I want…

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I want to stand stripped and naked before you.

I want to watch as your eyes scan me, noting every dip and curve of my body.

I want to hear you breathing heavily as you slowly approach me, towering over me, heat radiating from your chest.

I want to savour your scent of smoke and coffee, leather and sweat.

I want to feel your hand encircling and gripping my throat, squeezing tight, controlling my breath.

I want to feel you press me down onto the cold, hard ground, bruising my shoulder blades.

I want my arms stretched over my head, pulling my breasts high on my chest, your hands pinning mine, the cold click of metal securing them.

I want to feel the sharp pinch of your callused fingers on my nipples.

I want to hear the crack of leather kissing air before it sears my skin.

I want to look into your eyes as you taste me, your bristles chafing the soft skin of my inner thighs.

I want to feel you push yourself into me, filling my mouth, my throat, thrusting, making my mascara run.

I want to slide myself down onto to you as your girth fills me, stretches me.

I want you to flip me like a ragdoll over onto my hands and knees; fucking me like an animal, your hand wrapped in my hair, pulling my head back, grunting as you pound into me.

I want you to hear me screaming your name, begging you to fuck me harder, tear me open, rip me apart, make me bleed.

I want to feel you collapse on me, your weight crushing me as you catch your breath, your sweat coating my back.

I want

You.

💋

Copyright, 2016, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

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Sunday Afternoon…

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“Wear these and sit on the end of the bed. I will be back soon,” he hands me a pair of very sheer nylon pantyhose, a transparent black lace vest top, a tiny pair of lacy pants and a blindfold.

“The pants go over the hose baby,” he orders. He takes my six-inch heels from the wardrobe and places them on the floor at my feet. I look up at him and nod my head.

Alone in the room, I dress quickly, checking my reflection to ensure I look good. I put on my black suede heels and sit on the edge of the bed, as instructed, tie the blindfold over my eyes and wait…

After a few minutes I hear the door open and I tense in anticipation. I sense him standing near my knees but not touching. I lick my lips, wondering what he will do.

“Hands in front.” I press my wrists together in front of me and feel the nylon stocking being wrapped and tied around them, binding them tightly

His hands part my knees just slightly and run up along the length of my thighs.

“Lie down.” I obey, stretching my arms over my head.

I feel his palms move upwards, stroking my stomach, raising the lace of my top up over my breasts. A new sensation… tickling my skin, making me squirm. Feathers caress my nipples, my throat and my face. He uses the feathers to brush my lips. I bite and scratch the itch with my teeth.

“Behave…” he growls and I stop biting.

The leather tip of the crop traces down between my breasts, over my hips, to the tip of my clit and back again, then light, teasing taps on my nipples. I pant and arch my back in delight.

“Open them,” I part my legs wider as he continues to rap on my nipples with the leather. The heat between my legs grows and I feel myself getting wetter.

The crop stops abruptly and I wait to see what he will do next, breathing hard. I inhale sharply as I feel the firm leather tip press against my clit. He leaves it, simply applying pressure, not moving. My hips involuntarily grind down onto it and I hear a low chuckle.

A very light tap on my clit elicits a gasp from between my lips. He slaps the inside of each thigh sharply, shocking me.

“Wider!”

The flat tip sneaks underneath the lacy edge of my underwear, pulling it to one side for him to admire my smoothness through the sheer nylon covering me. Feeling his hand pulling my pants down, I lift my hips to allow him to remove them.

I hear him inhale deeply and smile as he whispers, “Delicious baby. You smell so sweet.”

“Turn over,” I roll onto my stomach, “Ass up, on your knees, face down.” I do as I am told, arms over my head, elbows on the bed, face pressed against the covers, my ass high in the air

Slap! A hard smack stings my butt cheek. I love the feeling and stick my behind out further, silently asking for another. He obliges with a second and third blow using his hand, softly rubbing the skin between slaps.

The tip of the crop snakes its way up along my back and around to my front where he begins to lightly rap my swaying breasts, slapping them alternately.

My entire body trembles with desire and need, my thighs quivering uncontrollably. I groan aloud, craving more.

He leans down over me, I feel his hard erection press against the nylon at my groin and press down onto him.

