Part 22 (1/2)
”It's time to switch,” she said. ”Let me see if I can do a better job than you.”
He stared at her, but not with the raw want she expected. There was desire, but also mature concern, as if she'd just propositioned her high school track coach.
”This gives you pause,” she said.
He shook his head. ”I can't let you do that. I promised you from the start that we wouldn't have s.e.x. If you make me come, I may have to break my promise. I'll make you come again. Let me tell you what I'm going to do.”
He leaned down and whispered the dirtiest thing she'd ever heard in her life, then continued to detail where he would put his tongue. She watched Erin and the others sitting on the wall, talking together, oblivious, while Quentin turned her nipples hard and sparked a pulse between her legs just by whispering in her ear.
She said, ”We'll see.”
She came in so late from the office that he was already in bed. Disrobing, she slid into the luxurious sheets beside him. She curled up against him, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to his back, her mound to his b.u.t.tocks, and her arm around his warm chest.
And couldn't sleep. He was comatose and he still made her want him just by existing, naked. Her center burned so brightly that when she finally drifted off and awoke seemingly moments later in the empty bed in the sunlit room, she was sore. She wondered if he'd touched her in the night.
While she listened to his shower hiss, she brushed her hair, then pulled on a pair of see-through white lace panties and Quentin's long-sleeved white s.h.i.+rt from the closet. She still wore the emerald necklace.
The shower shut off. She balled up the sheets in both fists in antic.i.p.ation. Then, remembering Erin's interruption the morning before, she dashed across the room and locked the bedroom door. She skidded back onto the bed just as he came out of the bathroom.
Wearing a towel around his waist.
Before she could inquire about this newfound and, in her opinion, extremely unfortunate modesty, he stopped by the dresser and told her, ”No. I knew you'd do this. I already said no to this. I'll make you again.”
”It's Quentin two, Sarah zero,” she complained.
”Or the other way around.”
”Either way, I want to even the score.” She went to him and led him by the hand to the bed, settling him beside her against the headboard. ”If you were my boyfriend, you'd want this.”
He laughed. ”If you were like most of the girlfriends I've had, I'd be begging you to, and you'd say no.”
”I'm not your girlfriend.”
”I wish you were.” He touched his callused thumb softly to her lips. He tucked her hair behind one ear, then behind the other, in the sweetest gesture, as if he really cared about her.
She grabbed his hand and wailed, ”I can't believe I'm sitting half-naked on this bed, trying to convince a man to let me give him a hand job!”
He opened the s.h.i.+rt she wore and peered inside at her breast as if examining an engine before purchasing a truck. He closed the s.h.i.+rt again. ”Me, neither. But I've told you. Do that to me, and I'm not going to be able to stop myself. And we decided that's not a good idea. Because of Erin.”
His mention of Erin should have stopped Sarah cold. He was reminding her that though Sarah might be a fun plaything to toy with for a while, it was Erin he loved. But Sarah had crossed over to a place where she wanted to be Quentin's plaything. She couldn't imagine getting through the rest of this day without taking action. What drove her was mostly l.u.s.t, but part revenge for Quentin seeing her vulnerable in the shower the morning before, and that night in the chair. And part selfless joy at giving pleasure to her handsome friend.
She said lightly, ”I thought you liked games.”
”This isn't a game. It may have started out that way, but . . . ”
”That's the problem.” She slapped away his hands so she could open the towel around his waist. ”We'll make it back into a game. I don't have a lot of experience.” This was the truth, but she hoped he'd think she was being coy. ”You can help me with my technique. Tell me how I'm doing on a scale of one to ten, with one being painful and ten being about to come.”
Before he could protest again, she put both hands around his swollen c.o.c.k.
He gasped, and swore, and swore again. ”Sarah.”
She used her hands like she wanted to use her center. She slicked her thumb across the fluid at his tip, then gripped him and slid up and down his length. After several minutes of silence but for his breathing, she stopped and looked at his face.
His dark green eyes watched her with a combination of disbelief and horror, which almost made her laugh. But he didn't argue anymore.
She said, ”Number, please.”
”Ten,” he said.
There were several more minutes of silence as she playfully circled the swollen head of his c.o.c.k with her thumb. She said, ”Number every few seconds, please, so I can perfect my technique.”
”Ten,” he said.
She stroked slowly down one side. Then said softly to remind him, ”Quentin.”
”Ten,” he said.
She stroked slowly up the other side.
”Ten,” he said.
”It can't be ten all the time,” she scolded him. She slid one hand across his chest, over his heart, to enjoy the rapid rhythm. She gripped him harder with the other hand and stroked more quickly.
”Ah.” He laughed. ”Eleven.” Then, ”Ouch, three.” Then, ”Eleven. Sarah, please don't make me.”
His heart raced, and she was as aroused as if he were the one pleasuring her. She leaned over him, her lips brus.h.i.+ng his lips. ”t.i.t for tat,” she said, and pumped him hard again.
His hands were in her hair, pulling her, pressing her mouth to his mouth so forcefully that she was frightened, fleetingly. She took back control by stopping.
He broke away from her to say in agony, ”Sarah!”
She gave him what he needed, as he had given it to her. She didn't stop again until his come covered her belly and his grip on her hair slowly relaxed.
He watched his beautiful pink-haired girl slide her hands off his still-erect c.o.c.k and kiss her way down in that direction, then slowly back up his stomach toward his face, the emerald necklace sliding cold across his skin and making him flinch. All he could think was, Oh no.
She kissed his neck, his chin, his mouth, and looked into his eyes with her big, dark eyes. ”Did I do it right?” she asked, disappointed.
He nodded slowly.
”I guess I've never seen you speechless before. Is it a good thing or a bad thing?”
He shook his head, because that's all he could manage.
She sat back on her heels. Her s.h.i.+rt-that is, his s.h.i.+rt-fell open to expose tempting white lace panties, flat belly, beautiful b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”This is not the response I was expecting,” she said, annoyed now. ”I expected unmitigated jubilance.”