Free Dominating Amy by Emily Ryan-Davis Page A

here long enough. Come talk with me."
    He pressed one of his t-shirts into her hand. Amy straightened away from the wall. She glanced at the folded square of black cotton, but didn't put it on. "I'm not comfortable doing everything naked."
    "I know. You’re not comfortable doing everything clothed, either. Your physical nudity is a symbol of being emotionally naked. Emotionally open."
    "Being naked for you in any way is hard. There’s nothing to hide imperfections. I want you to see me, but at the same time, I’m afraid you’ll see something you can’t love."
    He frowned. “I never wanted a perfect woman. I wanted you.”
    “I wanted you to have a perfect woman.” She braced her hand against the wall for support and unfolded her legs. "My feet are asleep."
    "I'll rub the needles away." Mac rose and held her elbow as she hobbled over to the sofa. She swung her feet up onto his lap without a second prompting. Red nail polish caught the light and made her small feet seem delicate.
    He studied her toes while he talked. Working the soles of her feet with his thumbs provided a meditative peace he hadn't expected to find in an action so simple. "I realize in retrospect that I set a rule without giving you an opportunity to negotiate the terms. I didn’t really explain the purpose, either.
    “Your nudity isn’t just a symbol of your own openness. It’s also a symbol of my attention. If your breasts sway when you bend over to pick something up, you’ll remember that I gave your body freedom to move. You’ll remember me. More importantly, you’ll remember you’re mine, and you’ll remember I’ve taken away all of your obligations to be perfect in any regard.”
    “You don’t want an unequal marriage, though.” Her toes curled against his wrist. “I’m confused. I wanted you to want this, but I didn’t really expect that you’d change your mind. I shouldn’t have put you in that position,” Amy said. “I was trying to manipulate you. Not to make you jealous,” she clarified, “but to make you want me again. I’m sorry.”
    He gently pinched her Achilles tendons and moved on to massage her ankles. His gaze strayed up the pale, shapely length of her legs. She held his t-shirt, still folded, over the apex of her thighs. Unsure what to make of her continued nudity, he refrained from comment on the shirt, and instead met her eyes. “I can’t remember a single day in the last twenty years that I haven’t wanted you.”
    Her eyes widened. “But--”
    “No buts, Amy.” He gave her a quick, sheepish grin. “You’ve been the object of every jerk-off fantasy since the day you picked up that Mets hat for me. Remember that?”
    She flushed. “Mac, I was thirteen!”
    “So? Not much younger than me. You expected a fifteen year old punk not to notice when a pretty blonde bent over and flashed her tits? You’re the one who wasn’t wearing a bra,” he pointed out.
    Amy rolled her eyes. “I was practically flat ‘til I went to college. You were stroking it to a trick of the light.”
    The crude phrase rolling off her lips nudged his now-aching dick into a third-wind hard on. It reminded him of serious business on the table. He shifted her feet off his thigh and onto the sofa. Best if he didn’t tempt his hands.
    “I need to know exactly what you want from me,” he said. The smile that had been playing at the corners of her mouth vanished. “If it’s physical punishment, I can’t do it. What I did—I enjoyed it too much. I was too tempted to keep hitting you. I didn’t even know I’d pushed you to the point of tears until I decided enough was enough, and saw your face.
    “Spanking for play…that’s something else. I think I could do that if you wanted. But I can’t be a physical disciplinarian.”
    She averted her eyes. Shades of pink spread over her cheeks, down her shoulders, and across the tops of her breasts. He would’ve given anything to know what thoughts were running through her head and