She pushes her chest out as she shrugs it off, but she doesn’t let it fall to the floor. She holds it out to the side in a loose grip, as my eyes travel over every inch of her skin, eventually making it to her face. Her eyes sparkle like priceless diamonds as she releases the blouse.

“I love you in lace,” I whisper.

She says nothing and starts on her trousers, my body temperature rising fast, my hands sweating, itching to grab her. Ava O’Shea, oh what you do to me. Take her. No, give her this time. Take her, she’s yours. No, let her have this moment.

Her hands pause in the tops of her trousers, and I look at her. She’s loving my condition. I’m loving my condition. Make her promise to never leave you.

I’m on fire, and never has being burned felt so good. I peek up through my lashes, finding nothing but pure, justified satisfaction plastered all over her face. “I could rip them off in two seconds flat.”

“But you won’t,” she says confidently. “You’ll wait.” She kicks her shoes off with a little too much force, and they land with a thud across the room.

I smile on the inside. She’s making the most of this. “Taking this a bit far, aren’t you?” It’s me who’s taking this too far, and I’m suddenly regretting it. I’m setting a rod for my own back, giving her a false perception of what our relationship will be like. The control in our bed has to stay with me, no question, because I feel like there is little control elsewhere.

She smiles and shimmies out of her trousers, and I’m hit between the eyes by more lace. That’s it. I’m done. I’m taking the control back. I reach for her.

“No,” she warns, and I halt, looking at her in surprise. No?

“Fuck you,” I growl.

Her smile is demure. “Please do.”

Oh? I grin darkly on the inside. And there it is. She doesn’t want the control. She just wants me. And, like she’s done to me, I will make her sweat. I grab her and place her on the worktop, my mind spinning, conjuring up a plan, putting myself between her legs. Her warm, slender, long legs. Legs that were made the perfect length and shape to wrap around my waist. I don’t think I could have crafted a woman so perfect. I take her waist and pull her snuggly into me. Perfect. I roll my hips into her. Perfect. She breathes in, releasing the air on a shallow moan. Perfect. She holds me around my neck. Fucking perfect.

“I thought I was in charge,” she whispers, hoarse and low. Perfect.