Page 13 of Changing the Playbook
My brain short-circuits. He’s already given me one earth-shattering orgasm, already proven he’s more attentive than any man I’ve been with, and now he’s offering more. Mostguys would be fumbling with their boxers by now, not asking permission to extend the foreplay.
But there’s something I’ve always wanted, something I’ve been too embarrassed to ask for with my limited roster of one-night stands. The way Mike watches me—intent and patient and genuinely fascinated—makes me brave enough to voice it.
“I want to be on top.” Heat floods my face, but I push through. “I’ve never really… I mean, I have, but not… properly.”
His whole face transforms, lighting up like I’ve offered him season tickets to his favorite team. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His enthusiasm bolsters my confidence. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to really be in control.”
Mike presses a tender kiss to my forehead before rolling onto his back. The loss of his weight leaves me bereft, but then I watch him reach for his jeans, fishing out his wallet. The condom goes on the nightstand, and he lies back, hands coming to rest on my hips as I shift to straddle him.
The position change shifts everything. I’m above him now, looking down at his face, and the view is… intoxicating isn’t strong enough. Devastating, maybe. The way his eyes darken as they travel up my body. The way his fingers flex against my thighs like he’s restraining himself from gripping harder.
“Can I touch your clit while you’re on top?” His thumb traces patterns on my hip bone that scramble my thoughts.
The question stops me cold. “What? But we’re about to have sex. Why would you need to touch me there? Isn’t that just… foreplay?”
Something flashes across his face—frustration, possibly anger—and my stomach plummets. Of course. I’ve ruined it by being too inexperienced, too hesitant to do something that he asked, or too naive about what real sex is supposed to?—
“I’m not angry at you.” His voice cuts through my spiral, firm and sure. “I’m angry at every guy who’s ever made you thinkyour pleasure is optional. Who didn’t pay attention to what you needed. Who didn’t know you deserve to be touched everywhere, every second, for as long as it feels good.”
The words lodge in my throat like shards of glass. A one-night stand is supposed to be simple and physical and primal. Not… this. Not him looking at me like I deserve something more than efficient friction and a perfunctory “was it good for you?”
“I want to touch your clit while I’m inside you.” He repeats, matter-of-factly, without judgment. “I want to make sure you feel good. OK?”
I nod, speech beyond me. This veers dangerously close to emotional territory I’ve marked off-limits, but my body isn’t concerned with my rules. In fact, the rest of my body has staged a protest and is blocking the highway that gets rational thoughts from my brain to anywhere else.
Mike’s fingers slip between us, finding exactly where I need them with the same confident precision he showed earlier. The first touch makes me gasp—still sensitive from before—but in a way that promises rather than overwhelms.
My eyes close, and behind closed lids, images unspool: riding him while he touches me like this, the dual sensation of being filled and stroked, the control of setting my own pace while he?—
“What are you thinking about?” His voice comes out rough, affected. “You just made this sound, and your face…”
When my eyes open, he’s watching me with a smile and a focus that’s so intense and singular and completely devoted to this moment.
“I was thinking about how this would feel if you were inside me.”
The smile that curves his lips should be illegal. “Let’s find out.”
Mike’s thumbs hook under the waistband of his boxer briefs, and I watch, transfixed, as he pushes them down. The fabricslides over his hips, revealing the sharp V of muscle that arrows downward, and then?—
Oh.
My breath catches. I’ve seen naked men before—quick glimpses in dim lighting, hurried moments focused more on destination than journey—but this is… well…
Mike issubstantialin every sense of the word.
His cock is thick and hard and somehow both intimidating and perfect. And I gasp when I see a bead of moisture at the tip, evidence of how much this is affecting him too.
“Sophie?” His voice carries gentle concern as he notices my eyes locked onto him. “You OK?”
“You’re…” I search for words that won’t sound ridiculous. Beautiful? Impressive? Everything I didn’t know I was missing? “Really… wow.”
Pink stains his cheekbones, but his grin turns wolfish. “I’m glad you noticed, Soph.”
My laugh surprises us both, a nervous energy finding release. “Kind of hard to miss.”
He grins as he reaches for the condom, movements efficient but unhurried. The wrapper crinkles as he tears it open, and I watch his hands as he pinches the tip and rolls the latex down his length. Even through the barrier, he’s formidable.
