“I shouldn’t.”
“You should.”
He bites his lip.
“Come on, Ansel,” I urge. “Make yourself feel good.”
He curses before shoving his hand beneath his pants. I can’t see his cock, but it’s enough. He’s touching himself. My butterfly is getting himself off.
Because of me.
My hand is flying over myself now as I eye him hungrily. My pulse is pounding in my ears, my hips fucking my fist furiously. God, I wish it were him wrapped around me instead. I bet he makes the sweetest sounds.
Just then, he gives me a gift, a promise. His head falls back, and a delicious moan leaves his lips.
It’s not as good as my name, but seeing as he doesn’t know it, I’ll take this as a win.
I paint the tub and the floor with my cum as my orgasm rushesthrough me. Ansel gives a small grunt, his spare hand shooting out to grab the sink, his chin hitting his chest.
My breath rattles through me as I eye the damp patch on the front of his pants. I wait until Ansel looks back at me, then I rasp just two words.
“Good butterfly.”
6
CADE
Ansel vanishes into the bedroom before I can say a word. That’s fine. I’ve pushed him far enough.
I’ll let him run. For now.
When I’m dry, I stride out naked into the room. Ansel is in bed already, eyes closed and sheets pulled up to his chin. My lips twitch. He looks like a Victorian maiden trying to protect his virtue.
He can try, but I’ll seduce him eventually. It’s just a matter of time until I have him wrapped around my little finger.
So long as he doesn’t realize he’s already got me in that position, everything will be fine.
I slide under the sheet beside him, turning to face him. “No post-sex snuggles?”
“We didn’t have sex.”
“We watched each other get off.”
“Nope,” Ansel sniffs. His eyes are still closed. “Didn’t happen.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” I brush a kiss over his temple before rolling onto my back. “C’mon. Tie me up so we can both get sleep.”
“What’s the point? You’ll just get out of them again.”
“Not unless you say I can. Besides, we both know you’ll sleep better if you do.”
“Fine.” He sits up and reaches for the rope. There’s no straddling me this time. He doesn’t even look at me as he ties some hurried and frankly atrocious knots. “There. Now go to sleep.”
I wait until he’s settled back on his side. “What, no bedtime story?”
I swear there’s a small laugh. One so quiet that I know he doesn’t mean for me to hear. “Go to sleep, Brad.”
The foreign name has me holding my tongue. How much longer will I have to keep up this charade? I’m seriously regretting giving him the fake name in the first place.
