They're alone together. There is no one else in the world and all they can focus on is each other.

She is always composed, always disciplined. She is always in control of everything she does, except now. What he does with his fingers, lips and tongue make her forget the person who is rational and clear headed. She forgets that she compulsively counts things, that she makes lists, and keeps track of everything. He makes her forget how to be in complete control, and she loves it.

When they are alone together, she can forget who she pretends to be, the fa├žade she lets the world see. She lets the modesty fade away. When they are together, she lets herself fall apart in his arms. She lets herself become that girl that is the other side of her, the side she represses and ignores; it's the side that was perfectly happy being hidden until he came along. Her eyes slip shut and her breathing becomes ragged. He whispers for her to remain quiet as he lowers her down, watching her come undone, as she collapses with a final sigh and looks up at him with eyes filled with lust and sees control in his gaze. He knows she has given up the reins. He smiles.

And now she is back in control of herself.

She observed him for a while. Long enough to know that he makes every movement deliberately. His actions are swift, decisive and usually elegant. He always keeps himself restrained. He is always in control of himself. Except for now. She never stops looking up at his face. She takes him in her hands and watches as he shivers involuntarily in pleasure. She smiles every time he does so because it means that for a moment, however brief, he too has given up his control.

They are both strong. They are both outwardly tough and inwardly fragile. They are both in constant control of themselves, except when they are alone together, then they let sensation take over, losing control, and they love every minute of it.