bow down bitches

“Earlier today you said if I was angry with you, I should take it out on you in bed. What did you mean?”He stills. “What did you think I meant?”Holy shit! I should just say it. “That you wanted me to tie you up.”His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Um . . . no. That’s not what I meant at all.”“Oh.” I’m surprised by my slight twinge of disappointment.“You want to tie me up?” he asks, obviously reading my expression correctly. He sounds shocked. I blush.“Well . . .”“ I—” he stops, and something dark crosses his face. I move so that I am lying on my side, propped up on my elbow like him. I caress his face. His eyes are large and fearful. 

He takes my hand and places it on his pounding heart. Fuck! What is it?“I don’t know how I’d feel about you touching me if I were restrained.”My scalp prickles. It’s like he’s confessing something deep and dark.“This is still too new.” His voice is low and raw.Fuck. It was just a question, and I realize that he’s come a long way, but he still has a long way to go. Anxiety grips my heart. I lean over and he freezes, but I plant a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“ I got the wrong idea. Please don’t worry about it. Please don’t think about it.” I kiss him. He closes his eyes, groans and reciprocates, pushing me down into the mattress, his hands clasping my chin. And soon we’re lost . . . lost in each other again.

The familiar vision  as a dirty, wretched little boy haunts me. Gently, I stroke his shorter hair and my melancholy recedes. He stirs, and his sleepy eyes meet mine. He blinks a couple of times as he wakes.“Hi,” he murmurs and smiles.“Hi.” I love waking to that smile.He nuzzles my breasts and hums appreciatively deep in his throat. His hand travels down from my waist, skimming over the cool satin of my nightgown.“What a tempting morsel you are,” he mutters. “But, tempting though you are,” he glances at the alarm, “I have to get up.” He stretches out, untangles himself from me, and rises.I lie back, put my hands behind my head, and enjoy the show—stripping for his shower. He is perfect. I wouldn’t change a hair on his head.

“Admiring the view?”he arches a sardonic brow at me.“It’s a mighty fine view.”He grins and throws his pajama pants at me so they almost land on my face, but I catch them in time, giggling like a schoolgirl. With a wicked grin, he pulls the duvet off, puts one knee on the bed, grabs my ankles, and drags me toward him so that my nightdress rides up. I squeal, and he crawls up my body, trailing little kisses on my knee, my thigh...

And yes, I am yours and you, my dear overbearing husband who refuses to exercise his constitutional right under  the second amendment  to bear arms, are mine. But don’t worry because I shall protect you. Always.