“Fuck it,” he whispers under his breath. He stands up and tears the crotch of my pantyhose, ripping it wide open, ruined. His fingers delve deep inside me, meeting no resistance, his other hand gripping my hip. I grind myself down onto his hand.

His fingers leave my pussy, he thrusts them into my mouth and I suck on them, tasting my own sweetness.

I feel his hard, hot cock slide into me from behind and, holding my hips firmly in place he starts to slam into me, harder and faster each time. The pressure of him against my wall, pressing against my G-spot is exquisite, making me cry out, not caring if the neighbours hear me. With each thrust I call out my pleasure, certain I will cum at any minute.

His arm circles my ribcage and he lifts me up to kneel upright, pressing my back against his chest as he continues to fuck me hard. He wraps one hand around my throat, the other plays with my swollen clit. My tied hands don’t allow me to reach behind to grab his ass, as I would like to.

“Please?” I beg, “Oh god, please?”

He releases me and pulls out. Roughly, he spins me around and pushes me back onto the bed, flat on my back, pushes my knees apart, and without delay, slams into me again. I wrap my, now shredded, nylon-covered legs around him. He grabs my ankles and lifts them up, pressing my knees down onto my chest and draping my feet over his shoulders, making his furious penetration deeper again.

Still restrained by my wrist binding, still blindfolded, we fuck each other like animals, until I feel him spasm over me and his hot cum flows into me.

Breathless and sweating he collapses beside me and kisses me, for the first time since he entered the room.

“Baby, I love you, “ he caresses my cheek. Untying my wrists and blindfold, I see his smiling face, “Your turn.”

He moves to sit up, his back against the suede headboard and pulls my legs, so I am lying with my ass resting on his lap, thighs parted, totally exposed to his gaze. He slides his finger inside me and strokes my G-spot, his other hand rubbing my clit, wet with our mixed juices. I lift one leg and press the heel of my shoe into his chest, just enough for him to feel the pressure but not enough to hurt. He narrows his eyes and grins at me.

His eyes switch between watching what he is doing to me with his fingers and looking down to meet my eyes. His lust and desire making his eyes heavy and hooded.

The eroticism of me, watching him, watching his fingers fuck me, triggers my nerve endings to fire off as an orgasm washes over me, my eyes squeezed tightly shut, mouth open, body convulsing.

As the aftershocks dissipate, I open my eyes and we smile at each other.

I am flushed, happy and exhausted, having been well and truly fucked.

 –

Copyright, 2015, illicitthoughts.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

The Question…

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I sit curled up in his lap, his arms around me, fingers toying with my hair. I inhale his musky scent and close my eyes against his warm, bare chest.

He has just finished fucking me particularly roughly.

The skin on my ass is red and stinging from his slaps and I have a slight headache from how hard he pulled my hair as he savagely pounded into me from behind.

My knees are raw and scraped from carpet burn and I am sure I will see teeth marks on my shoulders when I look in the mirror.

And yet, I feel happy, at peace, content.

Perhaps because of his brutality earlier, he is being extraordinarily gentle and tender with me. He is humming quietly as he holds me, and I feel the vibrations of his lips as they nuzzle my hairline.

Not for the first time I wonder what he is thinking about. I wonder how he feels about me.

“James?” I venture.

“Hmmm?” from above me.

“What do you think about when you’re quiet? Do you think about us?” I chance a glance up at him and see his indigo eyes narrow and darken.

Shit! I’ve overstepped again!” I instantly regret speaking.

“Baby girl, always so curious. A curious little kitten aren’t we?”, for once he doesn’t look angry, a hint of a smile plays around his lips.

“I just wanted to know… if I matter to you. If you…” I whisper nervously.

His eyebrows rise in an unspoken prompt.

I can’t. I feel my courage drain from me.

“Do you matter…?” he breathes, looking into my eyes and then glancing away as if deep in thought. I understand he is teasing me.

I swallow but my throat is bone dry.

“Finish your question baby girl,” he growls.

I feel the threat of tears stinging my eyes and wish I had never opened my mouth.

“I… wondered if you…” I sigh deeply and blurt it out, “love me?”

He throws his head back and laughs loudly, cruelly. My heart sinks and my cheeks burn with embarrassment and a touch of anger.

I have humiliated myself.

“Do you matter?” he repeats as he gets his laughter under control, “does it matter if you matter to me? Does it matter if I love you?” he fires back at me.

