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“Abi,” he answered, his teeth flashing on a wolfish smile that warmed her down to her toes. His fingers were sure, massaging her breast until her nipple pebbled to hardness against his palm. “Are you going to touch me?”
“That depends,” she said slowly, drawing it out so that she could think. Or at least try to think. It was hard to think with those eyes so close, watching her so intently. With those fingers so sure against her.
“On?” he said, the barest trace of amusement in his tone. Or maybe it was annoyance. It was hard to tell with this man.
“Are you going to touch me?” she said, proud of herself that her voice didn’t tremble. At least she sounded sure. She couldn’t remember the last time she chose to do anything she wasn’t completely confident about.
“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, and his fingers trailed over her belly, teasing along the hem of the leggings, touching it, fiddling with it, but not dipping beneath it. She squirmed against the deck support, trying to find calm.
“I don’t like it,” she found herself saying, and then she laughed because it was such a useless thing to say at this moment when it was so clearly a lie, “but I want to touch you. And I want you to touch me.”
“Glad we’re on the same page,” he said, and was she imagining it, or was he a little breathless? “I’m still not going to kiss you.”
“Sure,” Abi said, her fingers ghosting down his abdomen, feeling the muscles hiding beneath the tee shirt. They hovered over his erection, straining against the cotton boxer briefs. “Kissing is for people you like.”
“Exactly,” he said, lifting his chin. Her fingers touched his hardness, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Abi’s eyebrow lifted, and she couldn’t help the small twist of her lips at his response to her touch. His jaw tightened, and the look he gave her said he knew exactly why she was amused, and he wasn’t powerless. His fingers hooked in the band of her leggings and jerked hard.
Abi gasped at the feel of the warm, early-summer air on her bare skin. She took the hint, though, her fingers finding the flap of the boxer briefs and sliding inside it, finally, finally touching his throbbing dick. The muscles in Ilan’s neck corded, and his jaw looked like it was whittled in oak. Her fingers curled around him, and his breath caught as he tugged on her leggings again. This time, she widened her stance, knowing it was making it more difficult for him to remove the body-hugging material, but wanting to open for him. She wanted to feel those strong fingers against her.
His eyelashes were short and spiky, it was an odd detail to notice, but she was entranced by those lashes. They were dark, but they lightened at the ends, the color almost auburn. She’d never seen color like that on a man before. And they framed his crystal blue eyes so perfectly she could almost ignore the bold challenge that was reflected on his face and just enjoy the perfection. Almost.
She was learning the feel of him. She knew she was teasing, but she couldn’t help it. She should do what he was doing and work the boxer briefs free of his body so she couldn’t see what she was doing, but somehow, she liked this. She finally closed her fingers around him at the same moment his insistent fingers worked the leggings far enough down her hips for her body to be laid bare for him.
Ilan’s body jerked against her hand, and he sucked in another of those short, harsh breaths again.
“I thought you said you were going to touch me,” Abi said, surprised at the low, confident pitch of her own voice. “I’m going to finish you before you even—”
“You really think you can get me off that quickly,” he said, the challenge sparking somewhere deep in his eyes. Abi’s fingers moved against his dick in answer. She could feel the tension in his body, he was holding himself tightly in check.
“You think I can’t?”
“I’m not so easy, Ms Meyer,” he said, his fingers dusting feather light over her smooth skin. Abi swallowed, knowing he was about to feel exactly how wet she was, and know that he wasn’t the only one who was aroused by this little game.
“Really? Good to know,” she said, not stopping the movements as she worked him. Her thumb brushed over the velvet tip of the head of his dick, and he groaned. He was still stroking around her pussy, not quite touching. The little touches, and the breeze against her dampened skin, were tantalizing, maddening in the way they urged something she refused to give in to.
“I’m going to make you cum for me,” he said, his lips next to her ear again. His breath on her neck was warm, and she bit down hard on the tip of her tongue to stop herself from shivering. Abi turned her head infinitesimally, just stopping her lips from closing over the pulse at his neck. She wouldn’t cave. She wasn’t going to kiss him.
“Doubtful,” she said, glad to hear the hint of superiority in her voice. It gave her a sense of control. “I’m not so easy either.”
“So it’s a bet, then?” he said, his hand closing over her sex, his strong, work-roughened fingers feeling like the best kind of torture. “What do I get when I win?”
“What will I get when I win,” she corrected, her other hand touching him over the boxer briefs. She kneaded him as her fingers worked his shaft. She could almost hear the sound of Ilan’s teeth grinding together next to her ear.
“You admit, we’re competing, then?” His forehead pressed against hers again, and she pressed harder into the deck support. She wanted to wrap one of her legs around his, to pull him into her, to hold him against her as her hips rocked hard into his hand. But she held herself back. She would be damned if she let this man think he had one over on her.
“I admit you seem very sure of yourself,” she said, then gasped when the heel of his hand pressed firmly against her swollen clitoris. “Fuck, Ilan.”
“That’s one for me,” he said, and she didn’t have to pull away to know he was grinning, triumphant.
“You’re not the only one,” she said, adding a movement with her wrist that made him swallow hard.
“Do you realize how wet you are?” he asked. His finger slipped along the seam of her pussy lips, and she fought the urge to curse again. That same finger worked parting her with sure strokes as it inched inside her.
“Do you know how hard you are?” she said, knowing she sounded petulant and not caring. “I’m worried for your health.”
“You’re a sore loser,” he pointed out, sounding amused.
“I haven’t lost anything yet,” she said, feeling her competitive urge rising in spite of herself. “And you still haven’t told me what I get when I win.”
