Silence.

Thick air of attraction.

Slow music.

This is what happens when we are together.

Alone.

She is sitting in the center.

On my study table.

Looking so eatable in this black saree.

With no blouse on.

A complete see through for me.

Pleasure for my eyes.

Just for my eyes.

A hundred ways of claiming her comes in my hand.

I will take her on this table.

All raw. Hard.

Soon.

Very soon.

Lamp beside her, paints her collarbone gold.

She stretches out on the table.

Not unaware.

But inviting.

I am sitting on sofa across the room.

All dressed in black.

Black shirt.

Black trouser.

As she loves to ogle me.

Letting the tension breathe.

There’s something intoxicating about control that isn’t loud.

Control that doesn’t need to bark.

It simply waits.

And she responds to waiting.

She always has.

She has always demanded me for gifts.

Small gifts.

Gifts which she can cherish.

In public.

And in private.

I found the perfect gift for her.

Gift which would remind her of me.

Not passively by actively.

Not just a Jhumka which would stay close to her neck and tease me.

But something more demanding, and which would tease her.

Tease her every possible moment of it.

Tease her to moan my name.

Every single second she wears it.

And demands me as soon as she removes it.

Something, she wouldn't have thought in her wildest dreams.

Dildo.

That too remote controlled.

It should always be me who pleasures her.

Her moans are for my ears.

Her demands are for my touch.

Her wetness is for my dick.

Her nails are for my back.

I will prepare her for me myself.

She tease my name softly, Arjun.

She is appearing to be bold.

While her face shows, she is being shy in front of me.

I don’t answer immediately.

I look at her slowly.

Deliberately.

As though I’m considering whether she deserves the attention she’s asking for.

The corner of her mouth twitches.

She shifts.

Barely.

But enough.

“You’re restless,” I say.

Her breath stutters.

Just slightly.

“Maybe.”

I ask her to come to him.

She does.

Not rushed.

Not urgent.

She carefully comes to me.

As slow as possible.

My eyes on her waist.

She is wearing the waist band I have gifted her.

Bangles in quiet celebration of us.

Mangalsutra of my name.

They are the all the ornaments she is wearing.

Prey walks to her predator.

I ask her to sit on my lap.

She does as ordered.

She leans into me.

I don’t touch her right away.

Her face hidden in my neck.

Her happy place.

Her safe house.

As she says.

She melts in my arm.

Glued to me.

Taking shape as I am sitting.

Heat transfers.

Her fingers curl into my shirt.

Her legs freely across my lap.

The predator doesn’t sprint when the prey is already circling him.

I kiss her forehead.

“Look at you,” I murmur.

“Trying so hard not to ask.”

She exhales through parted lips.

“I don’t have to ask.”

No, she doesn’t.

My hand finally reaches her.

Sliding up her arm slowly.

Memorizing skin I already know by heart.

I pause at her shoulder.

Then trail down again.

Deliberately slow.

She shivers.

I could take control the easy way.

Pull her onto my lap.

Claim her mouth.

Devour.

But surrender is sweeter when it’s chosen.

“Tell me,” I say quietly.

“What do you want?”

She meets my eyes.

That’s her mistake.

Because she melts there.

Every time.

That stubborn defiance dissolves into heat, into trust.

“You,” she whispers.

The word lands in my chest like a match.

I kiss her.

But not hungrily. Not yet.

I kiss her like I have all the time in the world.

My hand moves lower.

Tracing her waist.

Feeling the way she arches into me without thinking.

Her body answers before her pride does.

I pull back just enough to look at her.

“Stay still.”

She swallows.

And she does.

That obedience isn’t weakness.

It’s power offered.

It’s her saying, I trust you to lead me somewhere worth going.

My touch grows firmer now.

Claiming.

Exploring.

I feel her breathing change, feel the way her hands grip the couch to keep from reaching for me.

“You don’t get to rush this,” I murmur against her ear.

“You wanted control. Let me show you what that feels like.”

She nods.

Eyes closed.

Surrender isn’t dramatic.

It’s quiet.

It’s the way her shoulders relax even as her pulse races beneath my palm.

When I finally pull her into my lap, she comes willingly.

No resistance.

No hesitation.

Just heat and intention and that delicious, dangerous trust.

I hold her there, flush against me, and for a moment neither of us moves.

The air thickens.

Her forehead rests against mine.

“You’re mine right now,” I say softly.

She doesn’t argue.

"Forever"

She kisses me first this time.

Not timid.

Not shy.

She takes my mouth like she’s done pretending to be patient.

And that’s when the restraint breaks.

I lift her, carry her toward the bedroom without breaking the kiss, without letting the momentum cool.

But even there, even when she’s beneath me, breathless and open and aching, I slow it again.

Because control isn’t about speed.

It’s about precision.

I kiss her neck.

Her collarbone.

The soft curve of her shoulder.

I map her reactions carefully.

Memorizing the tremble.

The intake of breath.

The way she whispers my name when she forgets herself.

I ask, do you trust me?

She nods.

I ask again, will you wear what I gift you?

She nods yes. "If you make me wear it."

I chuckle.

This girl would be death of me some day.

The more I spend time with her.

The more I crave her.

The more I want to claim her.

She is innocent.

I would destroy her innocence.

Piece by piece.

I give her the gift wrapped in black.

She opens it.

Her eyes in shock.

I can see the devil smile on her face.

I know, she is ready.

I find my home.

Residence for my lil' soldier.

One touch.

All her goosebumps are up.

I touch her softly.

Wrapping her saree upward.

Making space for my hand to go inside.

I found no barrier.

She hides her face in my neck more.

I smiled.

She is not wearing any panty.

I play with her clitoris loosely.

She get all tensed and

And moans my name.

Arjunnnn... please...

I chuckled.

We make an eye contact.

She hands me over the dildo.

Without breaking the eye contact.

I put it in her mouth.

She takes it full.

I will fuck this mouth soon.

Make it wet.

She is stoned.

Shy to continue with the eye contact.

Curious to stop the eye contact.

I push it inside my residence.

Slowly

No eye contact broken.

She makes at an O with her face.

I claim her lips.

As my hand does wonders for her.

This dildo will remind her of me.

With

Every movement she make.

Every moment she passes.

Her eyes would be glued to me when I am in front.

And search for me when I am not around.

This will prepare her of what will come to her.

Prepare her for me.

Prepare her for my lil' soldier.

Prepare her for my worship.

Prepare her for my obsession.

Prepare her for my possessiveness.

I will prepare my girl to be my lady, myself.

Written on 19 December, 2018.