When he gets out of bed, I sprawl across it, claiming all of his side, most of mine, and some of what's left around the feet. And give him the pouncy kitten look.
He turns, gives me the eyebrow. "What?" he asks, amused and wary.
"
My bed." Blue eyes dance the challenge.
Green-gold ones focus like a hunting wolf. "Oh really?"
Yes indeed. I'm in trouble. "Mmhm. I hereby claim this as My Bed."
"You do, do you?" Cigarettes, lighter, and ashtray in hand, he smiles calmly. "Well, will you do me the honor of allowing me space to sit and smoke on
your bed while we see what can be done about this?"
"Of course; never let it be said that we were unreasonable." I give him just enough space for a hip and an ashtray.
"Now," he says, exhaling that first lungful of smoke, "It seems to me we've got two options here. I think it's
my bed. So I can either hold you down and take it by
force. Or I can use a diplomat's silver tongue. Do you have a preference?"
"I think it's
my bed. You can do what you will."
"So be it."
Cigarette to ashtray, ashtray to dresser. Feet to floor, and I'm in for it now.
He uproots the sheet and comforter from the foot of the bed and crawls beneath them.
"Undercover agent?"
"Best way to infiltrate an area."
Warm hands to the insides of my thighs, and push to make way. My world expands and contracts to consist of little more than his lips, teeth, tongue, and thumbs gently stroking, nipping, suckling... I arch for more; he eases back. The rumble of his laughter rolls up to me in the sweetest possible way.
"
Whose bed is it?" he asks, thumb pressed to my clit and not moving.
... ... ...---... "Our bed?"
He laughs and goes back to teasing me. I wish I had words for how well I love the shape of his brows, the fall of his hair. Right down to the length of his nose. I wish I had words for how madly happy I am that he enjoys tasting me as much as I enjoy being tasted. That familiar languid heaviness is building, though, and being tasted and teased is slowly becoming not-quite-enough.
And he knows it.
One look at the feral smile he tilts at me as he rises from the disputed territory and leaves the room tells me so.
"You know, baby," I call after him, "I think you may've hit on a brilliant diplomatic technique. Invade, make the natives like having you there, then leave and make them ask you to come back and take over."
"Devious, ain't it?" he answers, smirking in the doorframe and flicking a condom wrapper.
"You're an e-ville man, babe."
"And you like it. So. Does this mean you want me back?"
"Yes, I think it does."
He sheaths himself and stands at the foot of the bed.
"And whose bed is it?"
Damn.
I hedge. He goes back to lazy circles with his tongue.
God, I can't take this any more.
"Yours. It's your bed."
Lupine triumph paints his face as he lifts it from between my thighs. "Damn right it is."
Before I can draw breath to negotiate the terms of my surrender, he's inside me, straight to the hilt, pushing all thought of breathing right out of my system. Hands on my wrists, he looks me in the eye as he withdraws slowly and drives right back. Intense and intentional, once. Twice. Three times and I've got to break the eye contact. You win. Youwinyouwinyouwin, and I've never enjoyed losing like this.
"My bed?"
"Yes. Your bed. I'm about to start negotiating to be allowed to stay in it."
"That can be arranged. Never let it be said that we were unreasonable."
...
...
...
Afterward, we're lying exhausted, sweaty, and sore, snickering about how well that little coup went.
"One more thing to make it official, though," he says, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at me.
"Oh?"
He rolls me over onto my back and quietly takes my throat in his jaws, presses just enough to show teeth. I stay still until he lets go. And in the quiet spaces where prayer happens, someone laughs and something clicks into its right place.
Happy Independence Day.
I don't have to be absolute alpha anymore.
And there's a funny kind of freedom in that.
