Page 49 of The Equation of Us
The request surprises me. Usually, I direct everything. Set the pace, give the orders, maintain control. Her taking initiative feels like another boundary shifting.
“Yes,” I say, the word rougher than I intended.
She moves with deliberate grace, pushing me onto my back and straddling my thighs. The black lace bra is still in place, a stark contrast against her pale skin. Her hair falls around her face in loose waves, slightly messy from my hands and her movements against the pillow. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” she observes, her fingers working at the buttons of my shirt.
I let her undress me, watching her face as she concentrates on each button. There’s something intensely intimate about her methodical approach, the careful way she pushes the fabric aside to reveal my chest and shoulders.
When she bends to press her lips against my collarbone, I have to fight to keep still. Her mouth is warm, exploratory in a way it hasn’t been before. She’s taking her time, learning the terrain of my body like she’s mapping it for future reference.
“You’re always so controlled,” she murmurs against my skin. “Even now.”
“Not as much as you think,” I admit, my voice tight as her hands move to the waistband of my jeans.
She looks up, meeting my eyes as her fingers work at the button, then the zipper. “Show me,” she challenges softly. “Show me what it looks like when you’re not in control.”
The request hits me somewhere deep and vulnerable. Nora doesn’t just want my body—she wants to see behind the walls I’ve built, the careful restraint I maintain even in our most intimate moments.
I lift my hips, helping her pull my jeans and boxers down in one movement. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of me, fully hard and aching for her touch.
“You’re so responsive,” she says, echoing what I’ve told her before. A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth—she knows exactly what she’s doing, turning my words back on me.
When her hand wraps around me, I can’t suppress the harsh exhale that escapes my lips. She watches my face as she strokes, experimental at first, then with more confidence as she gauges my reactions.
“Is this good?” she asks, her grip tightening slightly.
“Yes,” I manage, fighting to maintain some semblance of composure. “Faster.”
She complies, her rhythm increasing. “Like this?”
“God, yes.” My hips move involuntarily, seeking more of her touch.
I’m used to being the one giving pleasure, the one in charge of pace and intensity. Having her take control like this—watching me, learning what makes my breath catch—is unexpectedly arousing.
“Take off your bra,” I tell her, my voice rougher than intended.
She holds my gaze as she reaches behind her back, unhooking the clasp with practiced fingers. She lets the black lace slide slowly down her arms before tossing it aside.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, reaching up to cup her breasts, feeling their perfect weight in my hands. They’re warm and soft and surprisingly full for her slender frame. Her nipples harden under my touch, and I brush my thumbs across them, watching her breath catch. “So fucking perfect.”
She arches slightly into my hands, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she refocuses, determined to maintain her newfound control.
“I want to taste you,” she says suddenly, her voice low but determined.
Before I can respond, she’s moving down my body, settling between my legs. The first touch of her mouth against me tears a groan from deep in my chest. Her eyes flick up to mine, satisfaction evident in her gaze as she registers the impact she’s having.
“Nora,” I breathe, one hand moving to tangle in her hair.
She takes me deeper, her movements still somewhat tentative but enthusiastic. What she lacks in technique she makes up for in attention—watching my reactions, adjustingto what makes my grip tighten in her hair, what makes my breathing stutter.
“You taste good,” she murmurs against my skin, before taking me in her mouth again.
The words send a surge of heat through me. Hearing her echo the phrases I’ve used with her, seeing her take initiative—it’s doing things to me I didn’t anticipate.
I’m approaching the edge faster than expected, my control slipping with each movement of her mouth, each glance from those intelligent eyes.
“I’m close,” I warn her, tugging gently at her hair to give her the option to pull away.
