Sam is always on top.
She loves the control, the rush she feels sitting on top of him, watching his chest rise and fall from his crazy beating heart, his eyes rolling back as he completely loses it. She loves knowing that she caused it, caused him to completely unravel under her.
Luckily, he doesn't mind all too much – he loves watching her breasts hanging over his head, in his direct line of sight, holding her hips firmly as he helps her move in and out, angling her so he can hit all those spots that drive her crazy.
People would ask him how he can stand it, having a girlfriend who is more often than not the "man" in the relationship. How he can get past his own pride and ego and still feel like a man when he's standing in the kitchen decked in a fluffy apron (that Sam bought him for Christmas one year as a 'joke' and won't let him give away) making his girl the proverbial sandwich. But he just shrugs slightly, smiling at them, because he never really feels the pride trip that they all seem to be insinuating.
She knows he's a man. She lets him know how much she loves his manhood at any given moment, her hands trailing up and down his muscular arms, grabbing his ass, whispering just how fucking sexy his body was, the result of many months slaving away at the gym down the street. She'll even make him the sandwich every once in a while, a surprise that he still has trouble believing because did she really just give him ham?
Sometimes – and mind you, this is only occasionally – she will relinquish her control for one night, and allow Freddie to be on top. And she will quietly admit – only after it is over and he is holding her tightly, her face buried in his shoulder- that she sortofkindof liked it. A lot.
He just smiles, because he already knows, but he's glad she's able to admit it out loud.
Then she climbs on top of him for another go.