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Only then do I hear it.
The timer.
Shit, shit, shit.
Victory creeps into his eyes.
“No, no, no! That doesn’t count—you were just about to touch me!” My speech thunders out of me quickly, giving my speeding heart some serious competition.
He smirks. “But I didn’t, did I?”
“Haze, please. You know I won that. This isn’t fair,” I insist. and he picks his phone off the couch to kill the timer.
“Life isn’t fair, Kingston.” He cups my cheek and slowly traces along my lower lip with his thumb, as if to wipe the pout off my mouth. “My turn.”
He gets something out of his jeans on the couch next to him. A condom wrapper. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out his intention when he tears it open and stretches the latex down his size. Tingles eat at me, but I make it a priority to remind myself of what losing this game implies. I want my dog. I open my mouth, with every intent to argue my way out of this, but he cuts me off with just the touch of a finger. He starts the timer again.
Then he slides my panties to the side, grips my waist with both hands, and buries himself deep inside me.
I gasp so loud I have to cover my own mouth.
“No more teasing,” he grunts, shifting under me and guiding me down onto him harder. It feels better than the best, and usually I’d brace my hands on his chest, give myself a few pushes, but I can’t touch him and it’s driving me mad.
“Take off your bra,” he orders.
So, I do. Correction: I try. But apparently not quickly enough for him because he almost immediately reaches over and does it for me. My breasts break free, bouncing at his rapid thrusting. I wait for him to touch me, but he never does.
“Touch yourself.”
“What?” I stifle a moan when he pulls out completely and fills me again. Oh. My. God.
“You heard me. Touch yourself.”
It’s not that Haze and I have never tackled on this topic before. I’m not embarrassed with the idea of taking care of myself, but we’re usually so infatuated with each other in bed that the opportunity never comes along.
“I-I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry, are you arguing with me?” He twists the hair on the back of my head around his fist and pulls back until I have a clear shot of the ceiling. Then he leans in and bites my neck. It’s not gentle. Or sweet. It’s rough and hungry for blood.
“God, I hate this game.” I taste my lie for a few seconds and surrender, cupping each of my breasts and teasing my nipples until he grunts. The fact that I can’t see myself helps tune out the self-conscious voice in my head.
“I fucking love this game.” He keeps me bouncing up and down his length so fast that the sensation knocks the English vocabulary out of my brain. Between each of my frivolous heartbeats, he leaves my body and claims me again. When he rips my hands from my chest and tells me, “That’s enough. I want you to come on your fingers,” heat rushes to my cheek. He’s so raw, unapologetic. My hand travels downward, but I’m cautious to keep my eyes where he can’t see them. “Look at me.” He shoots me an arrow made of my own words.
I obey yet another one of his commands, staring him dead in the eyes while I rub myself, slowly at first, then so fast my faded, uncompleted climax from earlier is given a second chance.
“Shit, I can’t watch you. Come here.” He roughly smashes his lips to mine, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth as he continues to pound into me. The last of my restraint flies right out the window, and I cup his face with one hand to deepen the kiss. He doesn’t comment on me touching him. I’m not sure he even notices it at this point. A hurricane of pleasure sucks me in, and I clench around him. Haze’s thrusting, as well as his lips against mine, grow a bit sloppy—frantic. The timer goes off next to us. But we both know the game ended a long time ago.
Fireworks detonate within my stomach as I finish myself off. Still kissing me, he gives one last powerful pump and empties into the condom. Breathless, we stop moving, still high on a game with unbroken rules. I never thought bowing to someone’s every demand could feel this good. I never thought losing control could be this freeing.
And when he pulls me into his arms, I’m glad I didn’t break his rules after all.
14
Forever
There are multiple ways to wake up on your birthday. To say most females don’t usually expect their significant other to try and organize something special for them would be a big fat lie. Maybe he’ll go for a cute and yummy breakfast in bed. Maybe he’ll play with your hair until you wake up. Or maybe he’ll open the door, jump on top of you like a maniac—all the while making sure to bury you under his entire body weight—and scream, “Happy Birthday!”
I should’ve known Haze Adams would choose option number three.
