“Fuck yes.” I hook my thumbs in the waistband and shimmy out of them, kicking them far and away.

He runs a hand down my thigh. When he lands on my knee, he presses me open, baring me to him. He nips at my jawline. “I’m tempted to tease you, make you beg for me to touch you.”

“There’s plenty of time for that on literally any other night.” I glare at him until he moves his hand, hovering over me until I can feel the heat of his palm.

“I should’ve known you’d be demanding in bed.” He doesn’t let me respond, his lips devouring mine at the same time he paints a single finger over me.

I moan into his mouth and he grunts, his hips thrusting, his hardness caught between us. He strokes me, never moving his lips from mine, until my entire body is tight with tension. When I’m teetering on the edge, he pulls his hand back and I whimper. He swallows the sound, a devilish grin on his unrelenting lips.

When I think I might actually combust, he slides a single finger into me. I have to pull away from his mouth so I can cry out because the torture of it is exquisite. His movements are slow, deliberate, and he hits every single nerve ending in my body, teasing my clit before plunging back inside me, this time with two fingers. And when his mouth lands back on my breast, tonguing and biting my nipple, I explode, tightening around his fingers, my hips thrusting until I come down.

I take his face in my hands, dragging his lips to mine. His fingers continue to tease me, stroking lightly as our mouths melt together. My hand travels down his flat stomach, over the ridges of his lean muscles. I push his pants down just enough so I can wrap my hand around him unimpeded. He’s hot and hard in my palm, and the groan he releases into my mouth almost makes me come again.

“Is this okay?” I stroke him once, over the long length of him.

“Fuck yes.”

I grasp him tighter in my hand and he does the work for me, thrusting into my fist, even as he continues to stroke me, bringing me to the brink before backing off again and again until I want to scream.

“Please,” I finally whimper. “Don’t stop, Jack.”

And he doesn’t. I tighten around his fingers for the second time, crying out in release. Jack pumps into my hand harder, shuddering out his own release a second later.