going to take the whole wall down if he didn’t let go soon.
“I wasn’t lying about being able to take care of my own problems,” I panted.
“I’m sorry you felt the need to.”
I grinned. “Do you see me complaining?”
He still stared at my center, appearing dumbstruck. “I’m a little hurt I wasn’t invited to this party.”
My tone turned placating. “I couldn’t wait.”
He nodded slowly. “I know the feeling.”
“You know”—I pulled the bullet away and pointed it in his direction—“you did tell me you know how to use these toys on my body better than I do. Care to prove that?”
He took a step inside the room, then another. Measured steps, as if he didn’t trust himself to go too fast. “As much as that idea appeals to me—and you have no idea how much—I think right now I’d rather watch you finish yourself off.”
I got the sense that sex wasn’t going to happen tonight. Our moment was ruined, and it strangely didn’t feel like the right time to go back and try to reclaim it.
Masturbating in front of him, however, I could more than do.
I returned the toy to my clit, eyes locked on his. This was even better because I had the actual man right in front of me. Standing at the foot of my bed in black sweatpants and a gray T-shirt, he rubbed his palm over his growing bulge as we watched me.
“Fuck it,” he hissed.
He shoved his hand inside his sweatpants and began to jack himself. My eyelids went heavy at the sight, and I pressed the vibrating toy harder against my flesh. I bit my lip as my heels dug into the bed. I wouldn’t last much longer.
I jerked my chin at him. “Lose the shirt.”
His mouth twitched at my take on the command he’d given me last week in the booze bunker. Lose the jeans. He happily obliged, drawing the shirt over his head and exposing his ripped torso to my lecherous gaze. His muscles rippled as he continued to pull on himself, his abs flexing with every stroke.
“Fuck yourself for me, Lex,” he rasped. “Fuck yourself to me. I want to know that your little toys aren’t enough anymore. You have to think of me when you pet yourself now, don’t you? You have to picture me, hear my voice in your head, when you need to cream. Don’t you?”
“Yes.”
I moved my hand faster. He moved his faster. Our gazes never strayed from one another.
“Seeing me half naked and jerking myself while I watch you makes you drip, doesn’t it? You’re drenched. I can motherfucking see it.”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
That coiled tension inside my belly was about to snap loose. The pulsing began as the throbbing intensified to the point I almost couldn’t stand it. It was coming on too fast and not fast enough. I was having difficulty catching my breath.
“You need me,” he growled. “Don’t you, Lexi? You need me, you want me, you can’t fucking stand not having me anymore. Tell me I’m right!”
“YES!”
“Then soak the goddamn sheets and come for me!”
I threw my head back and jackknifed off the bed. My screams were met by his thunderous bellows. It was so ridiculously intense that tears leaked out the corners of my eyes. By the time I drifted down back to earth, Nico had wiped himself clean with his shirt and looked seconds away from clawing my sheets to shreds until he got to me.
He swung his shirt over his shoulder and dropped his arms to his sides, hands clenching into fists. His gaze lasered in on my sex, his tongue dragging across his lower lip.
He nodded. “Soon.”
Then he walked out and closed the door behind him.
I found myself surrounded by a horde of children the next day.
Because all I’d been able to do at Nico’s house while he was at work was fantasize about the man.
Deciding I needed to be more productive at something other than giving myself orgasms, I’d called my new mother-in-law. Val had been all too excited to have me join her at the One Heart One Hand Center, a foundation that assisted the homeless population, offering various job training and placement programs, as well as financial advisement. In addition, they also ran several youth programs, including child care. I was told the foundation started in Washington, D.C. years ago and now had branches in several major cities along the East Coast.
“You’re good with them.”
I had just finished reading a story to a group of six-year-olds, who