The words—I give up, you win, screw the imaginary line and come screw me—were starting to form on her lips when Spencer gave up on counting altogether.

“Goddammit, Ruby,” he swore, losing track. “You’re making those sounds again.”

She’d been unaware of anything except the way Spencer was looking at her, but she was in no position to defend herself. Any moans or sighs escaping her right now were entirely out of her power. She was nothing but heat and sensation, desire and need.

Either her movements were timed to Spencer’s or his were to hers, because she could almost swear that it was her hand on his erection and his hand between her thighs. If she closed her eyes, she could probably conjure up an image of just such a scenario, but she didn’t dare. She wanted to watch as Spencer struggled with himself. She wanted to see the expression on his face as he finally gave in.

“You’re free to quit at any time,” she said as she took her lower lip between her teeth. “But I’m going to have to finish one way or another. You have no idea how good this feels.”

He must have had some idea, because that was the end of the line. He uttered a deep, guttural groan and managed to say “sixty-four” before finally giving himself over to release.

Ruby had never been so grateful for a man’s ejaculation in her life. She’d lost this game long before it had begun, and there was no use pretending otherwise. Without waiting to see if Spencer was paying attention, she jerked against her hand and cried out before sinking gratefully to her knees.

She could only assume Spencer was having a similarly difficult time resuming a normal pattern of breathing, of existing, because he uttered a gruff, “Don’t move,” and “I’ll be right back,” before turning away.

She used the moment to close her eyes and savor the satisfaction of what had to be one of the hottest and most bizarre sexual experiences of her life. The only touch she and Spencer had shared the entire time was the brief clasp of his hand on top of hers. They hadn’t hugged, hadn’t kissed, hadn’t even held hands for an appreciable amount of time. There’d been no embracing and no bodily fluids exchanged.

Yet she was spent.

When Spencer returned to the living room, he’d changed into a clean pair of slacks and was drying his hands on a towel. He looked as cool and as in command of himself as he’d been when they’d first met, and Ruby felt herself responding to it the exact same way as before—with every single one of her lady parts.

Apparently, she wasn’t as spent as she’d thought.