‘Thank fuck for contraception. I dread to think...’ his words trail off. And yeah, I’d dread that, too. ‘You didn’t come though, did you?’
Cue an inward wince, a rude word alert.
‘No,’ I say slowly.
‘Then there’s your punishment.’ He smiles. ‘I think you have sadistic leanings, Miss Saunders.’
‘I think I was just too busy watching you lose control.’
‘Thanks, I think, but don’t get too used to it. I can’t say I’ve ever paid attention to my own come face, but yours, that’s something to behold.’Come face...eww.I don’t think I could be any redder, even if I held my breath. ‘I’ve never triedcompleteorgasm denial, maybe now would be the time to start.’
‘It’s a bit late,’ I laugh, ‘and what happened to youcan resist anything but temptation?’
‘I meant for you.’
‘Ha, then deny away! Strictly speaking, I don’t need you for that.’ I may be talking a big game, but can feel I’m still beet-red.
‘You’ll have to show me sometime again,’ he answers in a honeyed purr. ‘Maybe when you’re out of your period of denial. You know, when I allow you to touch yourself again.’
‘Geez, you’re full of strange ideas. How’d a girl put her make-up on in the morning if she can’t touch her face?’
He rolls his body above mine, his mouth a whisper from my ear. ‘For being deliberately obtuse, it looks like your punishment will have to be orgasm overload.’
A shiver rolls down my spine, catching me off-guard. ‘You’re good, but you’re not superhuman,’ I reply, my words sounding libidinous quite without intent.
‘I think you’ll find I’ll manage,’ he murmurs, grasping my hands in his larger ones, pulling them above my head and feeding them into one of his hands. ‘So compliant,’ he smirks, running his free hand across my ribs and tantalizingly close to my breasts. ‘But it’ll have to be on account. I have other plans for us today.’
‘Yeah?’ I question breathlessly. ‘What’s first on your agenda?’
‘Getting dressed.’ Eyes alight, he kisses my forehead. Rolling onto his back, he jostles his pants back into place before rocking onto the balls of his feet, he propels himself to stand.
‘You ratbag,’ I complain, aiming a sofa cushion for his head as he collects the leather weekend bag from the kitchen bench, disappearing into my tiny bathroom with a laugh.
