It was different this time.
He hasn’t topped me for months. We fuck all the time but it’s been fairly straight-forward fucking. I didn’t feel close enough to him. I didn’t want him to hurt me, I didn’t want him to hold me, I didn’t want him. He pushed me away for so long I finally pushed back. I stopped trying to fight his distance and just let him be.
So there we were, together but so far apart. Co-pilots in auto-pilot as we ran the show and the days turned into weeks turned into “this isn’t working”.
But last night he loved me. I know he’s loved me all along but I don’t mean the kind of love that builds when you are connected the way we are, I mean in that moment he loved me, ‘love’ the action word, not the feeling.
I could see it in his smile and feel it on my skin when he touched me. And I wanted him. I wanted him there with me.
He held me, he pinned me down as he bit and kissed the nape of my neck, his arms wrapped around me. “What do you want?” he whispered in my ear, but he wasn’t just dirty talking, he wanted to know the answer. “Should I be kind or should I take what I want?”
“Both,” I breathed into the crook of his arm.
“Good answer,” he said quietly and he squeezed me tight. And for the first time in months I didn’t wriggle free.
He fucked me and he cherished me. I bent to his will with grace and with gratitude. He hurt me so kindly. He looked into my eyes and it was like the first time we’d seen each other in a while.
“Where did this go?” we both thought it but neither of us asked. “Where did you go?”
It didn’t matter.
We were here.