“So you say,” I soothe, rubbing his hand up and down over the denim of his jeans. Up and down. “But I’m still not going to touch you unless you beg for it.” “God,” he spits, some of that fire returning. “You’re insufferable. I don’t…” He cuts off, and I still the motion of our hands, waiting for more words that don’t come. “Do you want me to stop?” I ask, entirely serious. “Fuck. Fuck,” he nearly shouts. “Put your hand on my dick already.” “The magic word?” “Please, you fucker.”
