“You should if you’re trying to kill me. Are you trying to kill me?” he asked, then seemed to realize all on a rush. “Oh good god you are, that’s what you’re doing, you’re teasing me to fucking death on purpose. You’re doing this on purpose, and you’relikingit. No, scratch that, you’re fuckinglovingit, aren’t you? You getting off on playing with me like this?”
“That really depends on how you feel about that.”
“I feel like I’m going to blow my load just watching you get all excited over my body and my dick and what all this fucking teasing does to me. Look at you. Jesus, look at you. Look at those fucking devil eyes and that flush all over you and those spiky little nipples. God, you look like such a horny fuckingslut.”
He spat the last word, the way people did when they meant it as an insult. Only he didn’t mean it that way at all. She knew he didn’t, because the second the word was out his head went back. A long, low keening moan wavered out of him, followed by what could only be described as a seizure. His whole body seemed to clench, to the point where she could actually see it. She saw his abdominal muscles tighten and the cords stand out in his neck, and then that big, fat cock was swelling in her hand.
He was coming, she realized.
She had made him come, just by teasing him and wanting him.
A second later the first thick streamer of come shot over her hand and arm, so violently that some made it much further. She felt it spatter her T-shirt and almost came herself right then and there, and again when his hand went around hers. No more letting her do it on her own now. He wanted every last drop of this orgasm, and that meant urging her to stroke him. To pump his still-jerking cock until his shudders died down and that slippery liquid slowed to a weak trickle.
Though even then he kept it going.
He squeezed her hand around the solid shaft, gasping and moaning in a way that made her want to moan, too. She took in his flushed, slack face and his lust-fogged eyes and his heaving chest, and just needed to do something, anything, to relieve the ache thrumming through her.
Except for the thing he then suggested.
“Okay. My turn.”
“What do you mean, your turn?”
“I mean it’s my turn now to kiss and lick and tease you all over.”
He reached for the hem of her T-shirt, with all the serious intent he could muster. Though she knew the second he did it that he didn’t really mean it. He wasn’t actually going to just reach over and yank her top off.
It was obvious he just wanted to see her reaction.
And she cursed herself for immediately giving it to him. As soon as his fingertips grazed that hem, she jerked back. She just couldn’t help it. It was like some kind of primal instinct—one that he was well aware of, apparently. He sat back on his heels at the sight, already stuffing himself back into his jeans. And the expression on his face…
She wanted to call it pained ruefulness.
A description that was backed up by the tone of his voice.
“I knew it. I knew it. You’re nervous about taking your clothes off.”
“In an abandoned barn, sure.”
She sat back, too, as she told the lie. Folded her arms, to make it seem more certain.
Of course, it only had the opposite effect. Now she’d built an extra barrier between him and her body.
“You didn’t want to do it in your dorm room, either.”
“I didn’t notnotwant to do it.”
“I think that was a triple negative.”
“Which makes it a positive again.”
“That’s not…I don’t think that’s how that…” He paused, half frustrated and half amused. Shook a playful fist at her. “Stop using grammar against me!”
“You started it with your triple-negative jibe.”
“I did not. You backed me into—” he started, but he didn’t finish. Instead he took a calming breath, and restarted with a clearer purpose. “Okay, this is completely irrelevant to the point, which is: you obviously don’t want me to see or feel too much of you. And that’s ridiculous, considering how aroused I got over your bare leg like we live in nineteenth-century New Zealand and I stole your piano.”
She had to drop her folded arms a little for that.
