I’ve always had a thing for older men, their confidence, their experience, the way they know exactly what they want. I never acted on it until I met him. Early 40s, well-dressed, and with a way of looking at me that made me feel small, submissive, and desperate to please.
That night at his place, he didn’t rush. He made me wait, made me earn it. I was on my knees before I even realized, eager, aching, doing anything to hear his deep, approving groans. When he finally touched me, it wasn’t just passion, it was ownership, and I loved it.
I still think about that night. About him.
