The moment he says it, your breath catches.
"Tonight," he says, eyes locked on yours, sitting in the center of the bed with his arms relaxed behind him. "You take the lead."
Your brows lift—uncertain.
"You'll touch me how I touch you.""Speak to me how I speak to you.""Tease me. Control me. Keep me on edge."
He smirks.
"But you don't come tonight. Only I do."
You blink. "Sir—"
"No.""No more Sir tonight. If you're going to do this right, you don't ask me for permission.""You own it. Like I own you."
Your heartbeat spikes.
It's not just about taking control.It's about doing it exactly the way he would—Measured. Focused. Deliciously cruel.
"If you can't make me beg," he adds softly, "you're not trying hard enough."
You start slow.
You straddle him—hands on his chest, mouth brushing along the line of his jaw.
Your voice drops.You whisper what he usually says to you.
"Stay still.""Don't move unless I tell you."
He smiles, surprised.But his body responds.Already hard under you, already shifting with tension.
You grind your hips against his—barely—enough to make his breath stutter.
"You're not allowed to come until I say," you murmur, dragging your nails down his stomach."And I might not say."
His head tips back.You press kisses to his throat. His chest. His hipbones.Everywhere but where he needs it.
"Getting desperate, baby?"you ask, voice soft but firm."You wanted me in control."
And then—you stop.
You slide off him.
He groans. Loud. Frustrated.
"Where the fuck are you going?"
"Don't move,"you snap, spinning toward the drawer.
You pull out the toy he uses on you—the one that makes your thighs shake.
You hold it up.
"Let's see how well you handle denial, sweetheart."
He's lying there—back against the pillows, chest rising fast, arms tensed at his sides.Your thighs straddle his hips, but you haven't let him inside you. Not once.Not yet.
You're naked.He's naked.The room smells like sweat and power and restraint.
The toy buzzes quietly in your hand—the one he used to torment you with night after night.
Tonight, it's his turn.
You press it just above where he needs it, circling slowly, barely applying pressure.
"You look beautiful like this,"you murmur, brushing your thumb across the head of his cock."All stretched out, desperate. Quiet for now... but not for long."
He grits his teeth.You see it in his jaw—the fight to stay composed.
"I thought you said you could handle control, Sir."
He glares. But he doesn't speak.Because if he does—if he tells you to stop—it's your win.
You trail kisses down his chest, taking your time.
Then you shift lower, brushing the toy along his thighs, his hips, never quite where he wants it.
His thighs twitch.
His breath stutters.
His fists clench in the sheets.
"You're not even close to breaking yet, are you?"you whisper, licking a stripe just below his navel."I want to see you fight it. I want to hear you say you can't take another second."
And then you give him just enough.
One swipe. One flick. The toy barely grazing him.
He moans—loud and raw—and his hips lift off the mattress.
"Stay. Still."Your voice is sharp now.Commanding.His own tone, thrown back at him.
He growls. "Fuck."
You smile.
"That's one."
"You beg before three,"you purr, lips ghosting over the tip of his cock,"and I win."
You edge him again.And again.
Pressure building.Muscles tightening.His hands now gripping the headboard just to keep from grabbing you.
You watch his chest rise fast. His eyes go glassy. His voice gone from holding in the groans.
Then—
"Baby... please."
The word slips.
Your eyes go wide.A beat of silence.
You set the toy down.
Climb over him slowly.Face-to-face now.
"Please what?"You ask it like you've never heard him say it before.
He swallows.
His voice cracks.
"Please let me come.""I can't hold it.""I need you."
You lean down.Kiss him softly.
And whisper—
"Not yet."