What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [36]
“You okay?” he asked, suddenly back to being Brent now.
She hesitated, weighing her answer. “I think.” Then she gave her head a soft shake. “It . . . wasn’t what I expected.”
When she found the will to meet his gaze again, he’d propped up on one elbow. “What were you expecting?”
The question made her shift her eyes back away, embarrassed by the more innocent visions in her head. “It was silly, really.”
“Tell me.”
She took a deep breath and tried to be honest. “Something . . . softer. Satin sheets and violin music, maybe? Some kind of romantic beach tryst. Something I might . . . really fantasize, like you said.” Then she sighed. “Something that, now, I don’t think you’d ever arrange for me—since your goal here is fixing whatever you think is wrong with me, not just making me feel good.”
“My goal is to do both,” he clarified.
Jenna found herself blinking uncomfortably. “I’m just not sure this was . . . me.” She motioned around the room, then peered down at the clothing she only half wore.
“You came. Hard,” he pointed out, sounding just a bit arrogant.
She pulled in her breath, unable to deny it. “I just don’t know . . . what all that was about.”
Brent couldn’t explain it to her—too much information, too much detail, would only screw up the effects of the sex. Still, he found himself wishing he could, because she’d been brave coming here today and he felt a little bad for her now. He probably should have anticipated an uncertain reaction—but again, he just wasn’t used to fucking anyone who wasn’t thrilled to be here. Usually, people were happy after fantasies—sometimes exhausted but replete, other times delighted and giddy, and everything in between. “Remember I said you have to trust me,” he reminded her.
“I did—and I’m not sure I liked what happened.”
He thought about going soft on her, but the truth would be better for her in the long run. “You just don’t want to like it. Because it’s a lot dirtier and more complex than satin sheets and violins.”
She tilted her head. “Are you implying there’s something wrong with satin sheets and violins?”
“Not at all. But you wouldn’t have felt half as much. And you wouldn’t have come nearly as hard.”
“It would help if I knew what I was supposed to take away from it.”
Maybe, maybe not. She might not appreciate knowing that a big part of this was about making her obey him—so that he could get her through her fantasies without her balking at his every instruction.
He’d also wanted her to start playing with the concept of being a bad girl. Girls like Jenna, who’d absorbed a lot of negative sexual content growing up, usually went one of two ways—all the way bad or all the way good. Jenna had been a hard-core good girl, the kind who would be mortified if anyone ever thought she was bad—but he’d just shown her that she could be a bad girl and the world wouldn’t stop spinning, the sky wouldn’t fall. Right now, she saw things too much in black and white, not appreciating shades of gray—and there were lots of shades of gray in sex.
“I can’t go into it with you,” he explained. “But you need to loosen up and feel what it made you feel. Not the I-wanted-satin-sheets part. Forget what you wanted and feel what you got. Not just the orgasm. All of it.”
Next to him, she took a deep breath and he could sense how hard she was thinking. Finally, she said, “I . . . wanted you to make me do it. I didn’t . . . want to want it.”
“I know that,” he said simply.
“Well, isn’t that a bad thing? I mean, I’m smart enough to know that probably isn’t the healthiest sexual desire in the world.”
“It’s one of the things we’re going to be working on,” he told her, then heard himself confiding a little more than he probably should. “But for now, it’s something that satisfies you, so I used it to help get you . . . into the game.” Part of this had indeed also been about making her take what she subconsciously needed him to give her. She’d made it clear last night that she wasn’t comfortable admitting what she craved, that she wanted