Egbá: A Gentle Femdom Novella

NINE

"Can I ask you something?"

"You know you can."

They're inside his compound, but outside the house, too lazy to go in. After their drive back from his parents' house, she alighted and hopped on to the hood of his car, and collapsed against the windshield. He followed suit. After yet another day full of emotional rollercoasters, it didn't seem like leaning against his car in anticipation of the sunset was a bad way to recharge his batteries.

And it isn't. It is something of an (dare he say this) epiphany. Egbá has been quiet beside him, and he's almost certain that she likes this. That she's enjoying this as much as he is.

And that was before she chose to break the silence.

"Why didn't you go home? These six months? Olivia actually seemed hurt about it."

He turns to take her in, her sleek edges and red-rimmed eyes, and smiles ruefully. At some point, had he really thought that Egbá didn't care about anything? That she was ice?

She's just as soft as the other person. She cares as much as the next person. She needs comfort just like any other person.

Except her own softness calls out to him, every bit as much as her hardness. It's begging him to be careful with it, to be patient, to not take it for granted.

As if her ever could.

"My father has a lot to say to me about his company. He doesn't approve of how I run it. I think he regrets leaving it in my hands."

Her eyes narrow. "You're not telling me the truth."

He laughs. "How can you even tell?"

"That overdone look of mediocrity and purity. We both know you shot that company into the statosphere."

"What do you know about me?" he asks, trying not to seem like he's fishing for compliments. Which he's really not. He just wants to see how much more of it he can force out of her usually tight lips. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Definitely not fishing for compliments.
She giggles loudly, reminding him that she's still a little tipsy, and palms his cheek. "You're adorable."

He might have preened a little, even though that's not the adjective he would have used to describe himself. Or the adjective he'd have preferred for her to use.

Moving on. "You're the one who tried to put your head out of the window like a dog on our drive back."

She dimples. "That was pretty cute, huh?"

Trust Egbá not to be modest even when drunk. "Unfortunately."

His answer seems to satisfy her. She shifts her hand from his cheek down to his neck, moving almost experimentally. When she reaches his throat, she doesn't hesitate to clutch, gently crushing the place beneath his Adam's apple. "Don't try to change the topic. You still haven't answered me."

He grins cheekily. "I haven't been trying to—"

Her grip on his throat tightens. Obviously, in her adorable drunken haze, she must have thought holding him like this was threatening. She must have discounted the very sexual nature of this position, the subtle power play.

The low hum he made was completely involuntary. But what is not involuntary is the way he pushes her closer to himself, silently urging her to do something. Straddle him. Press her hand a little harder. Anything.

She seems oblivious to the sudden decrease of the space between them, doing something with her face that seems like a scowl. He can't be too certain. "I'm waiting for a satisfactory answer," she snarls.