Taking Control

by Jen Frederick

  Her eyes are wide and glazed. At the sight of my erotic gesture, she tightens around me, and I feel familiar flutters signaling the start of an orgasm. “Not yet, bunny,” I tell her and pull out until just the tip is inside her.

  “Don’t be mean.” She scowls and tries to push down on me.

  “I’m not.” I lean over and tongue one hard nipple and then the other. “A little anticipation never hurt anyone.”

  She thumps a small fist against my shoulder, but I can’t feel it. All sensation has pooled in my groin. I push forward slowly, in tiny measures, so that my cock can enjoy the slow burn that my fingers experienced. My thumbs massage her shoulders and her small muscled arms. I want to do this forever, simply working myself in and out of her tight, hot cunt until our breath has gone and our bodies turn to dust.

  Only Tiny exists now.

  When I close my eyes, it’s her face I see. When my fingers curl, it’s because they long to stroke her silky skin. When I breathe, it’s her scent in my nose. There are no other women but her.

  “I love you,” I tell her, feathering kisses along her jawline and behind her ear. I palm the top of her ass cheeks to press her tight against me, to show her how I want her to meet my thrusts. She plants her small heels in the mattress and grinds up against me. My world is narrowed to her flesh meeting mine. “I need you.”

  “You’re everything,” she moans. I reach between us to press my thumb against her clit. As she arches into me, her hushed whimpers turn into louder gasps when I circle it repeatedly. The sounds she makes are like the spark from a flint, and it’s setting us both ablaze. Trembling with desire, she writhes and pumps against me, seeking relief from the growing ache overtaking her body.

  The erotic motion of her undulations combined with her breathless whimpers are my undoing.

  “Come for me then,” I command through gritted teeth. I press into her harder, the sounds of our bodies slapping together matching the moans from her mouth in symphonic pleasure.

  Relentlessly, I pound against her, driving her farther and farther along the bed. With her hips canted upward and her heels digging into the backs of my thighs she has little leverage. All she can do is open herself to me and the never-ending assault of my cock into the sweet suck of her cunt. My orgasm is racing down my spine, the tension pooling at the base just waiting to surge forward and spill inside her. But not until she comes first.

  “Tell me, bunny, how hot are you? How badly do you want to come right now?”

  “So bad,” she croaks.

  “I want you to milk me, to squeeze me tight and come all over my dick.”

  She’s shaking below me, every inch of her is stretched taut. Behind me I can feel her feet curling inward, and below me her body tenses. She’s so close, and I love how she reaches for her pleasure, strives toward it. With a grunt of male gratification, I take matters into my own hand and slap her lightly across the clit. The sting of the slap catches her off guard. She cries out, first in surprise and then in a long, heat-inducing wail. “Oh God, Ian…”

  I can’t hold back for another second. Roaring my own satisfaction, I let go. My rhythm turns to shit as the animal in me takes over. I lift her legs straight up into the air, holding them together. The position creates a tight channel of flesh, and I fuck her relentlessly until I’m nothing more than a mass of exposed nerves and flesh.

  In her, I’m completely lost. There’s no sense of time or space…just her. I drive into her again and again but it’s never enough. I can’t fuck her hard enough, long enough, deep enough to satisfy me. I’ll return to her and only her, time and time again seeking the release that I know I’ll only ever have from her body.

  She makes me lose my mind and all my control, and I fucking love it. Her amazing pussy is the only one I’ll ever want to touch, taste, fuck, fantasize about. She’s everything to me. Everything.

  Collapsing next to her, I soothe her post-climax shudders and allow her to do the same. A tangle of arms and legs, we kiss, savoring each other and telling each other how precious and important the other is.

  “My heart,” she says between kisses, “you’re my heart.”

  “Mine too,” I answer.

  The night air cools the sweat on our skin, causing Tiny to shiver. Pulling a sheet over her, I drag my ass out of bed. In the bathroom, I grab a washcloth. Tiny moans in relief and appreciation when I press the cloth against her to clean her up. She pulls up the covers, and I climb in next to her.

