I take him by surprise, from sweetness to sprung energy, I grab him by the throat and shove him backwards, fast, sudden. He almost loses his balance, his eyes widen, he thuds into the wall just as he starts to flail.
I wonder if he will fight me. I want to see it. I watch the flash of defiance, maybe even anger: The injustice, the patronising cuntery of it.
“You know I can beat you,” he whispers, even as I hold him by the throat against the wall.
I take a millisecond to parse the sentence. Beat or BEAT. Doesn’t matter. He is telling the truth either way.
I tilt my head at him. I don’t say it. I don’t need to. But it’s there. The dare. The sneer.
“Go on then, boy. DO IT!”
He blinks at me, I feel him swallow under my hand. He doesn’t move.
I smirk at him, relax my grip a little and he reaches for me, instinct. I let him move a few inches towards me before I shove his head back again, the thump against the wall resonates up my arm. Solid, satisfying, sexy.
“Did you say something?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, Ma’am.”