Annoyed and hurt, I move off his lap and wrap my arms around myself to cover my nakedness, feeling vulnerable in comparison to his jeans covered lower half. Always at the disadvantage.

“Don’t sulk baby girl, its very unattractive,” he scolds, but this time I am truly irritated at the way he has demeaned me.

I fight the urge to tell him to fuck off.

I have allowed him to fuck me every way imaginable, hurt me, watch me fuck myself, watch me fuck another woman, blindfolded and videoed me masturbating and took me to a gentleman’s club to share the film with total strangers to me. The very least he could do is answer my question seriously and with some respect.

I realise that I have fallen completely in love with this mysterious, complex, complicated, distant man.

I have spent endless hours analyzing myself trying to figure out why this has happened to me. Why I allowed it to happen. I have no answers. The therapist that cannot understand her self!

I stand up to leave the sofa and get dressed but his hand darts out to grab my wrist roughly and jerk me back down into the cushions.

‘Don’t!” the cry escapes my lips before I realise it. I have never refused or disobeyed him before.

His hands are around my throat, turning my head towards him and his mouth covers mine, stealing my breath and possessing me. His tongue violently pushes into my mouth, almost making me gag.

One hand still gripping my throat, his other hand clutched my breast and cruelly twists my nipple so hard it feels as if he will rip it off.

He breaks the assault on my lips and breathes heavily into my face, his eyes glaring at me.

His hand leaves my throat and grabbed my crotch, shoving his fingers deep inside me.

“THIS! IS! MINE! Understand?” he growled, “I wouldn’t be here, fucking you and testing you, making you grow and push yourself if you meant nothing!”

He drops me abruptly and I flop onto the sofa, stunned and rattled.

Running his fingers through his chestnut hair, his anger radiating off him like heat, he casts me a dark glare, “I fucking HATE talking about fucking feelings! It’s not me. I don’t do that shit. This is the one and only time we discuss this, understand me?”

Speechless, I just nod and feel the hot tears spill down my cheeks. The shock of his revelation and his rage has left me shaken.

His face softens slightly, “Baby girl, I can’t do a regular relationship. I can’t do ‘I love you’s and feelings. I have my reasons, it’s complicated. I will fuck you and show you affection the way I know how to. So, I will come here, fuck you, challenge you and make you cum. I will teach you to push your limits. I saw what you needed the first time we met. I knew you would be mine. I knew you had more inside you than you knew. I knew you’d love the pain. It was all over you, the wanting. So, for the first and last time, yes you matter. You will matter until, perhaps, you won’t. We have no idea what will happen. Are we clear?”

I am dumbfounded. He had never spoken for so long and so openly before.

I struggle to get my thoughts together, “Yes. James, we are clear. I understand. Thank you for saying all that,” I whisper, still mentally reeling from his speech.

Taking a handful of my hair he pulls me close and kisses me, his mouth engulfing mine, his fingers tweaking my nipple, pinching it the way I love. The heat and throbbing fires up between my legs, and I grow wet. His hands reach under me and lifts me up to straddle his lap. I sink onto him, taking his full length inside me, deep. His hands hold mine pinned behind my back as he thrusts up into me, slamming into me. Feeling him grinding against my clit, the powerless sense of being held and restrained is so hot and erotic I cannot delay my orgasm. It spreads from my nub, up through my body. I spasm wildly, my muscles gripping him tighter, feeling him clench beneath me, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of my hips as he cums also.

Looking into each other’s eyes, breathing hard, sweating, I think to myself, “I think that was our first time making love…”

 –

Copyright, 2015, MsTsecretgarden.wordpress.com

All rights reserved.

Lost…

I don’t know what has happened to me.

My once ordered and predictable life is spinning out of control.

I am out of control.

I used to find my work difficult, and challenging, even emotionally draining at times, but I always found it rewarding and fulfilling.

Now?

Now I arrive at work, frequently hung-over, tired and cloudy-headed.

I am constantly distracted. I sit across from some poor, broken person. They tell me the dreadful, awful, unspeakable things that have happened to them.

Unforgivably, I find myself zoning out.

I can see it in their eyes that they know I am not fully present. These are people who are highly attuned to how others react. They have had to be hyper-observant and perceptive in order to survive.

They deserve better from me.

