Jesus Christ. We’re in the middle of a sex party with her grinding on my lap, and she’s using words like “affected.” Like we’re discussing a fucking business proposal.
“Try again,” I say, voice tight. “And use real words this time.”
“Those are real words,” she counters, a hint of academic superiority creeping in.
“No. They’re hiding words. Say what you mean.”
She swallows, her throat working. “I like that you... touch me... in ways that are...”
“Are what?” I press, fascinated by her struggle. The woman who recited poetry about armor and connection can’t say she likes to be fingered.
“Pleasurable,” she finally manages, her face flushing deeper.
I almost laugh. “Pleasurable.”
This is unexpected. This hesitation. This... prudishness. Little Miss Take, who stares down mobsters and drives Lamborghinis and fucks against doors, can’t talk dirty to save her life.
I’ve found her weakness.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I say, cupping her breast in one hand while I slide the other one over her ass cheek. “I’ll cancel three more demerits if you tell me, in explicit detail, which part of fucking me you liked best.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“But,” I continue, “if you use words like ‘pleasurable’ or ‘affected’ or any other academic bullshit, you’ll earn ten more demerits instead.”
She stares at me, processing the terms.
“Well?” I prompt. “Three demerits gone. You’ll be down to five. That’s almost your entire slate wiped clean. All you have to do is tell me what you liked. With the right words.”
“I liked when you...” She pauses, visibly struggling. “When you used your... fingers.”
“My fingers,” I repeat, moving one thumb to brush across her nipple through the shirt. “What about them?”
“They were...” Another pause. “Inside me.”
“And?”
“And it felt... good.”
I sigh dramatically. “Good. That’s the best you can do? Good? That’s a demerit. You’re up to nine now.”
Her lips press together in frustration. “Fine. It felt amazing when you... when you...”
“When I what?” I’m enjoying this far too much.
“When you touched my... down there.”
I actually do laugh this time. “Down there? What are you, twelve? That’s it, I warned you. All those demerits you erased in the car—back now. You’re at nineteen. Congratulations.”
“That’s not fair,” she protests, shifting on my lap. The movement sends a jolt of pleasure through me.
“Life isn’t fair, Little Miss Take. Now try again. What did you like about fucking me?”
She takes a deep breath. “I liked when you pushed me against the door.”
Better. “And?”
“And when you... when you...” She closes her eyes briefly. “When you put your fingers inside me.”