  She cuddles up to me, her leg slung over my thighs. “Ian…” she says. “I want to tell you something.”

  “Hmmm?” My mind is on other things. The need to bind her to me permanently rides me hard. “I want us to get married. Soon. Do you want a big wedding?”

  “Married? I mean, I guess I thought you were serious, but I figured…I don’t know.” Her voice trails off.

  “That my proposal of marriage was somehow insincere? I’ve never wanted anything more. I just didn’t want to pressure you because of all the emotional upheaval you’re experiencing now.” Rolling over so she can see me and judge the sincerity for herself, I declare, “I want you to be my wife. The mother of any children we have. My partner in life. I want that to happen now so that I can introduce you as Mrs. Ian Kerr.”

  Her eyes close for a moment and silent tears leak out beneath the lids. Her words, though, are classic. “Maybe you should take my name. You can be Ian Corielli, and I’ll introduce you as Mr. Victoria Corielli.”

  “As long as it means you’re mine in the eyes of the world, I’ll be Mr. John Smith.”

  She wraps her arms around my neck and clings to me. This time the shudders I’m soothing are from maybe, possibly, hopefully joy for our future. “I’m okay with Victoria Kerr,” she chokes out. “You better give me a big rock and lots of flowers since you’re proposing to me while we’re naked.”

  “I proposed to you when I first took you to the house on the Long Island Sound.”

  “You didn’t propose. You said that you wanted me to be your wife and fill your big house with lots of little people.”

  “That’s a proposal.”

  “It was a demand.”

  “It was a request couched as a demand.”

  Her body is shaking with laughter. “You’ve been in charge for too long. That was no request.”

  Pushing to my knees, I reach into the nightstand and retrieve the box I bought before Sophie died. Her eyes grow huge and her hands come up to the cover her mouth. I flip the box lid open, pluck the ring out, and toss the box aside.

  Lifting her shaking hand in mine, I slide the ring onto her finger.

  “When I was fifteen, I made a hundred different stupid vows. I’d avenge my mother. I’d rise to the top of Wall Street and smite everyone down. I’d crush Richard Howe beneath the sole of my boot. I’d win at everything. But I never wished for happiness because I didn’t know what it was until you came into my life. How could I want something I didn’t know I was missing? Now, everything I’ve achieved pales in comparison to having you love me. When I say that you’re my heart, my everything, those aren’t just words. They are the only truth in my world. I’d give up money, revenge, success—anything, as long as I can lie down next to you at night and wake up with your face beside mine.

  “There is no greater achievement in my life than having you fall in love with me, and I recognize on some mysterious level that that is pure luck. I need you to marry me and be my wife. I need you to be the mother of my children. I need you because without you I am nothing. I am a pile of bones and flesh filled with misery. You bring me to life. Love me, marry me, be with me in this life and all the ones we live from this point ever after.”

  “Well, since you put it like that, I guess I must.” She rises and kisses me. Our mouths seal the promises we’ve made to one another.

  “What was it that you wanted to tell me?” I ask.

  “That I love you.” She pulls me down to her, the thin but precious metal rubbing against my shou
lder blade.

  I make love to her again then, slowly. We barely move. I simply slide in and we rock together, allowing the strength of our emotions to carry us into the heavens.

  SIXTEEN

  “DID SOMETHING GET DELIVERED this morning?” Tiny asks as we get ready for our trip to Connecticut. The sound of the garage door lifting on the street floor had jarred her awake, and she’d jumped in the shower before I could convince her that we needed an early morning fuck to start the day off right.

  “Yes, something for our trip,” I say, rinsing off my blade. She’s sitting on the edge of the vanity watching me shave, a towel wrapped around her wet hair. I’m surprised at how much I enjoy the domesticity of living with a woman, but a lot of that could be attributed to one particular female rather than the situation itself.

  Before, if I brought a woman here—which was rare—I couldn’t wait for her to leave. I actually stopped bringing women to the warehouse at all after one woman refused to get out. I got dressed and waited silently at the stairs until she got the message. I still see her occasionally out at charitable events—the city’s social scene can be unbearably small at times. She’ll glare at me, whisper something derogatory to a friend, and inevitably try to feel me up toward the end of the evening in an effort to prove I’d made the wrong choice. I don’t miss the days of being single.