They have been dealt a bad enough hand in life without the one person they come to for help ending up being just another person letting them down.

Between clients appointments I sit at my desk, thinking about him.

Wondering when I will see him again.

Remembering the things he does to my body and the things I have done to his.

I have found my hands in my lap as I squirm on my seat.

More than once, my fingers have opened the buttons on my trousers and snuck down inside my underwear to satisfy my needs.

The next client must notice the flush in my cheeks.

I should feel completely ashamed of myself.

I am completely ashamed of myself.

I have had relationships before, but none as intense as this.

My past lovers shared my life. I knew them, not only physically, but intellectually, emotionally.

He shares very little of his life with me.

He is a public figure so of course, I have Googled him. I found this even more frustrating. Whomever he pays to manage his public image is worth every cent. Apart from basic, bland information, I have discovered nothing.

I am lost. I have a PhD in clinical psychology.

It is in my bones to ask questions, to probe, explore, listen. To gather information and analyse and dissect it.

And yet I have allowed myself to be completely overtaken by this man, who gives me nothing, except the most amazing, strange, revolutionary sex I have ever had.

I have unquestioningly accepted his terms…

When I am with him, we do what he wants.

He doesn’t want to share information, so he doesn’t.

We have talked. He is a great talker. He is funny, smart, insightful and asks me all about my life. He knows so much about me.

Apart from his sexual tastes I know next to nothing about him.

What I know…

He is a successful writer of dark, twisted thrillers.

He is six  years younger than me. “Oh god, does that make me a cougar?!”

He buys me the most beautiful flowers.

He has exquisite taste in many things. He takes me to amazing restaurants, drives a sexy-ass car. He wears a Patek Philippe watch.

He always looks impeccable, even when scruffy in jeans and converse sneakers.

He likes to eat well and favours red wine over white, usually a Shiraz.

He finds American comedians George Carlin, Bill Hicks, Rich Hall, Louis C.K. and Sarah Silverman hilarious.

He listens to Bob Dylan and  Neil Young in his car, along with other music I am not at all familiar with.

He is incredibly tender with me, but is also capable of cruelty and meanness.

He is one moment smiling and soft, and in a flash, his eyes darken, harden and turn cold, as if I have done something to anger him.

He enjoys hurting me, but never to any extreme.

He likes rough sex.

He likes to scare me and then fuck me.

He loves to give me pleasure. I have never been with him and he has not made sure I have at least one orgasm.

He tells me he finds my body beautiful and loves to look at it, with that familiar head tilt I find so arousing.

He studies me.

What I do not know…

Where he lives. As a public figure he keeps that information very private. I have never been invited to his house.

I have no phone number, except for his publishing house. No email.

If he has been married. His current bio on his website doesn’t state any marital status or children.

Anything about this childhood or past life.

Whether he snores. He has never stayed over.

What he eats for breakfast.

How he feels about me.

 –

What is even more confusing is me.

A year ago, I left a man I loved deeply, because I felt he bullied me and always tried to control our lives. He never really listened to my point of view about anything, but just dug his heels in until I gave way. He was never violent or aggressive, just bullish in his dominance. After years of feeling “less than” him, I talked it through in therapy and decided I had to find the strength to leave.

Why does this, (can I even call it a relationship?), feel so different?

I never felt valued by that man the way I do with this man.

This man seems to find me endlessly fascinating and intriguing. He laughs at my random observances. He leans in, with his head tilted just so, as he listens intently to my opinions or any story I am telling him.

He asks me about what scares me, what pleasures me, what angers me.

He files every piece of information away and uses it.

Even when he hurts or humiliates me, he always makes me feel like a goddess afterwards.

I know, I know, I should look into myself and ask the questions I would ask a client or a friend.

Why do I allow him to continue hurting me, scaring me, humiliating me?

Why do I enjoy it?

After finding the strength to leave one domineering man, why am I allowing another one to take so much control over me?

I am unwilling to do this.

I do not want to know the why or wherefore.

I do not want to break the spell.

I fear I might have no choice.

My Supervisor* has called me.

I have missed three therapy sessions that I am required, ethically and contractually, to attend in order to debrief about my clients and ensure I am staying healthy and well, for them and for myself.

My Supervisor is going to grill me.

He is excellent at what he does, and I am not sure I can hide my recent… what? growth? change? depravity?

