You’ll Have to Say “Please”

“I’m home,” he whispers. His breath, warm with hints of whiskey and cinnamon, ghosts against my neck, but the air around him is cool. As if he dragged the entire night behind him into the room.

A hand lands on the back of my leg and I jump, a hiss escaping through my teeth.

“Your hand is so cold,” I mumble into the pillow.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers. The bed dips and a knee lands next to my ass. “Warm me up.”

The soft clink of his belt buckle being undone echoes through the room and I start to squirm, stretching and yawning. My eyes open a crack and I blink against the soft moonlight that spills across the room.

I try to look over my shoulder but a hand comes down around my throat, pinning me in place.

He bends over me, his other knee landing at my hip, so that he straddles my body. I hear the pop of a button being undone. He lowers himself more until I feel his cock against my ass, straining beneath his jeans, and the sharp bite of his zipper against my skin.

His hand remains cool against my throat. I shiver as his other hand slides my hair out of the way and his mouth leaves a trail of warm kisses down the back of my neck.

“You glow against these sheets,” he murmurs, and the mild spice of lingering cigar on his fingers explains the hoarseness I hear in his voice. “Did you know these were my favorite sheets? They’re so fucking dark that your skin glows against them when I come in at night. Like an angel.”

His teeth sink into the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, just beneath the collar of the shirt I slipped into before heading to bed. A sigh, a whimper really, escapes my lips.

Then he stops.

His face moves away and the mattress shifts as he straightens up. The hand at my throat tightens and I feel a soft tug on the back of my shirt.

“What are you wearing?” he asks a second before his hand lands with a loud crack against my ass.

“Your shirt,” I tell him with a quiet moan.

“That’s my work shirt, angel.” His mouth is at my ear again. His teeth scraping against my ear lobe. “Why are you wearing the shirt I laid out for tomorrow?”

My legs tighten up as I lift my ass and push back against the hardness of his dick. I lift my head as much as the hand at my throat will allow. Until my lips land soft at the corner of his mouth, his stubble scraping against them as I move. Then I whisper.

“I want you to fuck me in it. Fuck me in your shirt so that you smell us all day while you’re trying to work tomorrow.”

Silence falls, smooth as the silver moonlight that cuts across the bed. I feel his lips curl into a smile, his fingers tighten around my throat, his zipper burns my skin when he presses harder against my ass.

“My angel,” he says with a low, growling laugh. “Such a little whore. You’ll have to say ‘please.'”

Before I can utter another sound, the hand on my throat slides up and over my mouth.

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