#Sunday-Romance Serial: “I Want You to Want Me”

Photo by Alfred on Unsplash
  • Continuing With: Rita and Andy
  • Setting: contemporary American
  • Length: 1,471 words
  • Key Tropes: dating, new relationship, aggressive woman/passive man dynamic
  • Content Warnings: Nothing
  • Explicit?: Yes, very

Andy thought about taking his clothes off while Rita was out of the room, to surprise her–at least a little bit of a surprise–by being naked on her couch. But he was losing time to actually do it, while he was taking the time to talk himself into it. And he wanted her to want him so much she stripped him herself. It fit with the take-charge attitude she’d had all night, and how easily she’d accepted his change of heart.

She wanted him, no question.

When Andy’s heart rate climbed a few notches, he told himself it was excitement, anticipation, not fear, but underneath, in a place so deep he could barely admit it to himself, he was afraid. Afraid that even this was too much to want, afraid that he was too big and strong and awkward, afraid that his naked body on her couch was a ridiculous sight and not a sexy one.

But then she came back, and she smiled like he was a present under the tree on Christmas morning, and Andy knew, whatever was about to happen, it was all going to be fine. She crossed the room, straddled his lap again, and set the condom on the cushion beside them. Her weight on his legs, her body pressed tight against his where it counted, set some of those fears away while bringing his excitement to the surface.

“What do you want?” she whispered, her lips hovering over his, a temptation to kiss that he reveled in not taking.

His hangups were too complicated, too painful, to explain at length, but he still had an answer ready. “Tell me what to do.”

“You like being ordered around?” Her tone was sly, indulgent, not actually questioning. She liked that he liked it.

He nearly said it then, said he was tired of the pressure to know exactly what his partner wanted without being told, with being punished somehow for asking, and then always feeling like he was getting it wrong anyway. His sex life with other women had been like trying endless outfits on in a dressing room only to find not a single one of them fit right. But his frustration had no place here, with Rita, who felt different, who treated him better, who had given him no reason not to trust her.

So he decided to trust her more. “I think so,” he whispered back. “I’ve never gotten to really try it.”

She leaned back, and for a heartbeat Andy feared his confession had pushed her away. But she smiled again, sweetly. “Oh, honey, that’s a shame. We’ll go slow, okay? And if something feels wrong, anything at all, tell me, and we’ll try something else. Promise me.”

Andy licked his lips. “I promise.” Nothing felt wrong yet, not that gentle command, not her hands on his shoulders, her subtle musky scent in the air mingling with their cooling mugs of chocolate.

She stood up. “Take off my tights. Slowly.”

When he ran his hands up the back of her legs, he groaned, because she wasn’t wearing panties underneath. He found the waistband beneath her dress and tugged at it, carefully, because the last thing he wanted to do was put in a run in her tights with his big, clumsy fingers or their unfortunately sharp nails. When he slid his hands back down, he could feel the indentation in her skin where the seams had pressed into her flesh, and that brought an inexplicable tenderness to his movements. His hands no longer felt too big or rough on her body.

As soon as she stepped free of the garment, she took his shoulders in her hands again and pulled him up. He stood patiently as she stripped him of his shirt, followed her instructions when she told him to take off his jeans and socks. She left him his boxers, but smiled at his obvious arousal. After handing him a pillow from the couch, she pointed at the floor between it and the table. “Kneel down there.”

Andy immediately saw where this was going, or at least he hoped he did. He knelt.

Rita sat down on the couch and arranged herself around him, feet on the table, legs bent and arching over his shoulders. The hem of her dress covered her even in this pose, but Andy didn’t have to see her pussy to be excited about getting his mouth on it.  He was practically vibrating with the need to touch her, but he waited.

“I haven’t seen you yet,” Rita said, her tone thoughtful, “but I felt you. You’re big all over, aren’t you? If you want me to be able to ride you, you’ve got to get me ready.” She reached out to twine her fingers in his hair, and he tilted his head, pressing into her caress. “Make me wet, Andy. No hands, though, just your mouth. Put your hands on my hips and keep them there. I want the first part of you inside me to be that big heavy cock you have.”

Something living deep inside Andy’s brain exploded, almost like he had an orgasm without being touched, though the relief this sensation brought him had nothing to do with his body, and certainly not that big heavy cock, which only pulsed inside his boxers more urgently. No, this was something in his mind letting go, relaxing, giving in to Rita’s demands. He placed his hands where she told him to, and she drew him in with the grip on his hair while she moved her dress out of the way.

Nothing had ever tasted so good to him, not chocolate, not wine, not his favorite comfort foods or the fancy dinners he kept eating with those other women on their dates before going on to have sex that left him confused and frustrated. He dove into Rita like a cold pool on a hot day, eager for the relief it brought, not to his aching body, but to his mind, or maybe even his soul. In that moment, there was nothing else he needed to do and no one else he was expected to be. It was freeing in a way he’d never experienced before.

Over the years of trying to please women who didn’t seem to get him, he’d picked up plenty of tricks, and he used some of them on Rita, but some of them were forbidden inherently because he couldn’t move his hands. He squeezed her body in his grip as he licked and sucked and stroked, and her mix of moans and giggles and encouraging words, sprinkled with short commands, went straight to his head, spinning out a headspace were nothing else mattered but what he was doing to her, and what that was doing to him, and how natural it all felt.

He was so effortlessly focused that when she came, it was a surprise, one that started with a fierce rhythmic tugging on his hair, hard enough to skip past exciting into actually painful territory. He drew his mouth away. “Rita, please, that hurts,” he told her as he moved one hand to the one of hers on his scalp, alternately trying to pry it loose or press it flat against him, whichever would stop the pain.

It was when he saw her head tossing back and forth he realized what was happening. “Oh,” he said lamely. He hadn’t noticed the change in the sounds she was making, either, but he heard it now.

“Sorry,” she gasped. “Got carried away.” She let go of him and laughed softly.

He laid his cheek on her thigh and breathed in the scent of her, of what he’d done to her. “It’s okay.”

She laughed again, louder, longer. “I’ve never had somebody get so into going down on me that he didn’t actually notice my orgasm. I could get used to that.”

Andy waited a second to see if that joke hurt, but there was no sting. “Kind of a first for me, too.”

All at once, Rita was moving, her dress rustling, her body twisting. The sudden bout of energy after the lassitude of her post-orgasmic haze started Andy, but all he did was move slightly so her leg didn’t knock him in the head when she swung it around. “Alright,” she said. “Take those boxers off, lie down on the couch, and let me get a look at you.”

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