Page 37 of I Hate You More

Even if it had beenherhand sliding up and down his length, even if she was on top of him and had that beautiful erection inside her, he wouldn’t hurry things. He wouldn’t stop until he finished what he came to do.

He wouldn’t come until she did.

That thought—of Spencer taking his time with her, of his beautiful voice dictating what she could and couldn’t do, of her doing what she damn well pleased anyway—was Ruby’s undoing.

“Thirteen,” he said, adding a flourish to his tip this time.Showing off.“Fourteen. Fifteen. I can do this all day. Can you?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, since it was no more than the truth. This particular kind of competition had never come her way before, but she was nothing if not willing. “Let’s see what happens if I give it a go.”

She had the satisfaction of watching Spencer lose his concentration—and his count—as she walked her fingers down her belly toward her open fly. He didn’t move again until she’d worked her hand inside her panties.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

With her free hand, she made the motion of a zipper over her lips. No sound was made, and every article of clothing stayed exactly where it was. All that changed was that she pressed her palm flat against her mons and slid her fingers into the damp folds of her own body. She was breaking no rules—only playing the game.

“It won’t work,” he warned, though the hoarse note in his voice indicated that it was working just fine. “You can’t force me to go any faster than I want to.”

She knew she couldn’t, so she didn’t try. Giving herself over to pleasure instead, she started doing some stroking of her own.

Like Spencer, she was something of an expert when it came to her own body, so it didn’t take long to work herself up to a state of slick enjoyment. She would have preferred to have fewer clothes on, and it would have been a lot more fun if Spencer could watch closely as she ran her finger in circles around the outside of her clit, but she could only work with what she’d been given.

“Sixteen,” he said, almost defiant as he resumed his strokes. “Seventeen-eighteen-nineteen.”

These last three came faster than before—which was good, because there was no way she was making it anywhere near a hundred and forty. Not when Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes from her. Not when his hand started moving with a force that had been lacking before.

Now was the time to pull out all the stops. Ruby took her lower lip between her teeth and arched her back so that her breasts jutted out, allowing her hips to take over the rhythmic pressure instead of her hand. As she’d hoped, Spencer noticed her movements in a very big, very rough way. She had the satisfaction of hearing him utter a deep groan before saying, “Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. This isn’t fair, and you know it. Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five. You aren’t even trying to hold back.”

It was true. She’d long since given up on outlasting Spencer. The waves of pleasure between her thighs were building up too quickly for that. The entire room seemed to be dwindling to two features: the hot, unyielding tug deep inside her belly and the magnetism of Spencer Wilson. His gaze locked on hers with so much intensity that she thought she might be able to come on the power of it alone.

In fact, if she didn’t do something soon, that was exactly what was going to happen.

The words—I give up, you win, screw the imaginary line and come screw me—were starting to form on her lips when Spencer gave up on counting altogether.

“Goddammit, Ruby,” he swore, losing track. “You’re making those sounds again.”

She’d been unaware of anything except the way Spencer was looking at her, but she was in no position to defend herself. Any moans or sighs escaping her right now were entirely out of her power. She was nothing but heat and sensation, desire and need.

Either her movements were timed to Spencer’s or his were to hers, because she could almost swear that it was her hand on his erection and his hand between her thighs. If she closed her eyes, she could probably conjure up an image of just such a scenario, but she didn’t dare. She wanted to watch as Spencer struggled with himself. She wanted to see the expression on his face as he finally gave in.

“You’re free to quit at any time,” she said as she took her lower lip between her teeth. “But I’m going to have to finish one way or another. You have no idea how good this feels.”

He must have hadsomeidea, because that was the end of the line. He uttered a deep, guttural groan and managed to say “sixty-four” before finally giving himself over to release.

Ruby had never been so grateful for a man’s ejaculation in her life. She’d lost this game long before it had begun, and there was no use pretending otherwise. Without waiting to see if Spencer was paying attention, she jerked against her hand and cried out before sinking gratefully to her knees.

She could only assume Spencer was having a similarly difficult time resuming a normal pattern of breathing, ofexisting, because he uttered a gruff, “Don’t move,” and “I’ll be right back,” before turning away.

She used the moment to close her eyes and savor the satisfaction of what had to be one of the hottest and most bizarre sexual experiences of her life. The only touch she and Spencer had shared the entire time was the brief clasp of his hand on top of hers. They hadn’t hugged, hadn’t kissed, hadn’t even held hands for an appreciable amount of time. There’d been no embracing and no bodily fluids exchanged.

Yet she wasspent.

When Spencer returned to the living room, he’d changed into a clean pair of slacks and was drying his hands on a towel. He looked as cool and as in command of himself as he’d been when they’d first met, and Ruby felt herself responding to it the exact same way as before—with every single one of her lady parts.

Apparently, she wasn’t as spent as she’d thought.

“I’m not sure if we can determine a clear winner from that,” Spencer said in a voice that was a little too neutral to be believable. “I didn’t get even remotely close to one hundred and forty, but you broke just about every rule we had to make sure of it.”

She laughed and reached for her shirt—not because she was feeling particularly modest but because she needed to get herself under wraps before she forced him over the line again. “Maybe you should ask the dogs what they think.” She nodded toward the sliding glass door, where two pairs of expectant eyes were watching them. Neither Caesar nor Wheezy looked particularly impressed. “They witnessed the whole thing.”