Control
She simply loves to see him like this.
Laying among the tangled sheets, the sweet haze of the afterglow, glistening, bare, his breath rushed and trying to return to reality while the sweet shreds of ecstasy did their best to keep him for themselves.
He's panting, gasping for air, and when he finally calms his heart down and can breathe a little better, he just stays there, with his face to the ceiling, eyes half lidded, relaxed, at peace. His hair is tangled in tiny knots, that she will untangle later with a brush. Or with her fingers, his hair is so docile, so easy to handle, unlike hers. Silken threads of gold spilled across his pillow, his forehead, sticking to the skin of his neck, his cheeks, wherever it reaches. His long eyelashes flutter now and then, his body still twitches with those small shocks, the rush, the…
Sweet boy of hers, she smiles, no longer a boy. A man, she thinks.
One who likes to be in control, who keeps his head clean while she writhes and gasps and shakes. While she shivers in his hands, he smiles and laughs and teases, because he's a fucking tease. He'll bite and soothe it with his tongue, his fingers scratch with millimetric precision, his kisses are carefully counted and spread across her skin in even patterns. She often teases him, that he is a perfectionist, and he is. He knows.
That's why he enjoys the torture.
But there is a point, a single moment, in which he loses all control, in which he is untamed and she tames him, calms him down with words, kisses, she also bites. In that moment, when punishment is no longer a viable option, there is just the race for completion and the only things that exist in his world are him, her and their instant. When the silken bindings leave her wrist, when he only tortures with fingers and lets her roam his skin, when she says in her smooth voice "please…", that's when he snaps and he's no longer himself.
(She loves it)
(He loves it too)
And afterwards, just like right now, she opens her arms and he accepts the invitation, melting in her embrace. Where she can run her fingers through his hair and kiss him everywhere, softly.
And then they both know, she's got him under her spell. Her control.