I can feel him through his sweats. Can feel exactly how much this has been affecting him even though he’s been acting like it hasn’t.
“See?” I manage. “You’re not as controlled as you pretend.”
“Never said I was controlled.” His hands slide under my shirt, thumbs brushing bare skin. “I said I have more patience than you. There’s a difference.”
“Semantics.”
“Move,” he instructs. “Slowly. Like you’re just shifting to get comfortable.”
I roll my hips experimentally and the friction makes us both suck in a breath.
“Again.”
I do it again, grinding against him this time. His fingers dig into my hips.
“That’s it. Just like that. Nice and slow.”
We find a rhythm—careful, controlled, nothing that would look suspicious to anyone who glanced over. But the pressure builds anyway. My body responding to his through layers of clothing, every nerve ending on fire.
“You feel that?” he murmurs against my neck. “That’s three days of wanting. Three days of your body learning to be desperate for me.”
“Please—”
“Please what? Please let you come right here on this bus where anyone could wake up and see?” His teeth graze my earlobe. “As much as I’d love that, no. Not yet.”
“You’re cruel.”
One hand slides up my back, into my hair. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
“Say it.”
“I want to come,” I breathe. “I want you to stop teasing me and just let me?—”
“Tomorrow.” His hand tightens in my hair, holding me still. “You’ll be so desperate for me, Moxie baby, that you won’t even remember your name.”
I’m shaking. Literally shaking against him.
“But tonight?” He pulls back enough to look at me. “Tonight you’re going to go to your room and lie in bed and be good. You’re not going to touch yourself. You’re going to feel every ache, every throb, every desperate need. And you’re going to remember that I’m the one who gets to fix it. Not you. Me.”
“I can’t?—”
“Yes you can.” He tilts my head up so I’m looking at him. “Because you trust me now. Even if you’re furious with me. Even if you want to kill me. You trust that this is going to work.”
He’s right. Somewhere in the last three days I’ve stopped fighting him.
“One more night,” I whisper.
“One more night.” His hands slide down to my thighs. “And then you’re going to understand why I made you wait.”
The bus pulls into the hotel and I’m shaking so badly I can barely stand.
“Go,” he says quietly. “Pack. Try to sleep.”
“Sleep?” I actually laugh. “Are you kidding?”
“Fine. Don’t sleep. Lie awake thinking about tomorrow. Thinking about how good it’s going to feel when I finally let you fall.” He leans back, looking completely satisfied. “Either way, I want you ruined by the time I see you tomorrow night.”
