“Whoa—” He released my body to capture my hand before I could reach for his fly. “Wait—Mona—what are you doing?”
I stroked him over his pants with my free hand and a wild thrill raced down my spine at the feel of him, so hard, so ready. I’d never been a big fan of male sex organs, but—in this moment—I wanted to take out an ad in all the newspapers announcing my everlasting devotion to his.
“I’m going to give you a blow job.”
“Whoa, okay, stop.” He caught my roaming fingers, his breath a gasp. “First of all, we don’t have time.”
“I can be fast.”
“Hold on. I don’t want you to be fast. Like I said before, that would only frustrate me.”
I kissed his jaw again. “But—”
“No.”
I grunted, my hands going slack in his grip, and I leaned away to capture his eyes. “It’s not fair to you.”
“I’m not worried about fairness,” Abram said on a laugh, his gaze wary, like I was tricky, or had magical powers and couldn’t be trusted.
“But I—you know—and you didn’t. You didn’t get anything out of it.”
“Believe me.” His stare softened, warmed, and he released me, sliding his fingers into my hair. “I definitely got something out of it. I will be writing poetry about that moment for the rest of my life.”
I grunted again. “You should let me reciprocate.”
“I don’t want you to reciprocate.”
“I feel like . . .” Like I haven’t earned it.
Once more, he seemed to be watching me very carefully, and when I didn’t continue, he prompted, “Like?”
“It feels like an injustice, that only I should have this experience. Alone. And the next time we’ll see each other isn’t for three weeks.”
Abram’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what it’s really about? Because you don’t owe me anything.”
“I know that,” I said automatically.
“Do you? Do you know, do you understand, that I’m always going to want to pamper and please you? That making you come, seeing you blissed out and hearing you panting is like a drug for me?”