Page 78 of Cherish

But it’s too late. He’s already reached the spot on my right hip that I don’t share with anyone.

The spot that he found several months ago and has enjoyed tormenting me with ever since.

The spot that, no matter how hard I try to resist, turns me into a giggling, hysterical mess every single time he tickles it.

A bark of laughter escapes me the second his fingers skim over the sensitive spot, which only makes him dig in in earnest, tickling me until I’m laughing so hard I’m crying.

“Stop!” I gasp when I can’t take any more. “Stop, please—”

He’s not a total fiend, so he stops right away, lets me draw several breaths. And just when I think he’s done, that the torture is over, he dives back in for another round.

On the plus side, I’m bucking so wildly now that he has to let go of my wrists, and I fling myself backward just far enough to snag a pillow with my fingertips. As soon as I grab it, I bring it down as hard as I can.

I’m rewarded with a satisfyingthunkwhen it smacks him across the face. It’s his turn to let out a shocked grunt. As he shrinks back in surprise, I press my advantage, hitting him with the soft, fluffy pillow in his shoulder, his chest, his face.

He retaliates by laughing and going back in for more tickles, but I’m ready for him this time. I smack him again with the pillow, in the side now, and I put all the force I’ve got behind it.

It doesn’t hurt him—the pillow is way too soft for that—but it does dislodge the vise grip his knees have on my hips. It’s all the in I need.

I shove him off me, all the while hitting him continuously. And when he rolls over on the bed, throwing both of his hands up in an effort to catch the pillow the next time I bring it down, I seize the opportunity and straddle him.

As he reaches down to grab my hips to pull me off, I raise the pillow above my head in an obvious threat. “You sure you want to do that?” I ask in my most menacing voice—which isn’t very, at the moment, because I’m having entirely too much fun. But it’s the thought that counts, or so I tell myself.

“Pretty sure,” he answers haughtily, even as his fingers curl around my hips.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You know you’re going to pay, right?”

“I’m counting on it,” he answers right before he strikes, fast and clean and deadly.

He snatches the pillow from my hand, throws it across the room, and rolls us so that I’m lying facedown on the bed and he’s straddling me from above.

“What have you got to say for yourself now, Gracy-Wacy?” he whispers in my ear.

“What do you want me to say?” I tease back, wriggling my hips against his.

His breath is hot against my ear as he murmurs, “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘uncle.’ Though I’ll take ‘I give up,’ or even a white flag in a pinch.”

“Wow, that’s so considerate of you.”

He shrugs. “I’m nothing if not magnanimous.”

“Yeah, well, I’m nothing if not determined.” And with that, I use every ounce of strength I have to roll us off the bed and straight onto the floor.

“Pretty sure we’ve been here before,” he tells me as I land on top of him.

“Yeah, well, this time I’m the one on top.”

I dig my knees into the sides of his hips, wrap my hands around his wrists, and stretch his arms above his head—or at least as far above his head as I can manage.

“Looks like you got me,” he whispers, wicked blue eyes gleaming with interest.

“Looks like,” I answer. “Now the only question is, whatever will I do with you?”

“I’ve got some ideas on that front—” He breaks off as a just-woken-up Smokey lets out a very loud, very annoyed caterwaul from her spot inside the drawer.

Seconds later, she wiggles her way out and chitters at us like we just took the last cookie from the cookie jar. Then she takes off toward the open window and slides into the night.

“Should we go after her?” I ask, starting to get up.

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