I'm suddenly exhausted. It's been such a long few days. Everything exhausts me, and I feel like I've been put through an emotional wringer. What will I do when his sisters find out that I'm the writer? Will I lose the only family I have? Will anyone understand?
And then he’s behind me, spooning me, his flank pressed up against my body, and his heavy arm’s draped over me.
“You know you want to come,” he whispers in my ear.
Tosser, bugger, prick!
I shrug. “It would be nice, but since you’re not inclined…”
“Who said I’m not inclined?”
“You, clearly, since you decided to torture me.”
His chuckle makes my nipples harden again, goddammit.
His hand flattens on my belly, and I feel so self-conscious.
Does my back fat look weird at this angle?
Slowly, torturously slowly, he drags his fingers down my belly. His fingertips graze the very bottom of my belly.
“Tate,” I whisper. “Please don’t. I can’t deal with more torture.”
“Sure you can.”
Without warning, he strokes between my legs, and I knife up in response, I’m that ready to climax.
He chuckles again, a manly sound that makes my nipples go hard again.
“Noooo,” I whisper. “I can’t hold off. Don’t, please?—”
“Maybe I won’t let you hold off. Maybe this time I’ll let you come.”
He strokes again, and I’m on the verge of climax again, so quickly it feels like he’s lit a match beneath me.
“Oh, God,” I moan. “I’m super sex-deprived, you know.”
“I didn’t know. Why are you sex-deprived?”
“Because the last person I was with cheated on me, and I haven’t been able to trust anyone since. And contrary to popular belief, taking care of business yourself leaves a lot to be desired.”
He sighs. “I’d give fucking anything to watch you do it, though.”
“You’ve got the filthiest—Oh, God.”
He’s somehow touching me all over the place, my arse, my throbbing clit, my aching entrance. I need him in. I need to come. I need, I need.
“And what will I get if I let you come?" I don't know if he’s serious or teasing, but I answer without thinking.
"You get to watch me. "
He takes me seriously. "There's nothing in the world I’d rather fucking see,” he growls. “Come for me, Fran. Let yourself go. Show me how gorgeous you are when you climax.”
I’m so in my head, I can’t come at first, can’t let myself go, and when I don’t do exactly what he says the second he demands it, his voice coaxes me.
“Relax. Show me, gorgeous. Show me how you come, and I’ll forgive what you’ve done.”
And then I’m shattering into release, my mind a haze of utter bliss. I can’t breathe or think, my entire body engulfed in flames as he sends ripples of pleasure coursing through my body.
