Egbá: A Gentle Femdom Novella

THREE

"What did we do?"

He tries to force his brain to do its job, because he knows Egbá won't make this easy for him. He tries to tamp down his curiosity. He tries to get his feet moving, because if he isn't in her vicinity, she won't be weaving this spell around his sense. None of them work.

She tsks. "What did you do? That's what you should be asking."

"Fine," he says through gritted teeth. She's enjoying this way too much. "What did I do?"

"You might want to sit down for this."

He does without argument, and she pushes off the bed. She opens the same drawer she'd taken her brush out of, and removes a folded cloth.

She unwraps it to reveal a long, rectangular strip, and brings it with her till she's in front of him. "This."

He arches a brow. "What's that supposed to be?"

"Don't be obtuse, Marcos."

He studies the cloth, and comes to the most obvious conclusion. "Did I use it to tie you down?"

She scoffs. A very 'I wish you tied me down' scoff. "No. I used it to tie you down."

Moments of silence pass after her declaration, before he begins to laugh. It's all he can do, laugh at himself, because for a while, he was actually terrified, wondering what he did that was so bad. But of course, no-one would have seen Egbá's sense of humour peeking out at this time. Greer will have a long laugh about this when Marcos tells him.

"Laugh all you want," Egbá says, not sounding any less full of herself. "It's the truth."

"I find that hard to believe," he says after finding his breath. "You see, I'm an excessively dominant motherfucker when it comes to sex."

"And I don't doubt that," she allows, "but that night, you asked me to tie you up. And everything went downhill from there."

He stills. "Elaborate."

"It means you were so eager to serve after I tied you down, too eager, it became a turn-off. And bro, are you a selfish fuck."

He's not laughing anymore. Heat rises on his face, because he doesn't understand what she's saying, or why she's lying. But she wouldn't lie. Why would she?

"Serve?" he forces out, becoming defensive at his uncertainty.

She smirks as if she can see his very thoughts. "Yeah. You used that word a lot. And you came one time too many."

He chokes for real this time. She hurriedly hands him the bottle of water, and in an alternate universe where he was a certain Kent boy, his glare would eviscerate her arm.

"Prove it," he says after he finds his breath. He's completely out of his league because of the gaps in his memory, but he's not about to let this slip of a woman accuse him of not satisfying her.

He knows what he's like in bed. He knows anyone lucky enough to get him there is in for hours of unrelenting pleasure. He knows the punishment he inflicts on his body everyday in the gym has built his body with the stamina of an ox. He knows that if his knowledge about a woman's body could be quantified into degrees, he'd have a triple Ph.D. He cannot bear to have her implied meaning be the truth. He can't.

She eyes him for a minute. "What are you asking for? A repeat performance?"

"No. I want you to show me what happened on Monday. How it happened."

She taps on his suit jacket without hesitation. "As you wish. Take that off."

He does, once again not expecting her easy capitulation. He doesn't like how she throws him. He doesn't like it at all.