Page 47 of Puck Your Charity

"It means letting someone else carry the burden for an hour." I keep my tone even. "I know techniques, Olive. I know how to quiet the noise in your head. Giving up control is a choice. In a dynamic like this, the person yielding control makes all the rules. You hold the power. You hand the reins to me, and I do all the work. You get to exist and feel good. If you hate it, you say the word, and I stop. You stay in the driver's seat the entire time."

She searches my face. "You want to teach me how to surrender?"

"I want to show you the relief it brings." I extend my hand, palm up, keeping it on the carpet between us. "But you have to ask for it. I refuse to force you into anything. If you want to pace a hole in the carpet all afternoon, I will leave you alone. If you want peace, you take my hand."

Olive stares at my calloused hand. A full minute passes. The silence stretches in the bedroom.

Her fingers uncurl from her knees. She reaches out. Her small, trembling hand touches my palm. "Show me." A ragged whisper breaks past her lips.

I wrap my fingers around hers. I stand up, pulling her up with me. I guide her the few short steps toward the king-sized bed occupying the center of the room.

"Stand by the bed." I drop her hand.

She stands on the plush carpet. Her chest rises and falls under the oversized black t-shirt.

"Take the shirt off." My tone stays calm and flat.

She crosses her arms, grabbing the hem of the dark cotton. She pulls the fabric over her head and drops it onto the floor.

She stands naked in front of me. Faint, dark bruises dot her collarbone and her inner thighs. Seeing the marks of my pack brothers on her skin fills my chest with dark, territorial satisfaction. But her racing pulse drumming against her neck tells me she needs a different kind of touch from me. Giving her instructions provides a task. Following orders keeps her chaotic mind focused.

"Lie back." I point to the mattress.

She climbs onto the bed and lies back against the pillows.

I unlace my boots and kick them off. I pull my sweatpants down to my ankles and toss them aside, standing over her in my boxer briefs.

I crawl onto the bed. My tall frame brackets her thighs. I keep my weight off her body, offering an open space for her to retreat if the panic returns.

"I want you to spread your legs." I keep my voice steady, offering a soft directive.

She parts her knees.

"Wider."

She pushes her thighs farther apart, exposing her slick-coated center to the cool air conditioning. A shudder rolls through her limbs.

"Look at me." I catch her gaze. "You made the choice to open up for me. You hold the power. Right now, your only job involves feeling what I do to you. No thinking. No planning."

I trace the line of her stomach with my index finger. Her skin shivers under my touch. I lean forward and press my mouth against her inner thigh. The taste of her salt and sweat hits my tongue. I trail open-mouthed kisses up her leg, working my way toward her center.

I position my face over her dripping pussy.

"Malcolm." A ragged gasp tears from her throat, her hips bucking up.

I slide my tongue inside her wet folds. The sweet taste of warm apple pie coats my mouth. I drag my tongue in a long, deliberate stroke from her opening up to the swollen bundle of nerves at the top of her slit.

I close my lips around her clit and suck.

A screaming moan rips from her throat. Her hands grip the bedsheets. Her back arches off the mattress.

"Good girl." I pull back a fraction of an inch to let her breathe. "Let it all go."

I use my tongue to explore every fold and every sensitive ridge. I swirl, suck, and bite with agonizing patience. I refuse to let her sprint toward the finish line. I keep her hovering on the edge of the drop, forcing her to exist in the present moment.

Her hands leave the sheets. Her fingers tangle in my dark hair. She pulls me closer, demanding more pressure.

I reach up and grab both of her wrists.