CHAPTER 0034- Prove it

We stayed in bed most of the morning.

Not talking much. Not sleeping either. His hand rested on the curve of my hip under the sheet, thumb moving in slow, idle strokes like he was reminding himself I was still there. Every so often I’d feel his eyes on me. When I looked back he didn’t look away.

Around eleven he finally spoke.

“Get up. Shower. Then come back here.”

I did what he said. The shower was quick. I didn’t bother with clothes after. When I walked back into the bedroom he was sitting up against the headboard, sheet pooled around his waist, watching me with that same unreadable focus from earlier.

“Come here.”

I climbed onto the bed. He caught my wrist before I could settle beside him and pulled me forward until I was straddling his thighs again. His hands slid up my sides, slow, mapping skin he already knew by heart.

“Last night I made you wait,” he said. “This morning I made you ask. Now you’re going to show me you meant it.”

My pulse kicked. “How?”

“You’re going to ride me until I say stop. No rushing. No hiding your face. And every time you get close, you’re going to ask permission.”

Heat pooled low in my stomach. “And if I don’t?”

His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Then I take my hands off you and leave you like that.”

I nodded.

He reached between us, guided himself to my entrance, and let me sink down at my own pace. The stretch pulled a soft sound from my throat. I was still sensitive from the morning and the drag of him inside me felt sharper for it. When I was fully seated he rested his hands on my thighs and waited.

I started to move.

Slow at first. Deep rolls of my hips that made him exhale through his nose. His eyes stayed on mine. I kept mine on his even when the urge to drop my head became strong. The quiet of the room made every wet sound between us feel louder. His fingers flexed against my skin but he didn’t help. Didn’t thrust up. Just let me work myself on him.

The build was gradual and mean. Every time the pressure gathered low in my belly and my rhythm faltered, he noticed.

“Ask.”

“Can I come?”

“Not yet.”

I bit down on a frustrated sound and kept going. Sweat gathered at the small of my back. My thighs started to shake. He looked completely in control, eyes dark, jaw tight, only the faint flush across his chest giving him away.

“Please,” I said the second time the edge came close.

“No.”

I dropped my forehead against his for half a second. He clicked his tongue.

“Eyes.”

I lifted my head again. The third time I got close I was already trembling.

“Please, Elias.”

He studied me. Then he slid one hand between us and pressed his thumb to my clit in a slow, exact circle.

“Now.”

The orgasm tore through me hard enough that my arms gave out. I caught myself on his shoulders, shaking, pulsing around him while he watched every second of it. He didn’t stop the movement of his thumb until I twitched from the sensitivity and tried to shift away.

“Again,” he said.

I stared at him, still catching my breath. “I can’t—”

“You can.” He gripped my hips and started guiding me himself, lifting and lowering me on his cock in a steady, relentless rhythm. “You’re going to come once more before I finish. And you’re going to look at me while you do it.”

The overstimulation made my eyes burn. Every stroke felt too deep, too much. He didn’t let up. One hand stayed on my hip; the other returned to my clit, rubbing firm circles that forced the tension to coil again even while my body tried to shy from it. Soft, broken sounds kept spilling out of me. He took each one like proof.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me feel it. Show me you’re still mine to take apart.”

The second orgasm hit messier than the first — sharper, almost painful in its intensity. I cried out and clamped down around him, thighs shaking violently. He finally let go of his own control then, thrusting up hard to meet me, chasing his release with a low, rough sound. He came deep, holding me down through it so I felt every pulse.

For a long minute afterward the only sound was both of us breathing.

He eased me off him and onto my side. I felt the slow leak of him between my thighs. He looked at it, then at my face, and dragged two fingers through the mess before pushing it back inside me.

“Leave it.”

I nodded, too wrecked to argue.

He lay down facing me. One hand settled on my waist. His expression had lost some of its earlier edge, but the intensity hadn’t gone anywhere.

“You’re still in trouble,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“This doesn’t make us even.”

“I know that too.”

His thumb stroked once across my skin. “But you took it. You stayed present. That’s more than you managed yesterday.”

I swallowed. “What happens now?”

“Now you stay in this bed until I say otherwise. No phone. No leaving the room. I want you here, smelling like me, when I decide what comes next.”

He leaned in and kissed me — slow, deep, claiming. When he pulled back his eyes were steady on mine.

“Next time you let someone else put their mouth on you,” he said, voice low, “I won’t be this measured about it. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Say it properly.”

“I understand.”

He kissed me once more, shorter this time, then rolled onto his back and pulled me into his side. My head landed on his chest. His heartbeat was strong under my ear.

Outside, the day continued without us. Inside the room, the air still smelled like sex and clean sweat and the faint trace of his soap. I closed my eyes and let the ache between my legs ground me in the present.

Whatever came next — punishment, forgiveness, or some sharp mix of both — I would take it the same way I’d taken everything else in this house.

On his terms.

With my eyes open.