Page 22 of The Pleasure of Panic

She stays silent, which pleases me immensely, because it means she took my command seriously.

“Don’t you?” I ask again.

And again, she reads me correctly. Because she answers. “I just know my place in the world, that’s all.”

“And what is your place in this world, huh?” I ask, taking my hand away from her neck so I can tenderly stroke her cheek with my fingertips. “The one we live in tonight.”

She stares up at me, her eyes wide again. Still filled with desire, no fear. “To play your game until one of us wins.”

“Really? Are you sure you wanna play? I’m a formidable opponent.”

“Very. Fucking. Sure,” she says. And now her eyes are slitted, almost closed. And it’s not with desire. It’s with clear defiance.

Which almost makes me laugh. Because she gave in and challenged me back in the same breath.

I like that, I realize. I like it a lot.

I have no clue how we got here or why we’re doing this, but whatever. It’s fun. So I don’t really care about the how or the why. I only care about what comes next.

I take both her hands and place them near the button of my pants.

She doesn’t require clarification and she pops the button open without comment, her eyes never leaving mine as she unzips me, reaches inside to grab my cock, and begins to massage it until I feel myself grow under her touch.

I close my eyes. Barely a blink, but I allow myself to enjoy the moment.

She stays quiet. At least with her voice. Her eyes, her expression, the movement of her hands— those all speak to me in a way that doesn’t require speech.

I fondle her tits again, this time gently, and smile at her. There’s no need for dominance and submission roles when partners are playing the same game.

I don’t even need to encourage her further. She lowers herself to her knees, pulling my cock out as she descends, her eyes on mine, and opens her mouth.

I’m fully hard by this time. She’s… I sigh… perfect. Like fucking perfect. Like she’s done this before. Like she knows how to control a man by giving in.

Is she controlling me?

But I don’t have time to think about it, because just as that question pops into my head, she swipes her tongue across the tip of my cock.

I long-blink again, smile as I enjoy one more moment of pleasure, then open my eyes just in time to see her take my cock fully into her mouth.

Words aren’t necessary. It’s something I’ve learned over the years through practice with other women. When two people are living in the same world, playing the same game by the same rules, you only need to react.

Which is what I do next when I grab her by the hair and give her the encouragement she needs to take me deep into her throat. She opens her mouth wide, gags a little, which makes me react again, easing up on my demand. But she doesn’t pull back. Instead she reacts to my submission, sucks in a deep breath of air, grabs my thighs with both her hands, and presses herself up into my groin until my balls are pressing against her chin.

Jesus.

Now that is what I call control.

She pulls back, saliva spilling down her chin, and starts pumping my cock with both hands, using her own spit as lubrication.

Looking up at me, she smiles.

I smile back. “You,” I say, “are not how I saw this day ending, Issy.”

She shrugs, smirking. “It’s a good game. So far.”

“Oh, Ms. Grey. We haven’t even begun yet.”

She stands up, her hands still busy on my cock. But then she pulls away, and her slick hands find her own breasts and begin to massage them. She lifts one breast up towards her mouth, her lips parting, bringing her nipple closer, closer until…