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“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his hand moving again. Abi clenched her eyes shut and saw stars behind her closed eyelids for a moment. “You’re not going to win.”
“To be clear,” she said, her fingers pulling free of the boxer briefs so she could do as he hand done and jerk the offending fabric and the stiff denim down his legs. She needed to see his body, and she couldn’t help herself any longer. “Winning is getting the other person off first? Or is it getting off?”
“Interesting question,” he mused, crowding her into the deck support again. His bare dick brushed her hip, and she let out a harsh breath. Why did part of her want him to turn her around roughly and take her like that, pushing that thick, hard dick into her while he grumbled questions in her ear? “Does it matter if we haven’t settled on a forfeit?”
“I think I hate you,” she said, as conversationally as she was able. She definitely wanted to make him beg the way she wanted to beg. His other hand was curled behind her, his hand holding the deck support as he worked against her. Abi took a breathless moment to appreciate his proud, hard erection, the way it stood out from his body ruddy, the tip reddening.
Then he added another finger to the first one and did something with his hand that made her gasp, her hips bucking hard into his hand as though they weren’t connected to her brain at all.
“Bastard,” she said, pressing her head into the deck support. The feel of the solid surface behind her was grounding. Or at least as grounding as it could be. This whole situation was surreal, and she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. How had they gotten here? She quickened her pace on his dick, tightening her fist around him and his own body moved against her, his hips working to find her too.
“Bitch,” he retorted, his forehead pressing to her temple. The hand he’d been pressing into the deck support slid upward, and his fingers tangled in her hair, cushioning her head. Suddenly Abi wanted him to kiss her the way she wanted him to fuck her. She wanted him to just do it. To take it upon himself and just go to that place.
But he wouldn’t. He’d said as much so many times already. He wasn’t going to kiss her. She could feel his breath, hot on her neck, and she felt a surge of desire straight to her core. She whimpered, unable to stop herself, and ground into his hand, her body working so that he was pressing against just the right places.
“Do you have any idea what you look like right now?” he asked, and his voice was thick with something. His lips were brushing her earlobe, and she gasped, unable to hold back from these little expressions of need. Her lips burned as though she’d been kissing him for hours, but it wasn’t that, she realized. It was that she’d been chewing her lips, teeth worrying the sensitive flesh because without his lips on hers she was unsatisfied.
“Do you?” she said, panting. He laughed, and the sound was knowing. Abi wanted to hate him for that, but she couldn’t. Instead, she met his gaze, so close to her own, and clenched her jaw, intent on forcing his orgasm, finding her own. She was going to win this, whatever winning meant.
“We should be naked,” he ground out, his hips moving in short, tight circles as she worked him. She grunted, one of her hands leaving his body to cover his hand, to urge him back to a place he’d just been. He took the hint, his thumb twisting to frig her swollen clit. She moaned, and his head moved, his lips hovering just above hers.
Still not kissing.
* * *
He still wasn’t kissing her, but his mouth hovered so close to her own that he swallowed her moan of pleasure. Her body was tight around his fingers, his palm so wet with her juices he had no doubt he’d be thinking about the experience for weeks. He was so close to orgasm that it was impossible to think about anything but the most basic action in front of him. First, touch here, then move there, and do not kiss her. Do not kiss her.
Ilan couldn’t remember why he would do such a thing as asinine as refuse to kiss this woman. But he knew there had been a reason he wouldn’t do it. No matter how she begged with those dark, dark eyes and that perfect, pink mouth. Her teeth caught her lower lip, worrying it with her consternation.
“We’re outside,” Abi pointed out, her tone reasonable. It took him a moment to realize she was responding to something he said. We should be naked.
Well, we should be, he reasoned internally.
“You have a privacy fence,” he shot back, one of her hands was on his hip, holding him steady as she worked him, sliding down to cup his ass, encouraging him to press ever more firmly against her. With the way her hand was twisted between their bodies, it was a wonder she was able to do anything, but she kept with her mission, working his body in a way that hinted at her knowing something he absolutely wanted to learn from.
“Oh sure, that’s why I have the twice monthly orgy,” she said, then groaned when he removed his hand from her body. But he wasn’t stopping, he wasn’t a monster, he was only moving so that he could focus more completely on her clit.
“No wonder you have such strong feelings about the tree line,” he mused.
“Exactly,” Abi said, a note of something close to peevishness creeping into her voice, and he immediately regretted mentioning the earlier discussion.
“Oh, God, keep doing that.”
The plea was hoarse, and her voice cracked. She said it so low he almost thought he imagined it. His fingers were sliding along either side of her clitoris, rubbing firmly. He met her gaze and her brown eyes were so dark they were almost black in the shadow of the deck.
“You’re close?” he asked, though he could tell the answer from the way she panted, the way her hips met his hand in sharp, controlled jerks.
“Are you?” she said, the challenge back in her voice.
“Yeah,” he said because he was tired of the game. If you could even call it a game.
“Really?” she asked, surprise making her delicate eyebrows go up.
“Really,” he said, then gasped because she did that thing with her wrist again, “don’t stop that.”
“This?” she said, her brow furrowing as she concentrated on his face. He jerked an approximation of a nod, lifting his head just far enough from hers that he could watch her whole face.
“Yes,” he said and she redoubled her efforts, concentrating on exactly what he asked for. He gave as good as he got, doing for her what she’d asked of him and she moaned low, a short, truncated sound.