  “I still don’t know how you can use that without cutting yourself.” Her gaze watches my every motion intently. Shaving fascinates her because I’m old school, using a straight-edge razor and badger bristle brush. There have been several mornings where I was late getting into my office because she took a very personal interest in my morning routine. Who knew the badger brush would feel so good on my cock?

  “Practice.” She hands me a damp towel, which I use to wipe off the residual soap. Leaning close, I rub my cheek against hers. “How’s it feel?”

  “Soft. Smooth.” She strokes my other cheek a minute, and I close my eyes to enjoy the caress. No, I wouldn’t ever kick Tiny out of my place. I want to keep her here forever.

  “Want a little relief before we go?” I drop my hand between us and press against the damp cloth covering her legs.

  “No,” she mutters grumpily and pushes me away. “I don’t want a quickie. I want that.” She points to the thick erection poking out of my briefs.

  “It’s all yours, bunny.” I spread my hands wide, giving her the choice. It’s not like an hour delay is going to kill us.

  With a wry look, she hops down and heads for the closet. “I’m tempted to say yes, but I do want to get out the city this weekend, and I’m afraid if I take you up on your offer, we’ll never leave.”

  She’s right. I follow her into the closet and pull on a pair of old faded jeans, a white ribbed wife beater, and a beige linen collarless shirt. I do a couple of buttons in the middle but let it hang open. Because I’ve dressed quickly, I’m able to sit on the padded bench in the dressing room and watch Tiny finish changing. I make a mental note to thank Frank for suggesting the bench. I can think of about a dozen things I’ll be able to use it for when Tiny and I don’t have plans that involve leaving the warehouse.

  She has new panties on—light purple with a keyhole opening decorated with strings tied into a bow right above her ass crack. I wonder if I tug on the strings whether the panties will fall right off. I lick my lips in anticipation.

  Her beautiful breasts swing lightly as she bends over to pull up a pair of denim shorts that have interesting rips in them. “I hope you don’t wear those out in public.” I can see the lower part of her ass cheek through one of the rips.

  “These are my beach shorts. I usually wear them over a bathing suit.”

  Her explanation is given matter-of-factly, as if they weren’t the most delectable, tantalizing pair of shorts ever. Golden skin peeks through from loose threads that are barely held together by the side seams whenever she moves. The hint of flesh is more erotic than a bare ass.

  “I didn’t read about any of the beaches around here closing because of riots.”

  “Ha. Ha.” She mock laughs. “While I think it’s great you’re in love with my ass, no one else is.”

  “You’re wrong, but I don’t mind that you think there’s only one man for you.”

  She slides her arms into a short-sleeved, red-checkered plaid shirt with pearl snaps. The western-style shirt is tailored and accentuates her narrow waist and round hips.

  “Let’s go,” I say abruptly. We need to get on the road, or she’ll be bent over the bench in about two seconds. There are only three small pieces of clothing separating me from her body. With a sigh and uncomfortably tight pants, I pick up our two carryalls and head down to the garage. Tiny’s right behind me.

  “My god, what is this?” she exclaims at the sight of the delivery.

  “It’s an Aston Martin Vanquish Volante.” I place our luggage in the trunk, noting the picnic basket I’d asked for sitting neatly to the side. On the front seat I see a pair of Aviators, a wide-brimmed straw hat, and a scarf. Great service. I make a mental note to do business with the dealership again, even if this car doesn’t suit.

  Tiny trails her hands along the bright white paint above the door handle. “It’s very shiny.”

  “It’s not as fast as some coupes like the Ferrari 458, but it’s more comfortable. Plus, it’s an automatic.” I pat the rear fender.

  “You’re saying this like it matters to me.”

  “It should. I bought it for you.”

  “But I don’t drive.” She’s still circling the car. She might not drive, but I can see the car interests her. It’s a two-door soft top convertible, which will be perfect for summer months in Connecticut.

