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Adare.
Only…which dare is it, specifically? Is he daring me to get off in front of him in the tub? That would be materially similar to getting off in the window seat.
His cheeks move. It’s the tiniest flicker of muscle and it transforms Jameson’s entire face. It’s how he was after that phone call, which I’m now certain was with one of his brothers. How he pretended to be fine when his brother mentioned adoption.
I don’t have all the information yet, and the only way to get it is to keep asking. Keep daring him.
It’s thrilling to consider it. Good. Like applying for the job at The Membership.
“You do it,” I tell him. “I’m tired.”
He tilts his head, elbow braced on the side of the tub, washcloth unmoving.
Okay.Nowit’s a thrill. Now it’s a warm, sick, sexy thrill.
I won’t fuck you until you beg me.
I make my eyes big and pleading. “Jameson.” Saying his name this way is different. The balance of power between us is a tightrope. “Please. I’m tired. Touch me.”
He leans in until his lips brush the shell of my ear. “Sit up.”
I do.
The warm washcloth meets my back and traces slowly down the path of my spine. Jameson stops at my tailbone, then drags it back up. It’s so good I’m compelled to close my eyes. He washes one shoulder and slides the washcloth down to my elbow. My fingers. Back up. The other shoulder. Down and down and down, then back up.
His hand stops at my collarbone.
“Did you forget how to use a washcloth?” I whisper.
“No,” he whispers back.
My shiver follows the path the cloth took down my spine. “Oh. You must needhelp.”
I put my hand over his and drag the washcloth down over one breast, lingering there, his palm putting the right pressure on my nipple.
I move to the other one. The sigh I let out at the contact is totally unplanned.
Every inch of my body sparks with this game. I tug Jameson further over the tub and drag his hand farther down my body.
He stops me an inch from my clit.
I push at his hand. Pull harder. I thought after my escape I’d never want to come again, but the human body is resilient. Ido, in fact, want to come again. And I want to do it while he’s touching me.
“Come on,” I say, softer. “Please.”
Jameson doesn’t move.
The next play in this game is to beg. That’s what he wants. That’s what heexpects.
I get up on my knees instead and swing my leg over his arm, and trap his wrist between my thighs. For balance, I dig my hand into his shirt. He leans in another inch, his pupils all blown out.
He’s still refusing to move his hand. Still, he doesn’t pull his arm away, so I spread my legs and sink down. I press myself to his wrist, his hand cupping my ass, and rock my hips.
“Fuck,” he says, under his breath.
You know what? I spent a lot of time figuring out how to study. How tolearn.I’ve learned from Jameson, too. I lean in, keeping my pussy tight to his wrist. “Where did you get so good at washing hair?”
“Home.” His voice is tense. The rest of him is tense, too. Holding his body this way can’t be easy, but he doesn’t complain.
