Page 129 of The Faking Game

“Yes,there. You can do anything.” But his breathing is more shallow.

I continue my exploration, gently cupping and rolling them in my palm. They’re heavier than I expected, and I’m fascinated by how they shift and move under my touch. West’s breathing grows faster with my touch, too. He likes this.

And I suddenly realize the rush of power that can come with this.

“What does it feel like? To come, as a man?”

West groans. “Jesus.”

“I mean, aren’t you curious about women’s orgasms?”

His eyes open, dark on mine. “I’m very curious about one woman’s orgasms.”

I look back down at his length and the twin balls that are now drawn up tight beneath. He’s responsive. His entire body is, large and taut beneath my gaze. There’s a small scar above his right knee and thicker hair here at the base of his cock.

I return to stroke him. “Tell me.”

“It’s intense. Like it is for you. Builds and builds, and there’s a single-minded focus on releasing all that pressure.” His chest heaves with a deep breath, and I get the sense that it’s harder and harder for him to keep up this conversation. “What does it feel like for you?”

“Usually it’s a pleasurable, warm feeling. It’s sometimes intense, sometimes not.” I look back down at him in my hand. “It was stronger with you, though. The other day. Much better than usual.”

West’s arms tauten, the muscles flexing. Like he’s having to really think to avoid reaching down and touching me. I speed up and use my thumb to rub back and forth over his leaking head on every upturn. His cock twitches in my grip.

“Oh!”

He huffs a hoarse breath. “Yeah. Oh. If you keep going, sweetheart…”

“You’re close? Already? I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“Already, she says. As if I haven’t been blue-balled for a week straight, and you’re telling me I’m big and that I make you come so well.” He looks up at the ceiling, his jaw tight. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m close already.”

It’s there for the taking. I can give him what he wants and what his entire body is tightening to prepare for. I can make him happy.

But we’re practicing changing old habits.

I let go of his cock and sit back on my knees.

He lets out a groan, and his cock jerks against his stomach again. It looks even bigger than before, the tip weeping against his skin.

“Fucking hell,” he says.

I’m in control, and his hands remain beneath his head. He’s not breaking his promise. Maybe I can…

“West,” I tell him.

He looks down at me. There’s color high on his cheekbones. “Yes.”

“Hands stay where they are,” I remind him and reach for the hem of my camisole. I pull it up and off.

I’m not wearing a bra beneath.

His breath stutters, and he curses. “You’re so goddamned pretty.”

I smile a little. “I want to give you something to look at.”

“You always do.” His whiskey eyes burn where they trace across my skin. “Your nipples are hard. Look at you, sweetheart, kneeling beside me. You’re doing so good.”

I reach for him again. He groans when I stroke him. “Tell me what you like. The way you’ve made me do,” I say, gripping him tighter. Watching his face for his reactions.

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