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"Ya done yet?" he questions after a few minutes.
"Don't rush a masterpiece! Now, move your hand faster," I tell him.
He plays dumb. "Faster?"
"Yea, play with yourself faster," I say, flipping my fingers in the air.
He shakes his head but moves his hands a little faster. "I can do this all night, darling. Ya know I got stamina."
I purse my lips and sternly say, "Subjects aren't to speak."
"No? Since when is that the rule?" he questions.
"Well, it is the rule. I dare ya not to speak, moan, or make a sound and to play with yourself until you come."
He stares at me.
I tilt my head. "Are ya able to do that? Or do ya not want to take my dare?"
He purses his lips.
I don't flinch.
The challenge reappears on his expression. He keeps his gaze on me and works himself harder.
About fifteen minutes pass, and his jaw clenches.
I coo, "Aw, are ya having a hard time?"
He doesn't speak, but he wants to groan. He's too excited. I see it in his eyes and his chiseled jaw, which looks like it's stone right now.
I put the pen down, unbutton my shirt, and slide my pants off. I walk over to him, his eyes on me the whole time. "Remember, ya can't talk, or you'll be quitting. You'll lose the dare."
He freezes.
"Uh-uh," I chastise. "I didn't say ya could stop playing with yourself."
He blows out a breath of air but returns to stroking himself.
I straddle him, putting my pussy right next to his hand.
He reaches around with his other and pulls me closer.
I push on his chest. "I didn't say ya could touch me."
He opens his mouth, and I put my finger over it.
I remind him, "If ya talk, you're quitting."
He gives me an evil look.
I love everything about this. We've been playing these truth-or-dare games the entire time we've been in New York.
I've always wanted him to quit because he claims he won't. This time, I'm going to have my way. So I order, "Take your hands off me. Hold them in the air."
He obeys.
I get off him, remove my panties, then straddle him again.
