She shifted slightly, and in doing so, brushed against his still-present erection.

That was what was missing. And it made her angry.

“Forget something?” she asked.

He looked unconcerned at her outburst. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How many times have we played together?”

“Are you looking for an exact number?”

“A lot,” she said. “And guess how many times you’ve still had a hard-on after the scene was over?”

“Dena.” He said her name in that low, warning way of his.

“One.” She rolled out of his arms and propped herself up on her elbow. “Today. What exactly are you trying to prove?”

“If you want to discuss the scene, it’ll have to wait until you’ve calmed down. Right now I’m going to take a shower.”

He moved to get off the bed, but she put a hand on his chest. “Are you going to jerk off in there?”

His eyes narrowed. “Move your hand.”

“Look at you. Your cock’s so hard, it’s got to be painful in those jeans. Bet you’re ready to take them off and stroke yourself into some relief.” She scooted closer to him. “Will you think of me when you do? Pretend they’re my hands?”

He tried to roll away, but she moved quicker than he did and pushed him back on the bed and straddled him.

“Did you tell yourself that if you didn’t come in the playroom, you’d somehow be proving something about us?” She reached out and touched his chest. “You still going to think that while you’re in the shower, fucking a memory?” Her fingers trailed downward. He was breathing heavily. “Is it easier to fuck my memory than the real me?”

His hand grabbed her wrist just before she slipped her fingers into his pants. “Stop. I told you I wasn’t fucking you.”

She leaned down and dragged her lips across his belly, noticing he’d broken into a light sweat. “Fine. My mouth. Your cock.”

“I said ‘no.’”

With a quick jerk, her hand was free. She unbuttoned his jeans and stroked his erection. “You’re trying to prove some asinine point to yourself. But I know you. You want me. That’s why you’re breathing so hard and why you’re gritting your teeth. Want me to stop? Safe word.”

She teased aside his boxers, wanting to feel skin, knowing she was taunting him. It’d serve her right for him to say his safe word.

“You think you know me?” she asked, wrapping a hand around his cock. “I know you just as well. One word and I’ll stop. Say it.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She braced herself for him to say red. Instead, he grabbed her hair.

“Suck it,” he growled.

Waves of sweet relief and victory surged through her as she moved down his body, taking his pants down as she went. His erection sprang toward her and she took it in her hand.

“Remember the time you had me suck you off during the presidential debates?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, but continued talking, all the while stroking him. “I’d done something to piss you off, and you thought you were punishing me. You held off for nearly an hour.”

“Best thing you can do with that mouth is fill it with my cock.”

“We’re not in the playroom, and you took your collar back years ago. You have to play by my rules for the moment.” She was pushing him, pushing him hard. How much more would he take? “You thought it was a punishment, but I loved every second—your taste, the feel of your hand holding me down, kneeling for you.” She kissed his tip. “I fucking loved it.”

He thrust his hips forward.

“Maybe I’ll stay here and stroke you softly for an hour or two.” She blew on him. “Consider it payback?”

“Fucking suck my dick. Now.”

She hid her smile. He was almost there. Lifting her head to look at him, she blinked innocently. “Make me.”

That was all it took. With a growl, he flipped them over and half pulled, half dragged her up the bed, so her head rested on a pillow. Keeping her head steady with one hand buried in her hair, he knelt by her face and thrust his cock in her mouth.

He was rough. Just like she wanted, what she’d been missing. “This what you want?” he asked. “My cock fucking your throat?”

She couldn’t answer verbally, so she wrapped her arms around him and sucked harder, relaxing so he could go deeper. He wasn’t going to last long. He’d already been on the edge after their time in the playroom.

“Damn it, Dena.” He fisted her hair harder.

Tears prickled her eyes. Whether from his use of her or because he still wouldn’t call her “Angel,” she wasn’t sure. He didn’t say anything else, but kept up a steady, almost punishing rhythm, and she wasn’t surprised when her own arousal grew. It had always been that way between her and Jeff.

He jerked in her mouth. When he held still, she prepared herself and swallowed as he came.

Too soon. It was over too soon.

And she wanted more.

He slipped from her mouth and sat down, pulling her up beside him. Now would come the part she hated. He’d withdraw from her once more. She resisted the urge to grab her knees and rock, choosing instead to look at the bed. It hurt too much to look at him. But he knew her too well.

“Look at me.”

She’d do it for him. Only to him would she give that part of herself—the vulnerable, the unsure, and the needy part of her.

She met his eyes.

“God, what you do to me,” he said seconds before crushing his lips to hers.

She gave herself over to the kiss, relishing the feel of him. In those seconds she knew he gave her the hidden parts of himself as well. His thumb stroked her cheek, and she nearly hummed in pleasure.

But then he pulled away and it was agony.

“Three hundred eighty-two,” he whispered in her ear.

“What?”

“The number of times we’ve played together.”

She sat speechless as he kissed her cheek, hopped off the bed, and walked off to shower.

Two weeks later, Jeff looked around Daniel’s guesthouse and sighed. He should have skipped the monthly meeting for the group’s Dominants. Neither his heart nor his mind was in the right frame of mind. He’d given a few obligatory grunts at appropriate times, but other than that, he’d been worthless.