“Leave the shoes on.” he said to me. I stood there in front of him in my bra and panties feeling, if possible, even more naked with them still on. “Good girl.” The look in his eyes was a strange mix of predatory, amusement and lust.
He moved me over to the hotel bed, hand in my hair. Then, bending me over the edge without a word, let his warm hand rest on my lower back for a moment. The heat from his hand was like a brand, and it felt as if the air had been sucked out of me, making me pant, the beat of my heart pounding through my whole body. When he removed it, I tried to turn around, but his hand was back in my hair shoving my face into the covers and mattress.
“Stay still.”, he said, “You are mine to play with. Mine to touch. What are you?” He was bent over me, his clothes rough on my skin, his warm breath in my hair.
“I am yours.”, my voice is barely above a whisper. My heart feels poured into those three words.
He stands up and I feel the loss of the weight of him, then his fingers hook into my panties, “Yes. You are… Mine.”
(via strawberryjane, thesophisticatedslut)