His hand gripping the door frame is the only sign that he feels anything close to what I’m feeling. Even from where I’m standing in the middle of the room, with the mattress just grazing the backs of my thighs, I can see how white his knuckles are.
“So… now what?” I ask.
“Well,” he says thoughtfully, “there are two options. One is that I pin you onto the floor right here and do every single one of the things that I whispered to you at the restaurant. You remember that, don’t you, Lilah?”
I swallow and nod. “Mhmm” squeaks out past my lips.
“But the option I prefer,” he says, “is that we continue playing the little game we’ve been playing since this morning. Where we pretend that you can tell me what to do.”
“‘Pretend’?” I ask.
“Oh, yes.” He nods. “Because if you truly give me control,
