I have to have him beneath me, even if its my ass being impaled. The power and control in being the one on top, the one making things happen with our sex adds to my excitement. The only concession I’ll make to this arrangement is if we’re both standing, and even then he’s facing the wall. If nothing else, being able to dominate that one aspect of our life together gives me the assurance he is mine.
I think he understands this for when I reach for him in the night, he’s always there - pulling me on top of him.
I love to feel him above me, on me, in me; watching his face slide from its perpetual scowl into an intense mask of pleasure and knowing I caused it adds to my excitement. When he’s above me, I can hold him, touch him, feel the trembling muscles in his thighs, dig my nails into his back or cup his ass in my palms urging him faster, harder.
For if my hands are on him, he is with me not anyone else, and prove to myself - it is not a dream.