“No.” He clears his throat after the first word comes out hoarsely and then leans forward, sticking his face into the crook of my neck, dragging his nose up to my ear that he nips at. “This is about you. I”—he pauses—“we wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

I can’t think about what he means beyond saying no. I whine again.

He leaves a trail of wet kisses back down, letting his tongue trace the shallow valley of my collarbone. “You like to beg, don’t you?”

I throw my head back, giving his tongue all of my neck. I have no words, only a hum, to answer. But for good measure, I manage to beg again. “Please.”

“I’m going to make you sick of it. I promise.” He slides his hand higher, the tip of his finger tracing the bottom curve of my breast. “But not tonight. Tonight, you take what you need without asking.”

I twist my hand in his hold and Fitz lets go, bringing it down to his shoulder. When I pull at him, his lips graze my skin as he shakes his head, sending a stream of chills across my body.

“If I get on top of you, that’s a surefire way to make it about me.” He brings his lips back to my ear the moment he rolls my taut nipple between his fingers.

I cup the back of his head. “You told me to think about you.”

God the feel of his smile against my neck is foreplay all on its own. I grind down, circling my hips against his strong thigh. I’m tense and holding onto him for dear life as he worships my skin with his mouth.

“Fitz, please.”

“No begging, Parker,” Fitz growls, sliding his face from my neck and kissing me. “Just take what you want.”

Still grinding against his thigh, I cover Fitz’s hand now kneading my breast and squeeze it before directing it down against my bare stomach. Our foreheads touch and I watch close up as his eyes flutter shut as I bring it down resting it at the barrier of my pajama shorts.

“I want you to take me.”

His forehead meets mine. “Parker. You can’t say that to me.”

My words and heavy breaths dust his lips, and I swear Fitz trembles as he slides his hand beneath the fabric of my shorts and underwear. Beneath my hand on his shoulder, his muscles twitch, and mine follow the same pattern when one of his long, thick fingers slips inside me.

I’ve never heard a grown man whimper. “Fuck, you can’t be this wet. You can’t…”

But I am, easily letting Fitz slip another finger inside as he brings the heel of his hand flush against my clit. My head falls back, my clutch on his shoulder and around his fingers tightening.