The coat

I hung the white coat on the hook by the bench and I left it there. Hair still in a bun, navy tee underneath, hands washed twice because that is the job and not a ritual for him. The glassware stayed where it belonged. I wanted my kitchen and Kostya and the door locked on a day that had been only work.

He was already home. He kissed me in the hallway like a man greeting his partner, and then he asked if the night was ordinary or if I wanted the other thing. I said the other thing. I said I want you in charge. Hold my wrists. Do not let me rush. No pen tonight. That is for a different evening. Just your hands and the bed and me where you put me.

He waited until I nodded, then walked me backward into the bedroom and sat me on the edge of the mattress. Bun out, because I asked him to pull the elastic and nothing else. He gathered my wrists in one hand, loose, high enough that I felt it and low enough that my shoulders did not complain, and he checked my face. Still yes? Yes. He pushed the navy tee up with his free hand and kissed my breasts until I pulled against his grip on purpose. He did not tighten it. He told me to ask if I wanted more. I asked.

He laid me back and held my wrists to the sheet and licked my cunt until I was trying to close my thighs on his head. He made me keep them open by asking, not by forcing, and I did because the asking was the control I had requested. Two fingers fucking my cunt, then his cock, a long slow fuck of my cunt while his hand went back to my wrists and his eyes stayed on mine. I could have pulled free. I did not want to. I came with his name and his cock in my cunt and a string of words I would not put in a notebook, and he came when I said he could. After, he let go the second I tugged, kissed the inside of each wrist, and brought me water. The coat was across town on a hook.