Do you know what she likes?
She likes rooms full of old books and sitting in worn leather chairs wearing just your shirt, buttoned so that it plays a tantalizing game of peekaboo with the swell of her breasts, while she buries herself in words and stories of days past. She likes her tea with two lumps of sugar, if you must know, and she’ll go through at least three cups in that room full of old books, so you’d best be well-stocked. She likes mythologies the best; she never had much of a childhood so she calls them her fairy tales and will chew on her lip while reading until you want to go over there and bite it for her. But never interrupt her while she’s reading – that will bring down upon you a fury like which hell hath none.
She likes tart desserts, not the sickly-sweet chocolates you sent her for her birthday that I watched her choke down just to make you smile. I recommend lemon cake or cherry tarts in the future. She does like chocolate when it’s the sauce on her sundaes, paired with smooth coffee and cream. Although, you should be warned, she is liable to lick the chocolate off the spoon with the lightest flicks of the tip of her tongue, a sight which sorely tests the self-control of any red-blooded male. Will you be able to control yourself? Somehow, I doubt it.
She likes her cat, for some unfathomable reason. She’ll let that cat closer than she’ll let you some days. When you make her cry – and you, I have no doubt, will make her cry – she buries her face in the animal’s fur, hiding her tears. She says the smell of her cat calms her, something I have never understood. But she likes her cat, and so I tolerated it – for her. Will you? She once told me that you’re not a cat person. Will you tolerate it? Or will you take away from her the one thing she has loved longer than any other?
She likes sunflowers. And peonies – she loves peonies. She must be all too happy to slide the flowers you send her into the trash at the end of every week, for she despises red roses; she once told me that they are a boring flower, the fallback flower, the flower everyone sends when they know they’ve screwed up. Is that why you send them? She’s hard to please, I know, sensitive too, but so worth the extra effort. It’s her brain that does it to her; she’s so smart that it makes her overthink everything and although she tries to shut it down a brain like hers never really turns off. I wonder, will you be able to keep up with her, to follow her when her eyes light with passion, to keep a brain like hers engaged and entertained? Again, I doubt it.
I know what else she likes.
She likes kisses. She likes it when you place them at the place where her neck, jaw, and ear meet. She likes it even more when you lay her flat across your lap and drop kisses right at the base of her spine; hot, open-mouthed kisses that allow your tongue to swirl. And then there’s the dimple right beneath her ass; when you kiss it she makes the most delightful noises.
She likes to be seduced, but seduction, with her, is a different art altogether; rose petals on the floor leading to the bedroom make her snort. Instead, she likes to be grabbed by a firm hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back to give you a better angle while you plunder her mouth. Tell her what you are going to do to her, put her where you want her, make her say please once, twice, again before you give her what she wants. And know that when you are telling her over and over how lovely she is in order to arouse her that I know she would rather you called her your filthy little slut. Although you do not possess the subtlety required to turn that phrase from insult to endearment.
She likes to have her nipples sucked, pinched, and sometimes bitten, then soothed with your tongue. Lave them and then blow air over them to make her squirm and squeal, and when you do her eyes will go as liquid as her eager quim and you’ll be hard-pressed to control yourself. Will you be able to control yourself? To give her the pleasure she deserves before rutting her? Unlikely.
She likes to take your cock into her warm, wet, welcoming mouth – and when she does, she’ll moan at the taste of you, relishing it like the good girl that she is. She’ll use those same feather-light flicks of the tip of her pink tongue that she used on the chocolate sauce, except this time it will be up the entire length of your cock, to tease you, to hear you beg for more. Will you let her have her fun, relish in being teased as she does? I admit, it does test even my self-constraint sometimes, and you are a far less patient man than I.
As I said, she likes to be teased. Tied spread-eagle to the four posts of your bed and tormented with tongue, breath, and fingers until she can’t do aught but whimper and moan and cry. She loves it when you make her cry in bed. If you do manage to tease her just right she’ll beg you to take her, to fill her, to own her and you’ll want to fuck her until you are the only thing she sees, feels, knows. But when you climb on top of her I will lie awake knowing that she likes to be fucked from behind. Hard and deep, mind you, with one of your hands buried in her hair and the other one holding her arms behind her back. She likes it when you take control. She likes it when she can’t do anything but take what you give to her. She likes it when she knows she’s yours to use as you see fit.
And when you are fucking her, when you are buried inside of her grunting your release, just remember this: I had her first. And I know what she likes.
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