My mind wanders to the way he touched me. My body tingles as I remember his mouth on my nipples. I slide a hand under my shirt and flick my fingers over my turgid bud. My legs fall open as I pinch the tip next. My eyes flutter closed, and I pretend my fingers are Brody’s. Then I pretend they’re his teeth. He’s humming against my chest.
My pussy is soaked, and I slide my other hand down to touch my folds. Swollen. Not from last night but from now. I moan as I drag my fingers through the wetness. I’m so sensitive. Is that left over from him touching me? Or am I permanently more sensitive now that I’ve had so many mind-blowing experiences in under twenty-four hours?
I never attempt to masturbate without a toy. Why would I? When I want to come, I can do it quickly with anything rechargeable or battery-operated. I don’t remember the last time I used my hand. But right now, nothing else seems necessary. Not to come anyway. I can’t get my fingers in deep enough to satisfy my need to be filled. That’s what dildos are for.
Suddenly, I can hear Brody’s voice in my ear as if he’s standing next to me. “Every single one of your orgasms is mine. You may not touch yourself or use any of those vibrators for the entire week.”
My eyes pop open as I jerk my hands out from under the covers and sit up. I’m panting as I glance around. I’ve been barely awake, lying here masturbating until my bossy boyfriend infiltrated my mind and ruined what could have been an amazing orgasm.
Scowling, I shove the covers away, slide out of bed, and stomp to the bathroom. It’s still barely six o’clock. I don’t know how long Brody will be gone, but while he is, I’m going to shower. I’d better make it a cold shower. My pussy aches from denial.
“He can’t order me not to masturbate,” I mumble, stepping under the tepid water. “I’m not his submissive. We don’t have a formal written agreement that gives him the right to order me around.”
I yank the shampoo off the ledge and pour some into my palm. My frustration is palpable. It’s not based on any real anger toward the sex god with the amazing body who rocked my world and then went out running so he could maintain those fucking abs and pecs. Nope. This aggravation is from orgasm denial. It doesn’t sit well with me.
When I’m finished in the shower, I step out, quickly dry off, and wrap the towel around me. My hair is dripping water down my back, but I can’t do anything else until I have coffee.
I’m still absurdly disgruntled as I tromp to the kitchen and grab a mug. “Come on,” I tell the coffee maker until my mug is filled. I add about an inch of my favorite creamer, and I lean against the counter to sip the elixir. That’s where I’m still standing when the door is opened and the alarm disarmed.
Brody shows up in the doorway seconds later.
I almost drop my coffee. Must the man look so fucking hot right now? Damn him. He’s breathing heavily. His shirt is soaked with sweat. His sweatpants shouldn’t be legal. Did his abs and pecs get bigger?
His brows knit together, reminding me that I’m mad at him. “What’s wrong?” The corner of his mouth tips up. He thinks I’m cute?
“You can’t order me not to touch myself,” I bark before taking another sip of coffee.
He tips his head back and laughs. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” I wave my free hand through the air erratically. “We’re not in a Dom/sub relationship. We don’t have a contract or anything. I can fucking masturbate if I want to.”
He’s grinning as he approaches me. Silently, he takes my mug from my hand and sets it to the side before caging me in with both hands on the edge of the counter.
Brody has to step back a few paces so he can bend forward and put us eye-to-eye. He’s not touching me, but he might as well be. I can feel him all over my skin.
“Someone woke up needing an orgasm.”
I scowl at him.
“Are you always this grumpy in the morning or only when you don’t get to come?”
My scowl turns into a growl.
He chuckles. Damn him. “Baby, did you touch that pussy?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
He lifts a brow.
“But then I remembered your fucking edict and stopped. And now I’m sexually repressed. Are you going to fix this?” I switch from growling to pouting, even going so far as to push my bottom lip out in hopes it will get me what I need.
He leans around me to the side and nips at my earlobe. “Fuck, you smell good. Maybe if you ask me nicely, I’ll let you come.”
Grrrr.
He pulls back to meet my gaze again and waits.
Fuck. “You left me alone in the bed all hot and bothered,” I complain. Am I whining? Who even am I?
