Powerless

Chapter 10

"And what about you? When did you realize you loved me?" he asks, the question muffled by your skin. 

"Honestly," you start, hesitantly. "The other night. When you comforted me after I read the Arlo letter. That's when I actually put a word to the feeling." 

He says nothing, a dreamy smile on his face as he nods, waiting for you to continue. 

"But then I think back to the jet home from that Dallas sniper case. When it was just us awake, reading each other Hemingway passages and drinking tea. It felt comfortable, I remember that I was secretly hoping there would be congestion on the landing field so the flight would be longer. Because you kept touching my hand to turn the page," you smile nostalgically. "I didn't realize it then, but that's when I started looking at you differently." 

"I'm glad you did," he replies, hand moving to settle on your ass, kneading tenderly. You jut your hips forward into him, body on auto pilot in response to his touch, senses captivated by the open-mouthed kisses he's placing on your throat. He murmurs lowly against your skin, the vibrations tickling your neck. "Now I went easy on you last night, sweet girl. Is that how you prefer it? Or do you want me to fuck you so hard you forget your name?" 

A rush of heat sweeps throughout your body, your eyes meeting his. You know him well enough to know he'd be just as content with slow thrusts and loving affirmations - but after seeing what his dominant side is capable of, there's no going back. You nod, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt as you feel yourself quickly giving up all control, placing it in the hands of the man you love more than you thought possible. 

"I need you to use your words," he states, voice on the way to authoritative but eyes communicating genuine love and respect. The contrast makes you shiver, and you realize that in a short period of time you had succumbed to love in its rawest, most vulnerable form. 

"Yes," your voice is intentionally small, lower lip protruding as you buck your hips against his growing bulge. He looks at you expectantly, strong hands steadying your pelvis. "Please fuck me. I need to feel you."

 "Stop grinding against me like a needy little slut, and maybe you'll get what you want." 

"Sorry," you respond quickly, cheeks flush by his sudden shift in demeanor. Last night, he had let you into a tender, gentle side of himself - marked by honeyed words and forgiving touches. Now, he was back to his dominant persona, eyes clouded with lust and words laced with fervent desire. "Please, Spencer." 

"Lay flat on your back," he orders, and you quickly obey, hands moving to pull off your panties before he slaps away your hand. You pout, only for him to raise an eyebrow and take them off himself before pushing your knees apart, settling between them and licking a stripe up your core. "Here I thought I was going to have to warm you up a little bit, baby. But it looks like you're already soaking wet." 

"Then just fuck me already," you whine dramatically, any ounce of restraint you once had suddenly thrown out the window. Raising an eyebrow, Spencer roughly pushes two fingers into you, tongue flicking at your clit. He's pushing against your inner walls with a purpose, carefully massaging the sponge-like spot and sucking your clit between his lips. "F-fuck that's good." 

"Patience is a virtue, sweet girl," he hums, mouthing at the junction of your thigh. Through fluttering eyelashes you look down and see him grinding ever so slightly against the mattress. The sight alone is nearly enough to push you over the edge, a squeaky whine leaving your lips as you clench around his fingers. Adding a third finger, he expertly toys with you, mouth spewing filthy praises and curses when it's not attached to your clit. "Go ahead baby, come around my fingers."