I know I need to try to regain some control over my life and my desires.

When he is not with me I feel incomplete.

When he disappears, I buy too much wine and sit alone at home, drinking it and reading his books, staring at his bio photo on the reverse covers, my hands slipping inside my bathrobe, imaging they are his hands.

Drunken masturbation. How pathetic is that?

I know I need help…

I don’t want it.

*In therapy terms, Clinical Supervision, means that a counsellor or psychotherapist uses the services of another counsellor or psychotherapist to review their work with clients, their professional development, and often their personal development as well. Supervision is a professional service, rather than a managerial role. The supervisor acts not as a ‘boss’, but as a consultant.

 Copyright 2014 by MsT secretgarden. All rights reserved.

Room 1220

(NOTE: originally posted Sept 2nd as Story 1 but has been edited and altered to follow the post on Sept 17th, How It Began… if this is your first time here, I suggest you go directly to How It Began. Otherwise, I do hope you re-read and enjoy it!)

The elevator doors slide closed.

No one speaks.

We stand side by side, untouching, but I can see his chest rise and fall from the corner of my eye. I sense I am being watched and glance up sideways at him. His dark eyes are on me, his face expressionless. I have to look away, unable to take the scrutiny any longer. My breathing rate increases and I start to feel a slight flush creeping up my throat and cheeks.

The ride seems to take forever.

One by one, people dismount on different floors, until it is just the two of us left.

I expect him to turn towards me, but nothing changes. He continues to look at me, to inspect me as I stare forward, trying to control my breath and my pounding heart. I can smell his cologne, smoky and musky.

At last the doors open.

He leads me to Room 1220 that he has reserved and uses the card key to open the door for us.

Without warning I am thrust and pinned against the wall, his large hand easily encircles my throat and his mouth is on mine. Soft generous lips press against mine, in contrast to his stubbled beard, which is just the bearable side of painful against my skin. Our mouths open and his warm moist tongue meets mine and it is all I can do not to melt to the floor.

His hand is still clasped firmly around my jaw, keeping me upright on my feet.

He breaks the kiss and very slowly, very deliberately turns me around to face the wall. With one hand he pins my arms high above my head and moves his fingers down my throat to the neckline of my blouse, which he begins to unbutton unhurriedly. I can’t help it, I arch my back and expose my throat back to him, wishing he would kiss it, suck and bite it. He opens my blouse completely and releases my arms just long enough to pull it off me.

I feel his nose brush against the tiny hairs on the back of my neck, as his mouth makes it’s way over my shoulder bones, biting into the muscle at the base of my neck as he unclasps my bra at the back and allows it to fall off me.

His hand comes around to my front and he begins to pinch at my hardened nipple, his other hand still grasping my wrists against the wall above my head.

I arch my back and push my behind into his lap, feeling the hardness of his erection and he reaches down to hitch up my tight skirt over my thighs and hips.

The palm of his hand is between my legs, outside my underwear, pressing up against me. I grind myself against his hand and his fingers pull aside my damp underwear and slip inside me.

I am writhing with my face and breasts flat against the wall, thrusting my hips down onto his hand, feeling myself getting hotter and wetter.

Then he releases me completely.

I feel dazed, annoyed and let down.

Frustrated, I sigh out a low, irritated, “Fuuuuuck”.

I am spun around and slammed against the wall once more. The hint of a tiny smile plays around the corners of his mouth. His cold, dark eyes are locked onto mine.

Bending to accommodate my short height, he reaches down to encircle me and, with one arm, lifts me into a straddle position.

Unlike the last time, he allows me to wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck as he carries me to the bed.

I am placed lying onto the bed as if I were made of glass.

He stands upright and allows his hard gaze to travel from my eyes, over my breasts, over my hips and thighs, down to my feet and back again.

He unzips my skirt, pulls it roughly down over my hips, which I arch to help him, and discards it on the floor. I lie there as he towers over me, again his eyes taking in every inch of me.

I have never felt as exposed as this before. I am aware of the growing wetness between my legs and that it must be visible through my thin underwear.

He stands between my legs and, never taking his eyes from mine, strips off his crisp white shirt, undoes his leather belt, unzips his trousers and they fall to the floor.

This is the first time I have really seen his body.

