Tell Me What You Want Novels & Stories

I smiled at her answer as I said, "That's very good to hear, honey. You're always very adept at pleasing me. You're so attentive to my needs and desires, but I want to know about your needs and desires, honey. I want you to tell me what you want and need. What turns you on? What turns you off? What do you fantasize about? What sickens you? What would you like to try? What would make you cry out in orgasm and squirt your juices everywhere?"

"What do you want from us?" "I want my best friend back," I say, my eyes getting watery. "It feels like I can't breathe when we're not talking everyday and seeing each other all the time. I don't want to feel that way anymore." I move forward and rub up and down her thighs. "I want to call you my girlfriend, and I want you to call me your boyfriend. I want to call and text you every day. I want to take you home to family dinners and get you a permanent pass for seats in the team box. I want to celebrate birthdays and holidays with you. I want to support you in your endeavors and be here for you when you need to lean on me."

“What?” “I want what’s mine.”

“Tell me what you want. Tell me how you want it.” “I want you to—” I couldn't finish the sentence. “Say it.” His hand stroked me, slow and deliberate. “Say what you want me to do.”

“Where do you want me?” I knew just what I wanted. “This way,” I said.

“You stay with her and make sure she is okay.” “Yes, ma’am,” he grinned and plopped on the sofa next to me. “You are coming to the bazaar with me tonight,” he stated. “I must stuff this cute face with some sweets.” While saying this, his pointer finger grazed my cheek. I gaped at him with surprise clear in my features. “Also, I came to ask you something.” He licked his lips with a proud expression and I just continued to stare at him like a dizzy fool. “Mom, some sugar please!” I yelled, hearing my voice as it came from afar.

“What do you want?” “I want to burn your body and spread it next to my mother's grave as fertilizer,” I said coldly. “I'm afraid I can't promise you that,” Mickle said. “Never. I suggest you ask for something real.” “I only have one request, as I have just said.”

"Ask away." "Do you want to date?"

“Say it, Laine. Say what you mean.” My cheeks burn. “Like a, um. Like a dad?” “Is that what you want?” Yes. I know that’s what I want. But I’m all icky again. I was all screwed up inside at the thought of wanting him like that. Wanting him the way that makes me all tickly between my legs. “What?” he asks. “Tell me what you want.” I take a sip of juice and it’s hard to swallow. “You can tell me, Laine. You can tell me anything. We talk, about everything. That’s another of the ground rules.” I nod and force down another sip of juice.

I expected the contained fury. Instead "What do you need?" Four words. Quiet. Placed in the kitchen with complete attention behind them .... not what do you want to do about it, not what is your plan, not even what do you want from me. What do you need. The distinction between want and need is not small .... it is the difference between asking someone what they would wish for and asking what they require, the difference between a gesture toward comfort and a practical offer of real help. I sit across from him.