He rolled onto his back and carried me with him so that I was half-straddling, half-hovering over his chest, hands splayed on the ground above his head as I fucked his mouth. “Oh Jesus,” I whispered, because it was a fucking sight. I loved this about him. Loved how he could order me around, shred every trace of my own inhibitions, and fuck me until I teetered on the edge between feeling used and worshipped, then turn around and let me do the same to him. I didn’t quite understand the dynamic between us the way I had in other relationships, but I sure enjoyed the shit out of it in moments like
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