Page 22 of Naked Coffee Guy
“Wait.” The word escapes my lips before I can stop it. He stops immediately, loosening his hold. I could slip my wrists from under his hands, but I leave them where they are, breathing heavy. I got my way, he stopped. But I can’t help feeling like I lost something in the process.
“What do you want?” He licks his lips, his hands remaining loose in their hold.
I don’t speak. I can’t. How do you even say it out loud, that you want to be the director of this unfolding scene? I’ve never had to say anything before. I’m starting to think I never chose a man who would even think to question me if I took charge.
Mac is not that man. But damnit if I don’t try again.
I wriggle out from under him, moving him so that he’s on his back and I’m on top. He catches my hands again before I can even move to undress him, and I can’t bite back my groan of my frustration.
“What. Do. You. Want.” He repeats each word slowly, his eyes burning into mine in a way that leaves me feeling naked, even though not one stitch of clothing has been removed.
“I want…” I breathe hard out of my nose, wrenching my wrists from his grip. He just lies there, a slow smirk spreading over his face. I’m still straddling him, and I can feel him growing hard under me. The bastard is actually turned on by our battle of wills.
I leap off him but he’s quicker, grabbing me by the waist and sitting me on the bed. He towers over me, his hands on each side of my hips. I hold my ground, refusing to budge even as his face draws closer.
“You like to call the shots, don’t you?” His eyes gleam as they hold mine, and my breath comes out in short pants at his proximity. I bite my lip, fighting the intense urge to just let him have his way with me. “Say it, Maren.”
It’s his way of swinging the pendulum in his direction. I know this, but I answer him anyway.
“I want to be in control.”
“No.”
The word shocks me. I stare at him, waiting for him to take it back and give me the reins. But he doesn’t.
“I am not a man who is told what to do, in bed or out, and if that makes you uncomfortable, you should walk out that door right now.”
“And what if I stay?” I bite back. I should leave. I have the freedom to leave. And yet, I stay where I am, his face inches from mine. He’s close enough to kiss. Close enough to slap. “If I stay, what say do I have?”
“If you stay, you’re agreeing to this. You’re agreeing to submit.”
I bristle, averting my eyes. He takes my chin and moves it so that I’m looking at him again.
“You don’t like that word, do you?”
I shake my head. I try to move my head again, but his grip is firm.
“Do you have any idea how much power you actually have when you submit?”
The question catches me off guard. When I think of submission, I think of dependency. I think of all the times I’ve been let down in life when I’ve depended on anyone. The word submit is dangerous to me. It’s not one of power, it’s one of weakness.
But I can’t say this to Mac. I’m willing to fuck him; I’m not willing to let him in my head by knowing any of my secrets.
I get up from the bed, and this time he steps aside to allow me to pass. I don’t leave, and I wonder if that surprises him. Instead, I move to the windows, watching the waves crash under the moonlight.
“What are you thinking?”
I sigh at his question, then slowly turn around. I lean against the window, the cool glass seeping through the thin fabric of my jacket.
“This is new for me,” I admit. “Not the casual sex, that’s all I ever do anymore. But the roles. I don’t…” I pause, trying to find the right words for what I’m feeling, because I’m not even sure I know. “Just like you, I don’t like being told what to do,” I finally say.
He nods, moves toward me and takes my hand. This time I don’t fight back. I let him lead me to the bed, and he sits next to me.
“What if I ask you instead?”
I look at him, eyebrow arched, trying to decipher what he means.
“I won’t tell you what to do,” he explains. “But I’ll ask for your permission.”