Page 42 of Flipping the Script

It was pointless to try and pretend like I wasn’t turned on, but that didn’t mean I was about to let him see how much I needed it. Needed him.

“You like marking me?” I drawled, squeezing his shaft through his jeans.

I should be pissed that he’d given me a hickey where anyone could see it, but my lizard brain loved that he’d gotten out of his head long enough to slip up and leave proof of his desire on me.

“Like claiming me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Just like seeing you fucked up.”

“You wanna fight me again?” I taunted. “Maybe fuck me up some more?” I batted my eyelashes at him obnoxiously.

He shoved my hand off his dick and grabbed the front of my shirt. I stumbled as he stepped back, yanking me along with him.

I braced for…whatever was coming next, but he just let go of my shirt and stared at me, his expression unreadable.

Was that it?

We stared at each other for a few beats. His eyes were searching, like he was trying to find answers to whatever unanswered questions were in his head.

Before I could figure out what he was thinking, his hands were at my waistband, his nimble fingers undoing the button and yanking down the zipper.

“What are you—ungh.” My question was cut off with another embarrassingly loud moan when he slipped his hand into my underwear and gripped my cock. “Fuck.” I bucked shamelessly into his hand.

He grinned and pulled my dick free.

“Tell me to stop.” He gave me a long, hard stroke. “Tell me to back off.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s not a no.” He looked between us. “You’re so hard for me.”

I dropped my gaze. Seeing his big, rough hand circling my dick was a mindfuck, but I couldn’t deny that it felt good.

“Fuck you,” I repeated, but the effect was ruined when my dick pulsed in his hand.

His low chuckle was both insanely hot and infuriating.

Fuck that. I wasn’t about to let him get the upper hand.

With slightly clumsy fingers, I ripped his jeans open, struggling with the fly for a second as the metal teeth got caught in my haste.

When it was low enough, I pulled his cock free from his underwear and squeezed hard.

Jesus, he had a nice dick. Long and thick with a big, flared head and a vein along the shaft I wanted to run my tongue over. Several droplets of precum gathered on his tip. I used my thumb to spread them around his broad cockhead.

“Why is that so hot?” he whispered, sounding as confused as I felt.

Nothing about this should be hot. We didn’t like each other, and this wasn’t even about pleasure. Having Jesse’s hand on my dick should have been an instant boner killer, yet all I could think about was how much I wanted to see him come.

To bring him to his knees, hopefully literally, as he gave in to his orgasm—and to me.

“No fucking clue,” I repeated his earlier words and started jacking him, my strokes firm and rough.

He gasped and sped up his hand, matching my movements.

“But you like it,” I taunted. The silence was weird, unnerving. It was better if I didn’t have a chance to actually think about what I was doing.

“So do you.” Jesse squeezed my cockhead until a pearl of precum appeared on my slit. “You love having my hand on you.”

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