His movement to torment her meant she had space to stroke and tease /him/, and she did, eyes slipping shut so she could picture what she was doing more clearly. She shivered again, burning, but determined to make him break first. Harder strokes now, and longer, tighter, closing her hand over the tip to make him cry out again.
His original intention had been to drive her mad with touch, making her shudder with pleasure until she knew nothing else but what he was doing to her, but what he hadn’t planned on was her reciprocating. And she was doing it so well to the point where he was struggling to focus, his hips jerking against her fist. Crying out in hoarse delight, he slid two fingers inside of her, trying to take control once more and thought it amusing that they were near enough fighting for dominance in the bathtub.
“Oh, f-fuck,” she gasped. It was hard to concentrate when he was doing that, and their arms kept bumping. She was pretty sure she was squeezing too hard now, but it was almost impossible to help it. “Th-thought it was,” she stumbled, “your turn now?”