Page 61 of Sliding into Love
"I know. So let me make it up to you. Let me show you that I'm different now."
"Oh, I intend to." They release my wrists, sitting up to start unbuttoning their shirt. "But on my terms, Kenneth. We do this my way."
"Yes," I breathe, watching as they reveal more skin. "Whatever you want. However you want it."
They smirk, shrugging out of their shirt. "Good answer."
When they're finally bare above me, I can't help but reach out, my hands spanning their waist. This time they allow it, but when I try to pull them down for a kiss, they resist.
"Impatient," they chide, but there's heat in their voice now.
"You have no idea," I admit. "I've been thinking about this—about you—for years."
"Then you can wait a little longer." They shift off me long enough to remove the rest of their clothes, then mine, until we're both finally naked. The city lights paint patterns across their skin, and they're so beautiful it makes my chest ache.
They settle back over me, skin to skin, and we both groan at the contact. But when I try to roll us over, to take some control, they push me back down.
"No," they say firmly. "I'm in charge here. You don't get to take over just because you're used to being the bigger person."
The words strike deep in me—the acknowledgment that I've spent so much of my life trying to control everything, to be perfect, to live up to impossible standards. But here, now, with Royce, I don't want that. I want to give them everything.
"Okay," I say, relaxing back into the mattress. "Okay, you're in charge. Everything you need is in the drawer over there."
There’s a flicker in their expression—surprise, maybe, or approval. They lean down, kissing me again, but softer this time. Almost tender.
"I'm still angry," they murmur against my lips. "But I also want you. And I hate that I want you."
"I know," I say, running my hands up their back. "Use me. Take what you need. I'm yours, Royce. However you want me."
They pull back to look at me, searching my face. Then they reach over to the nightstand, pulling out supplies, and my heart rate kicks up another notch.
"Tell me if it's too much," they say, and beneath the commanding tone, I hear genuine care.
"I will. But I doubt it will be."
They prepare me slowly, thoroughly, and it's a unique kind of torture—their fingers inside me, stretching and filling, while they watch my reactions with those intense eyes. Every time I get close, they pull back, keeping me on edge.
"Royce, please," I finally beg. "I need?—"
"I know what you need." They remove their fingers, taking the time to roll on a condom. Then I feel the blunt pressure of them against me. "But remember, we do this on my terms. My pace."
They push inside slowly, so slowly, and I have to grip the sheets to keep from losing my mind. They feel incredible, perfect, like they were made to fill me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone inside me. Despite the burn, my body seems to welcome Royce like it knows they’re who we’ve been waiting for. Like it knows mydry spellwas because no one could ever feel likethis.
When they're fully seated, they pause, both of us breathing hard. The city lights cast shadows across their face, and in this moment, they look almost vulnerable despite being the one in control.
"Okay?" they ask, their voice softer.
"More than okay," I manage. "Perfect. You're perfect."
They start to move, setting a rhythm that's maddeningly slow at first. But as I moan beneath them, as I whisper their name like a prayer, they pick up the pace. Their hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, and I love it. I love the marks they're leaving on me.
"Kenny," they gasp, and hearing my nickname in that moment feels significant.
"Yes," I breathe. "God, yes, Royce. Take what you want. I'm yours."
They lean down, bracing themselves on their forearms, and the new angle makes us both cry out. Their forehead rests against mine, our breath mingling, and it's intense and intimate and raw.
