“You don’t think you’ve taken me apart enough times today?” But even as she was offering half-hearted almost protests, her body was relaxing into him, yearning toward his hands.
“Teenage boy,” he declared in a sing-song voice in her ear, biting down as his hand inched lower, sliding up her legs and brushing her thighs. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’ll pull away right now if you want me to.”
She trembled against him. “You know,” she managed, “what that does to me. You talking right there. Totally unfair. Don’t stop.” She swallowed, and added, “Shouldn’t it be you wanting to get off as often as possible, not get me off as often as possible? The teenage thing. I’m just saying.”