free hand around the base of his hard-on and squeezed, doing his best to strangle it into submission.
The action only drew her attention to his state, and even though he still pumped two of his fingers into her, her hand landed on the head of his cock. She squeezed gently and then ran her thumb over the dimple at the end.
Soon the two of them were playing with each other, pushing toward orgasm. He wasn’t going to do it without her again, no matter what, so he changed his mind about hitting her hottest spot. He pulled his fingers out of her pussy and used them to spread her own moisture over her clit.
“Oh, God!” she cried as her body shivered. Damn it all, she’d climax again if he kept doing this. Exactly the way he’d wanted her not to. At least she’d stopped playing with his cock, although she still gripped it in her fist. He’d have to think of something else—fast—or they’d end up back at square one.
He removed her hand from his erection. “Massage over.”
“What?” She opened her eyes. “You’re stopping.”
“Yeah, well, I kind of finished.”
“You’d make me feel like this and then stop?” If stares could shoot lasers, hers would have bored two holes into his brain. He’d aroused her, and he’d have to give her an orgasm. He’d only have to figure out how to make it good enough to fit whatever insane criteria she had for success.
“New exercise,” he said.
Her chest labored with her breathing, the breasts rising and falling like crazy. “What?”
“A bath.” Good idea. The sunken tub. They could have all kinds of fun there, while he thought up a way to really blow her mind. “And bear in mind, there’s no trying for an orgasm. We wouldn’t want you to have the wrong kind.”
Chapter Three
A NGELA WAS GOING to kill him with her bare hands. As soon as she got herself under control enough to follow him into the bathroom. Another minute or two, a few dozen deep breaths, and she might find enough strength in her legs to try climbing off the massage table. Then she’d go in there and verbally chew him up one side and down the other. How could he get her so excited and then walk away?
For the love of God, she’d been close to coming. Okay, he’d done it the same way he had before, and she’d told him in no uncertain terms that was the wrong way. And maybe it was the wrong way. After all, she could accomplish the same thing with her vibrator.
Well, not exactly the same thing. Her vibrator couldn’t melt all the tension from her muscles or rub scented oil into her skin with a touch gentle enough to soothe and firm enough to create delicious friction everywhere. Her breasts had never felt this way before. Swollen and achy and so completely feminine. An odd way of thinking of them. How could they be anything but feminine? Still she’d never thought of them like that before. Was she going to turn into one of those women who gave her boobs names? Please.
All that had felt fine, and you could call it a massage, more or less. Until he’d touched her pussy. He’d known what he was doing. He had to. Sex was his profession. Then he’d brought her to the brink and stopped. As he would say, fuck that.
She tried her legs and discovered that they did work. The ache in her pussy had abated, although her clitoris still throbbed. She walked uncertainly to the bathroom and looked inside. The huge sunken tub had been half-filled with water. She’d registered the gushing sound through the fog of lust in her brain. Brent sat in the tub with a net sponge in one hand and a bar of soap in the other.
“Ready for our next experiment?” he asked.
“How the hell could you leave me like that?”
He didn’t answer but merely quirked an eyebrow.
“Don’t act innocent,” she said. “You know what I mean.”
“I didn’t want you to have another inferior orgasm,” he said.
“I didn’t say . . .” She sputtered a bit. He was trying to shift the blame onto her when it clearly
Learning to Kill: Stories