I swallow hard. “I could. I bet I could sit in that chair and tell you to touch yourself, and you would.”
Her breathing picks up, her eyes wide. “Like this?” she asks, swirling her hand over her stomach.
“Come on, Madeline,” I tease, and now I’m leaning over her, one hand braced on the back of the couch, our faces nearly touching. “I could tell you to rub your clit until you were close but not come, and I think you would. I think you’d do it until I told you to stop.”
I lean in and kiss her, and she works a hand into my hair, snagging a little because I think it’s still in a pencil bun.
“Is that what you want?” she murmurs, her other hand snaking down her body.
I catch her wrist lightly. Yes, I want that. I want at least a dozen things, and I know I can’t have most of them. “No. I want you to spread your legs. More.More.”
“There’s a wall in the way.” She’s too breathy to sound bratty.
I hook one hand behind her knee and sink onto the couch between her legs, pushing her thigh up so I can lean in and kiss her again. It’s too frantic to be gentle. There are teeth in it, and when I pull back, her mouth is wet and bitten pink.
“Thank you,” I say, as sweetly as I can manage, and kiss her on the cheek. Then I move down, plant a foot on the floor, and put my mouth on her clit.
Madeline’s whole body jerks and she swears, the muscles in her thighs flexing under my hands, but I keep them spread as wide as I can.
I take my time. I explore. I don’t spend too much time on her clit, even though I can tell she wants me to. She gets her handsinto my hair, finally knocking the pencil out, and I have to stop, take her by the wrists, and sit up.
Gently, I put her hands on the armrest of the couch, interlacing our fingers.
“Can you keep those there for me?” I say, my face half-covered with her wetness.
“Can you ask nicely?”
I lean in, bracing my forearms on the arm of the couch, and manage to bite an earlobe. She squirms. “Please?”
I can feel the tendons in her wrists flex as she clenches her fists, and Madeline gets out a shaky “Maybe.”
I put my hair back with the stupid pencil again and get back to it. She keeps her hands where I put them, even as she gasps and squirms and does her best to shove her clit into my mouth while I keep ignoring it.
I’ve thought about this all the time. I tried not to. I tried to think about other women or porn or that poster I had hidden under my bed when I was fourteen or the Montreal strip club I went to for my buddy’s bachelor party. I’ve got an active imagination and an internet full of naked women, but I still had to force myself not to think about Madeline. It only worked sometimes. My brain is unruly at best.
It’s not long before I have to touch myself. I moan when I press the heel of my palm against my dick, have to take a moment to shove my face into her thigh to recover. I can’t help but bite it, which makes Madeline gasp, which makes my dick twitch against my hand, which makes me bite down harder?—
“Condoms are in the same place?” I ask, half sitting up. I slide my thumb over her slick entrance, then plant it on her clit and press down without moving. Madeline tries rolling her hips, but I don’t budge.
“Bedside drawer,” she says.
“And lube?”
“Yeah.”
“Any toys?”
“All my sex shit is in one place, okay?”
I laugh, bend down, and kiss her on the stomach. She squeaks.
“Thank you. Stay right there,” I tell her and go look for her sex shit.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MADELINE
When Javier headsinto my bedroom, I take the opportunity to roll out my shoulders and wiggle my toes. I could sit up. I could stand. I could go into the kitchen and start making us tea, and I wonder what he’d do if I did.
