Page 58 of Manhattan Kiss

I groan as more pleasure stirs inside me. I tighten my legs, and he stops.

“No,” he says. “Relax. You’re not allowed to come.”

I turn my head so I can see his expression. “Maybe you shouldn’t be playing with my clit if you don’t want me to come.”

He doesn’t look at me. He just watches his hand on my pussy. “I’ll do what I want with your body,” he says.

I arch against him at his words, and he removes his hand.

“No,” he says.

I groan.

He chuckles. “Really? Even though I’m not touching you.”

It’s pathetic how much I want him. He knows it and I know it.

I relax and slump back against him. His fingers restart their exploration of me.

I try to think about something else, but my mind is full of how it feels for this man to be touching me.

“Deacon,” I cry.

“What is it, Aurora?”

“I want to come.”

“I know you do. And I said no.”

My skin half burns with contained desire. My pussy is throbbing. My nipples are sharp and desperate. I want him. I want to come. I want him inside me, fucking me. My orgasm springs to life, and I cry out.

He stops and removes his hand.

“Deacon,” I implore.

“No coming,” he says simply.

Maybe I need to torture him, just like he’s torturing me. I try to wriggle free, intent on giving him a blowjob that teases him, just like he’s teasing me.

But he holds me in place.

I can’t move.

“I’m going to come,” I cry out.

He removes his fingers, and my orgasm subsides.

What is this man doing to me?

“Deacon, please?”

He hums his appreciation at my begging, and the vibration in his chest spreads right to my pussy.

I try to guide his hand down, and he laughs and kisses my neck. It’s no use. He won’t do what I want.

Or maybe he’s doing exactly what I want.

He brings me to the brink three more maddening times, before he slides on a condom and rearranges us so I’m lying back on the bed, him over me.