Chapter 25 Finley
TWENTY-FIVE
FINLEY
“What a cheater,” I mutter to myself through clenched teeth, ripping my shirt over my head and tossing it to the floor.
Not only did Theo try to throw me off with his deliciously dirty mouth—which almost worked, by the way—but he also knew about controls that I had no idea even existed.
Had he not used turbo mode to win the race, I’d be covered from head to toe in massage oil.
Instead, I’m in my room, preparing to deliver his prize.
Hell, I’m not even mad about the lap dance.
I’m horny as fuck and dying to touch him.
It was a long weekend, sleeping with our almost-naked bodies pressed together, but not going beyond a few short make-out sessions.
Add in him talking about what he wants to do to me just a few minutes ago, and I’m ready to rub myself all over him like a cat in heat.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to make him pay for bamboozling me down there.
Shimmying out of my leggings, I walk over to my dresser and open the top drawer.
I have several new lingerie sets the girls talked me into buying after I told them Theo and I were having sex, all of which fit like a glove.
Any one of them would be perfect for the occasion, although I think I need to up the ante if I really want to drive him wild.
Even though he won in the shadiest of ways, I always settle my debts.
The idea hits me like a brick to the face—a way that I can blow his mind and make him regret being such a dirty little liar—but it’s going to take some scheming. I need to get from my room to Theo’s as quietly as possible, or he’ll suspect that I’m up to no good.
I’m positively giddy as I open the door and peek out, ensuring that Theo is still right where I left him.
The background music to our game continues playing downstairs, providing just enough of a buffer for me to tiptoe down the hallway unnoticed in only my black lace bra and thong.
Being as stealthy as possible, I duck into his room, heading straight for the closet.
“You like me in your clothes? Let’s see what you think of this,” I whisper, my stomach flipping with anticipation as I remove my bra and drop it to the floor.
I find what I’m looking for, carefully remove it from the hanger, and pull it over my head before checking myself out in the full-length mirror.
I’ve never seen myself as particularly sexy, but as I stand here in Theo’s jersey, the black mesh draped over my pregnant body like it was made to be worn this way, I can’t stop the feeling of intense power that washes over me.
Taking one last look at my reflection, I fluff my hair at the roots and leave the room, sauntering down the hallway.
I take each step slowly, my heart beating wildly behind my rib cage as I approach the living room, where Theo still sits in the middle of the wraparound couch.
He doesn’t see me at first, too entranced by whatever he’s looking at on his phone, but as soon as he does, I’ve got his undivided attention.
“Oh, fuck,” he chokes out, the words barely audible as they get stuck in his throat.
His eyes are like dinner plates, wide and unblinking as he drags them from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.
And when he reaches down and adjusts what looks to be a very rapidly growing erection, it’s game on.
“Although your tactics were a little shady,” I say, keeping my voice low and sultry as I erase the space between us, “you did win the race, which means I owe you a dance.” I stand in front of him, turning toward the television and making a big show of bending down to pick up the remote from the ottoman.
My ass, which is only covered by the skimpiest thong I own, is on full display for him as I pull up the music streaming app and choose a playlist. It’s full of slow, seductive songs, providing an endless soundtrack for teasing, which is exactly what I plan to do.
“Rules,” I say, facing him and allowing my hips to move as they wish, swaying along to the beat. His brows furrow, as though he thought he’d get to do whatever he wants here, but he’s about to find out just how wrong he is.
“Number one,” I say, trailing my fingertips up my body as his gaze follows along. “Hands to yourself. You’re not allowed to touch me unless I say so.”
“That’s not fair,” he grits through clenched teeth, barely hanging on to his restraint as his eyes continue cataloguing my every move. “Just seeing you in my jersey has me ready to snap, and we haven’t even started. I need to touch you.”
“Sorry,” I reply with a patronizing pout. “Sometimes life isn’t fair, is it? But the good news is that there’s only one more rule for you to remember.”
“What is it?” he says as his hands ball into fists at his sides. My nipples harden at the sight, my clit throbbing painfully between my legs, but goddamn if I don’t love being the one in charge right now.
I smirk, lowering my hands to my thighs and dragging them upward, the motion lifting the jersey enough for him to watch as I slide my panties down my legs.
As soon as they hit the floor, I spin around, lowering my ass to his lap and adding just enough pressure to feel his hard length as I deliver the final blow.
“Don’t come.”
Any objections die on his lips the moment I begin to move, grinding myself against him to the beat of the music.
I get completely lost in it, letting my hands roam along my curves before resting on his thighs for leverage.
I give him everything I have, rotating my hips over his lap, the steel rod beneath his pants telling me that he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
Or not, since he can’t touch or find any kind of relief.
But I can.
I lean so that my back is flush to his chest, the rough material of the jersey lighting up every nerve ending in my body as I continue to torment him.
Small, barely audible whimpers fall from his lips, but he follows the rules, which is impressive, since he looked like he was struggling to keep his inner beast caged before I even touched him.
But now that we’re here, the hottest friction being created between my bare ass and his hard—yet still covered—cock as I dance, I want more.
Turning my head, I lock my heated stare onto his.
His expression is tight, every shallow, broken breath that leaves his lungs telling me that he’s dying to get his hands on me.
“Do you want to touch, baby?” I ask, the term of endearment rolling off my tongue like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’m dripping for you.”
“Please,” he whimpers, his tone laced with desperation. “Please let me feel. I’ll do anything.”
“Mmmm,” I hum, scorching hot satisfaction blazing through my veins at the sound of his desolation. “So polite. You have five seconds to touch me wherever you want. Choose wisely.”
In an instant, he’s using one hand to pull my thigh open while two fingers from the other plunge into me without warning.
I cry out in a mixture of surprise and arrant pleasure, my eyes rolling back as he pumps in and out.
My back arches, nails biting into his thighs through the material of his pajama pants, while heat begins to gather in my core.
“Fuck, Mama,” he grinds out, curling toward my G-spot and making me moan so loudly that I’d be surprised if the whole street didn’t hear it. “This pussy is so wet and warm. You’re leaking into my palm.”
I want to let him continue—to fuck me with his thick fingers until I find the release I’ve been yearning for—but I can’t. I gave him five seconds, and this has already gone on much longer than that.
“Time’s up,” I say, yanking on his wrist. I immediately feel empty, anguish burning me from the inside out as I stifle the pathetic whine that’s threatening to give me away. I may be in agony, my clit throbbing relentlessly, but it’s about to be a lot worse for him.
“Goddamn it,” he whispers, his wet fingertips digging into the flesh of my thigh. But I slap it away, scolding him as a slow, dark smirk spreads across my face.
“Hands off,” I admonish, resuming my slow, sultry movements.
He groans as I circle my ass over his erection, my hands disappearing under the jersey to caress my peaked nipples.
I can’t stop the breathy moan that tumbles from my lips when I pinch lightly, sending a wave of electricity right to my apex.
Theo’s breathing quickens as I let the beat of the music guide me, and I can tell he’s nearing the edge by the way his balled fists are completely devoid of color.
But when I feel his abs clench through our shirts, thighs quaking against mine as I grind down, I halt completely because absofuckinglutely not.