Page 69 of Under Pressure

“I thought you said you’d beg?”

A hot poker lances through my groin. I groan my words, too gone to try and make them easier to understand. “Please. Please let me come. Let me finish. I need . . . need to come, Quinn.”

Her eyes lose the blue entirely. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you decide to jerk off in the first place?”

My smile starts slowly before widening into a feral grin. “You know the answer to that already.”

“I wasn’t even here.”

“You didn’t need to be.” I exhale, squeezing my cock harder. “All I needed to know was that you were coming home ready to chew me out. I was hard instantly.”

She blinks slowly, digesting that. “Beg me again.”

“Please,” I beg instantly, precum smearing against my abs. “Tell me I can move my hand again. Please, gorgeous. I want to come for you.”

Her approval is nothing more than a slight tip of her head. I jerk myself quickly, anxiously, needing to comenow. My sac draws up, and I drop my head to the wall with a painful slam. I don’t let up. My pace is furious as she watches me stroke myself, dripping so much that not even the water can wash it away fast enough.

“Don’t look away,” I spit out, teetering on the edge of insanity.

She doesn’t. Her attention stays glued to my cock, and when I come, she moans alongside me, the only thing I can hear. I have no choice but to close my eyes as the power of the climax rips through me.

Cum splatters my abs and rains down on my fingers as I work myself through the intense orgasm, making so much noise I’d be embarrassed any other day. My thighs ache from how tightly I’ve been clenching them. I relax slowly, squeezing my shaft until I’m running dry.

It’s not until I open my eyes that I realize I’m alone again.

But not even that can stop my grin because she stayed the entire time. She only ran when I couldn’t see her do it.

That’s progress.

26

What.The. Fuck.

I’m gasping for breath when I slam the bedroom door shut, pressing my back against it. My heart is racing, and I’m so wet it feels like I spilled an entire glass of water on my crotch. Skin burning, I hastily rip my shirt off and throw it across the room. It sails past the laundry bin, but I’m too worked up to care about the messiness. Instead of kicking my shorts down to my ankles, I shove my hand into them and touch myself.

I bite my lip hard enough that the pain mixes with the instant pleasure as my fingers circle my clit. My arousal is everywhere, making it hard to keep the right pressure where I need it. Frustration swells against the need in my blood. I slam my free hand to the door and then press my knuckles to my mouth. When I bite down on one, I push my fingers lower and slide one inside myself.

It’s not good enough. One finger turns into two, and even when I apply hard pressure to my clit, I’m stuck in this whirlpool of fucking disappointment. My bare chest is heaving. The heat I’m feeling has turned every inch of me bright red beneath the heavy splatter of freckles.

The knock on the door vibrates against my back.

I want to stop, to pull my hand out and race to find a shirt to cover myself up with again, but I don’t.

“What?” I ask sharply.

“Open the door, Quinny.” His voice makes me shiver, and fuck—finally, my touch feels right. “Do you want me to make you something for lunch?”

I almost laugh as I curl my fingers deeper, shutting my eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

“What if I am?”

“Go eat, then.”

“That’s not what I meant.”