I whip my tank top and bra off and lay on top of the blankets, turning the TV on. It’ll be getting dark out soon, so this will ensure he sees me lying in his bed, nude.
Or appearing casually. I’m super-duper horny and having a hard time not starting without him.
He comes out in a pair of gym shorts and a muscle shirt. He spares me a glance while I’m fully sprawled on his bed wearing nothing but my best come hither expression, but the glance is all I get because he walks on by, heading downstairs.
I frown.
I purse my lips.
I wait.
And… nothing.
Five minutes goes by and I’m thinking he’ll be back any minute. But he’s not. I go into his closet and find my short yellow, blue, and red kimono I’d thrown in my luggage that now hangs on a hook beside his bathrobe (aww!) and tie the belt just loosely so that most of my nudity is still on display and I head down a level and find him on the couch, feet up, a hockey game on, and a beer bottle to his lips.
I stop and stare. And my mouth is open.
His eyes move over me and then bounce back to the TV.
“Uh… Jude?”
His eyes are back on me.
“You’re serious right now?” I ask.
His answer is a narrowing of those eyes and the beer bottle again tipping against his lips.
Oh really?
Right.
I storm back up those stairs and run myself a bath. While it’s running, I rifle through the things Jude’s mom so neatly put away, looking for sexy lingerie. I have none here with me.
Fuck.
I take a bath, stew in sexually frustrated Ally Soup for a bit, then climb into bed, angrily flicking through channels.
Once ten thirty rolls around, I flick the television off and decide to try to sleep, though an orgasm would certainly help.
Ten minutes later, I get an idea.
I wander downstairs naked, looking for my phone and find it on the counter.
He’s still sitting there, now on his laptop with the news on.
He doesn’t even look up at me.
I snatch my phone and go back upstairs. Loudly.
And then from his bed, I send him a text.
I’m playing with a tiny pink daisy if you’d like to join me.
I wait.
I hear the ping of the text alert on his phone and smile as I hear him coming up the stairs.
I wait, feeling smug.
The closet light is on, so I can see him pretty clearly.
He puts a knee to the bed and leans over me.
“You’re a bad girl,” he says, huskily.
I stare at his figure in the dim room, thinking yes, yes I am, and I’d like you to punish me.
I say nothing.
“Are you touching yourself?” he asks.
I stick my hand between my legs. I am now.
“Uh huh,” I say.
“Show me.” He pulls the blankets back and turns the lamp on.
I part my folds with my third and fourth fingers so he can see the tiny daisy and then I massage my clit.
He watches.
“Keep goin’,” he says.
This is pretty hot, actually.
I do as I’m told, pleased when he rubs his dick over his trackpants with his palm. He’s hard for me.
I spread my legs a little wider.
“Plannin’ to make yourself come?”
“I’d rather you do it, but if I must... I will,” I say.
He jerks his chin up and crosses his arms over his chest, watching.
Okay, then… I pick up my pace, going faster and faster, staring at his sexy body, thinking about how hot he is when he goes all caveman on me.
How hot he is when he fucks me while holding my throat.
How great his mouth feels between my legs.
How sexy his facial expressions are when he first slides inside me.
How sexy his facial expression is right now while he watches me touch myself.
And I’m closer to coming, though not quite there so I start thinking about the slapping faces thing we did the other night and how crazy-hot that was. I’m almost there. Almost, almost…
He grabs my wrists and pins them both over my head and looks into my eyes with a devious smile.
I jerk, trying to pull free.
“Bad girls shouldn’t get to come.”
My eyes widen.
“You can edge a little longer. Maybe I’ll let you come tomorrow.”
“Like fuck you will,” I snap.
Now I’m mad. So mad, in fact, I would headbutt him if I didn’t instinctively know that it’d hurt like hell.
And then I’m feeling a little embarrassed.
That was kind of mean. I pout.
“You edge until I tell you that you can come, or you don’t get my cock for a while. Or my mouth.”
I stare in shock.
“Deal?”
“No deal.”
“Fine, no dick for you,” he says with a pretty good Seinfeld Soup Nazi impersonation.
“I can withhold, too, you know,” I tell him.
“Not like I can, Vixen,” he warns. “You don’t wanna test me on this, believe me.”