I just about stop the breath from being caught in my throat. The size of him excites me. I cannot take my eyes from him. I feel my breath quickening as I look over his broad defined chest, to his toned torso and down to the biggest, most delicious looking erection I have ever seen.

“Look. At. Me”, the first words, familiar to me, he has spoken since we met downstairs breaks me out of my trance.

I shift my gaze back up to his face and I watch as he lowers himself down, his eyes staying connected with mine, and he pulls off my last piece of underwear.

He discards it and presses my legs wide open onto the bed and simply looks at me. I squirm under his persistent gaze and he tightens his grip on my thighs to stop me.

He dips his head down and I feel his nose trace my outline and nuzzle into me. His tongue runs along the crease between my leg and pubic area, down my thigh mad back up. I feel a gentle breeze on me and I realise he is softly blowing on me there, cooling down my pulsing blood.

I cannot bear this exquisite torture much longer and try rubbing myself against his face. I hear a low chuckle as he finally sinks his face deep between my legs. I close my eyes and try to remember to breathe.

His tongue begins to make lazy, slow circles, altering pressure, then pace and direction until I do not know what he will do next. He slips his tongue deep inside me, his hand resting on my abdomen. My head spins as I feel his thumb begin to firmly rub in circular motions against my clitoris. His other hand is underneath me, lifting my hips up so he can go further and further inside me.

Just as I feel that I am about to come uncontrollably, he stops, once again leaving me exasperated and frustrated.

He lifts his head and moves himself up the bed until he is over me, his rock hard hips spreading my thighs wide open. His eyes look hard and his lips glisten with my wetness. He leans down to kiss me and I feel a sudden shock of pain and the metallic taste of my own blood and I realise he has bitten down into my lip. He sucks my lip.

He kisses me roughly and then he is deep inside. I gasp as the burning sensation of the size of him catches my breath in my throat. He looks down at me, becomes still, then moving in a very slow, gentle rocking motion he allows my body time to adjust to him.

“Look at me”, he commands me again. Our eyes lock and something very powerful seems to pass between us.

I recall the last time where we reached an unspoken agreement that he can do anything he choses to me and I will allow it.

As we fuck, as he rides me, he raises his body up from my chest, the muscles in his shoulders and forearms flexing under his own weight and looks down between our legs.

He orders me to do the same and we both look down to where our bodies meet, hips grinding against hips, my stomach glistening with sweat against his dark torso hair. I watch him thrusting in and out of me and feel that I am going to come again.

His hand slips down, resting his palm on my pelvis, as his fingers once again dip between my legs to work on me as he continues to thrust hard into me.

This is exquisitely unbearable. I watch his body move and flex over me, sweat dripping down his torso.

I feel the uncontrollable orgasm coming over me.

Once again, “LOOK. AT. ME”.

Feeling powerless and vulnerable, I look up into his eyes, so dark it is hard to make out the pupil from the surrounding deep blue and I simply allow the pleasure to take over me.

I know no shame or self-consciousness as I cry out and spasm from the strongest orgasm I have ever experienced, even better than the last time in my kitchen.

His body tenses and his eyes close involuntarily as he comes to his own climax. I feel his hot release inside of me and his sweat makes his body slippery between my thighs. His face is beautiful, his wavy hair damp with sweat at his neckline.

Just as he finishes I hear him breathe out.

Very low, very softly, he says my name.

We lie together for a while, catching our breath, then he lifts himself up and looks down at me, smiling that roguish smile he has.

“Let’s eat,” and he is gone from the bed and is calling room service, ordering two steaks, rare and a bottle of Shiraz.

“What if I don’t like steak?” I ask as I roll over onto my front.

“Do you?”

“Well… yes,” (Fuck it, I should’ve seen that coming.)

“So, we don’t have a problem then,” and he slaps me across my behind. It hurts less than I would have expected and I actually giggle, which makes him laugh and I feel as if I have struck gold. Making him laugh lights me up.

“So, is this how it works? You are always in charge?” I decide I have to ask.

“Is that a problem for you?” he tilts his head at an angle, watching me, “When we are together, yes I am in charge, as you put it. I might decide sometimes to let you take over, but only when I decide.”

“Wow! That’s me told then,” I think.

“Ok,” I say.

The steaks arrive and we eat.

 

  Copyright 2014 by MsT secretgarden. All rights reserved.