Page 47 of Roughing the Player
His gaze narrows. “Why?”
“I just told you. You, me”—I point to him and me—“we have certain needs.”
“Ahh, so it’swenow. Thanks for the clarification.”
“You’re welcome.” This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had about sex. Not that I’ve had many.
“So did these certain “needs”—he freakin’ air-quotes them—“suddenly surface in the last ten minutes.”
“Yes. No.”
“Which is it? Yes or no?”
I cock my hip and drop my fist on it. Honestly. What is wrong with him? He should have picked me up and thrown me on the bed by now. “No. They were always there.”
“Ahhh. When did you realize they were “there”?” Air-quotes. Again. I’m going to kill him.
“At the elevator.”
“Not before?”
“No.”
“And you want me now?”
“Yes.”
“But not before?”
“Yes. No.”
I forget to breathe while he tilts his head and studies me for what seems like forever. “Sorry. This is not going to work out.” He turns and walks away.
I race after him and somehow manage to plant myself in front of him. “Why?”
Anger flashes in his eyes. I was wrong. He’s not upset; he’s furious. He steps forward to tower over me. “When I fuck a woman, it’s because she wants me all the time, not when it’s convenient to her.”
My breath hitches. He’s punishing me for denying him. But he’s also punishing himself. Because he wants me. Badly. His erection is living proof. He won’t give in easily, though. Not unless I give him a reason to. And it starts with speaking the truth. “I do want you all the time, Brock.”
“Yeah? Fucking prove it.”
“How?”
“Get naked. Right now.”
“I thought you’d want to strip me.” My words are a mere whisper.
“Not this time.” He struts toward the bed and, face up, he spread eagles his powerful body on it. “Put on a good show.”
Bastard. I should walk out right now. Leave him like that, hard and aching. But I don’t. I want him too much. When I reach for my shorts, he stops me. “Nuh-uh. Start with your top. I want to see your tits.”
I don’t know how; I don’t know when. But he’s going to pay for this. The halter top snaps in the front. Wanting to get this humiliation over as soon as possible, I attack it with zest.
“Nuh-uh. Slowly. Like this.” His hand goes to his cock and he pumps it at a glacial pace.
My eyes practically fall out of my head. I’ve never seen a more beautiful thing than Brock pleasuring himself.
While his hand strokes his shaft, I free the prongs one at a time. When the last one’s done, I shrug and the top lands at my feet.
