Nights when I’m restless, she presses her palm firmly against my chest and in a low, sweet voice asks, “Do you want me to jerk you off?”
When I first met her, I didn’t know how to answer this question. I could not possibly answer it honestly. I could not say, “Yes.” The word would stick in my belly, not even making it up to my throat. My desire felt wrong, selfish.
“Baby, let me jerk you off,” she says and her body curls around me. She settles me down firmly into the bed with her hand against my sternum.
I breathe. When I could manage it, I would stay silent and keep the “no” trying to escape held tight inside me. I would nod my head. And breathe.
Her fingers find me. She sucks one finger into her mouth before slipping her hand inside my shorts. With a wet fingertip, she slides over my clit. I am already burning. I am already flushed and filled. Sometimes she is quick. Sometimes I am ready and already aching. She nips at my shoulder. I come as she slows down and moves her whole hand across my cunt. She holds me while I shake.
“Can I jerk you off?” she asks me and lately I know how to take. I say, “Yes” and turn my head to kiss her with a fierce need.
I lift my tank top and tease my own nipples, squeezing harder to make my clit full and firm. I lift my hips off the mattress. She is sweet. Kissing me and laughing low in her throat as she tells me how much she loves to get me off.
Some nights I am desperate and sweaty. She pushes the covers down to my knees and curves over me until I’m in her mouth. She sucks on my clit. I hold her head and pant hard. I wrap my arms around her, squeezing her to me, pulling her up. I want her body on top of me, pressing into me.
I have learned to take what I want. I’ve learned to let her give me what I want.