  “Figured you could learn. When we’re in Connecticut, it’ll be harder to get around without a car, and I want you to be able to go places if I’m not around.”

  “I could bike.”

  “Sure. But you could also drive. You won’t convince me you aren’t even a little tempted.” I glance pointedly at her hands, which are still running over the edge of the glossy white exterior. It’s a loving gesture—a caress. And it signals what I rarely see in her for anything but me. A little desire. A little want. She asks me for so little, and I want to give her so much.

  “You’ve already given me this.” She waves her ring finger at me. “I’m convinced that I could buy a small country with it.”

  I shrug lightly. She isn’t wrong. The five-carat emerald cut baguette diamond on a thin white-gold band did cost as much as a small country’s gross domestic product, but that’s information she doesn’t need to know. If she did, she wouldn’t wear the ring out of the house. “It’s non-returnable, so I guess we’ll never know.”

  She rolls her eyes. She knows it’s expensive, but by mutual agreement, we’re not going to discuss the cost.

  “How do I get in this thing?” she says after several moments of silent contemplation.

  I press down on the LED buttons on the side, and the flush-mounted door handle swings out.

  “Very fancy,” she says, picking up the items left on the seat and climbing in. “I feel very…Thelma and Louise.”

  “A convertible, hat, and sunglasses make you feel like an outlaw on the run ready to run off a cliff and die?” I ask incredulously. Slipping on my own Aviators, I slide into the driver’s seat, hit a button, and watch the garage door roll up.

  “Not the dying part but maybe a little outlaw.” She plops the hat on and wrinkles her nose. “How is this going to stay on?”

  “I think that’s what the scarf is for.”

  With a push of a button, the engine revs to life and we roar into the street, the over five-hundred horsepower engine rumbling loudly on the pavement. She shoots me an elated grin. Yeah, she likes the car. I smile back at her before switching my attention to the street. Out of my periphery I can see her arranging and rearranging her hat and scarf. The low speed of the city traffic makes it possible for us to talk.

  “How c
ome you aren’t making Steve drive me around in Connecticut?” she asks, fiddling with the various buttons and controls on the dash.

  “Because I figured you’d like to be in charge of your transportation outside the city. I know I do.”

  “Why don’t you drive yourself here if you like it so much?”

  “It’s easier to get things done if you have a driver. No waiting around. No trying to find a place to park. If I’m stuck in crosstown traffic for an hour, I can read three analysts’ reports. It’s not a waste. Outside the city, though, it’s nice to be in charge.”

  She nods and sits back, a hand trailing outside the door. Tiny’s had so much of her life torn away. Her mother died. She’s had to move. I think she feels a little lost, and if giving her the ability to drive, the ability to move about on her own, can restore a little control in her life it can only be a good thing.

  As we merge onto the Connecticut Turnpike headed north toward the sound, the traffic thins. It’s Saturday morning. Tiny’s getting quieter, and conversation grinds to a halt as she stares out the window. The windshield is helping to reduce drag, but her hair is whipping about like crazy. She looks gorgeous, but a little somber.

  “Thinking about your mother?”

  She gives me a rueful smile. “Yes, sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I miss her too.”

  She sighs. “I was just thinking about how much she would like to have gone with us. Not to see the place but the trip. Getting out of the city. When she was sick, sometimes she couldn’t leave the apartment because of the risk of infection. Even some random cough on the street could affect her low immune system. Then when she got better, we made this pact to go places…” She pauses and rubs a finger over the hand-stitched infinity rings in the leather. “But we were limited by our funds. We didn’t have much.”

  My heart aches. When Tiny and I met, her fifth-floor walkup had been dingy and small and impossible for her mother to navigate. It was desperate circumstances that allowed me to walk into her life and redirect the course of events. There was only one event I couldn’t change: Sophie Corielli’s death. All the money in the world can’t stop a person from suffering loss. Tiny thinks that the gulf between her having no money and me having so much of it is sometimes too large of a gap for us to maneuver, but money is nothing.