“You don’t need my permission.”

“I’m not asking for your permission. I’m asking if youwantme to touch you. If youwantme to be the first man who shows you what real pleasure feels like.”

“Does shared pleasure really even exist?” I counter cynically.

“God, you deprived woman.” He pets his hands down my damp hair. “By the time I’m through with you, there’ll be no doubt. Only faith.”

Nice try. But I had to learn what “pleasure” was all by myself. I had to navigate murky waters alone to understand how to alleviate the stress forced on my body. And even then, the “pleasure” was never really mine. It belonged to the man invading me at any given moment. He either stole the orgasm or denied it altogether. And if I didn’t obey what was being dictated, there were severe consequences. The only true “pleasure” I have ever known is from my own hand. It’s the way I want it, fast or slow, soft or hard. On my own time. In my own head. So unless Jett can penetrate more than just my pussy, I have little belief in this thing called “shared pleasure.” It might exist for some, but definitely not for me.

“You haven’t answered me, robin. Do youwantme to touch you?” He slips his hand under my shirt and runs his thumbnail down the center of my abdomen.

“Yes,” I lie.

He cocks his eyebrow, and for a split second, I question whether or not he buys my b.s. Yes or no, it’s clearhewants to touch me. And so it goes. The story of my life. Another man added to the laundry list to please. This one just happens to talk a good game.Great game.He almost has me convinced he cares about my pleasure as much as he does his own. But if I’ve learned anything in my twenty-six years, it’s that talk is cheap, and men are selfish.

“Lift your shirt up. Show me that beautiful body,” Jett requests.

I pull the hem of my T-shirt up and tuck it under my chin, exposing my breasts, my stomach, and my wide-spread legs.

Jett moans appreciatively, scanning his bright blue orbs over the curves of my naked body before sitting back down in his chair. No touching, fondling, or pinching. He just admires. He admires for a long time, content with me sprawled out on his work space.

I start to feel the heat of his gaze creep into places that don’t usually respond. Pick up on the licks of the air tickling my nipples and the sheen of wetness coating my pussy. All from just his fucking stare.

“Do you believe me when I tell you you’re beautiful?”

“Yes,” I lie again.

He nods his head impassively. His aloof response makes me restless.

“I thought this was supposed to be about shared pleasure?” I question his methods.

“It is. Did you just think I was going to stick my dick in you and be done?”

“That’s usually how it happens.”

“Not with me. I had you begging last time we were together, no?”

I pause to think. He did. I thought it was a fluke. He’s hot. I’m attracted to him. I was already close to the breaking point. Kayne was already fucking me. There were multiple variables at play.

“I got wrapped up in the moment,” I reluctantly admit.

“That moment was the very beginning. Think about how hard you came.”

My cheeks inflame. I came pretty fucking hard, and it shocked the shit out of me.

Jett smirks haughtily. He thinks he’s making headway. One fluky orgasm doesn’t prove a thing.

“I can make you feel like that every single time. Iwillmake you feel like that every single time. I’ll give you things you didn’t even know you wanted.” He leans forward and blows lightly on my pussy, the warm air over my cool, wet flesh causes it to prickle.

“Mmm.” I bite my lip to stifle my reaction.

“It’s okay to like it. You’re supposed to like it.”

“I like when I do it,” I boldly admit.

“You’re going to like it when I do it, too. When we’re together, your enjoyment is my responsibility. You don’t need to think. You don’t need to worry. All you need to do is feel.” He blows again, closer this time, causing my clit to burn.

“And what do I have to give you?” I huff as he teases me. Nothing in life is ever free. There’s always a price, and I know that better than anyone.