Rebecca's moan was all the permission I needed. A broken, desperate sound that said she was done with gentle, done with being treated like she was fragile.
I didn't give her time to think. I wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her cleanly off her feet. A sharp gasp of surprise as I carried her the few steps to the bed. I laid her down, not on her back, but on her stomach, her face turned to the side on the plush duvet.
"When was the last time a man took control, Rebecca?" I asked, my voice low as I knelt over her, my hands on the zipper of her sensible slacks.
"I…" she breathed, the word muffled by the bedding. "I don't remember."
"Good."
