,” I inform her. “Knowing that, are you sure?”

“Yes.”