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Things aren’t always going to be pretty, dove. Some things we get excited about, and work very hard to create, don't always match up to our expectations. Sometimes, it’s even a little scary. But at the end of the day, as long as you did the best you could, be proud. Because I’m sure as heck proud of you. And who knows, maybe one day, you’ll move somewhere where the snow is soft, and you can make a real snowman.
“I purchased this dress for you because I knew how it would look on you.” He pauses, lowering his hand to lightly grip around my neck. “And I knew how it would look when thrown on the floor.”
“When you show me that you can be a good girl, I’ll reward you. That’s how this game works.”
As though he can read my thoughts, he smirks, his dark eyes flashing to me in his periphery. “I know you can do it for me, darling.”
“I like on days when you’re feeling down, I can always get you to smile with a simple piece of Lindor’s chocolate.”
“One for every time you made me lose control. For every time I had to go against my ability to never let another person dictate my mood. For when I had to come in my hand and not over this smooth skin.”
“Because I’ve already decided.” “And that is?” His eyes darken as he pauses his movement, stealing my ability to even breathe properly. “You're mine.”
Two horrible and jagged puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.
“You’re such a good fucking girl, Presley,” he grits out, returning to his torturous pace as before.
“Show me how you make yourself come when you think of me.” I suck in what little air his tight grasp allows. “You’re so sweet. You feel so fucking good. I want to see that pretty face come again. Show me.”
“Look at how good you look fucking me, darling. You do it so well. Don’t stop,” he purrs, pinching my nipple. “Right there.”
