I whisper his name, tracing my fingers over the thick length through his sweats. Once again, though, I’ve pushed too much, because Spencer lets go of me and puts distance between us.
“Fuck,” he hisses. Stares at me, on my back with my top off. He grips the front of his pants, palming the tip. I squeeze my thighs together to relieve tension of my own, but that just makes it worse. “Worst fucking blue balls of my life.”
“I said I would…”
I gesture to his lap. He glares. “No.”
“But—”
“Kennedy Fucking Walsh,” he leans over and grips my chin. “The next time you make me come, it’s going to be with my cock in your pussy.”
Oh.
I nod, biting back a grin, then sit up. I don’t look for my shirt. Instead, I crawl to his side of the couch, his eyes intent on my breasts. “Uh-huh, I see what you’re going for. Delayed gratification.”
“What?”
I slide one leg over his lap. “You’re holding off on getting something you really want. I do it all the time. Why do you think I make so many plans? When I want something, when I have a goal in mind, I don’t take it right away. I work toward it.”
I press myself against his erection. He grips the tops of my thighs, keeping me from sinking down more, even though both our bottom halves are clothed.
“I build it up in my head. Think about it constantly. I spend so much time waiting for it, imagining it, and when the time comes, when I get it, when it happens and everything goes right…” I caress my mouth against his. Just once. “It’s everything I ever wanted.”
And then, because his eyes glaze over with heat and his hands smooth over my back and he’s thoroughly distracted, I pinch him.
He yelps, and I jump off him, laughing as I search for my shirt.
“You fight dirty, princess,” he says, swatting my butt when I bend over to retrieve my shirt from under the coffee table.
“Don’t act like it’s such torture, Armstrong,” I giggle. “You’ve gone one week. Imagine if you’d gone a month. I bet your penis would wither away.”
I tug my top over my head, and Spencer says, “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“One month. What do I win after?”
I said the magic word. If there’s one thing I’ve come to know about the Main Desire boys, they cannot resist a bet.
“I wasn’t seriously suggesting you go a month without sex—”
“What. The fuck. Do I win?”
I stand there, Spencer sitting on the couch, his eyes challenging me. “What do you want to win?”
“Anything I want.”
The words send a thrill through me. He wants to renew the deal we’d made a week ago. In my car. Right before he’s ravished me and touched me all over and—is he going to do that again?
It shouldn’t be a shock anymore, how much my body wants that. Wants him.
I swallow down my nerves. Run through my schedule in my head. “Well, it wouldn’t be a month, since this—” I wave a hand at my abdomen. “Tends to be cyclical. And the week after that is Brigid’s wedding. I won’t be on campus. If you make it that long, we can do it after—”
“I’ll go with you.”
“What?”
Spencer stands. Makes his way over to me and crowds me with his massive body as he leans close and tells me, “When I make it that long, I want to cash in on my win. Immediately.”
And though we’re talking about sex, it doesn’t escape me: Spencer Armstrong is offering to go to my sister’s wedding with me.
To be my date.
I almost ask him to pinch me, I’m sure my entire world’s flipped upside down. But then he kisses me and I forget all the reasons why I should say no.
Because, above all else, I want him to be my date.
Since he’s surprised me speechless again, I seal the bet with another kiss. When I try to pull back, Spencer grips the back of my head, smirking as he tells me, “Forewarning, princess. I fight dirty, too.”
Before I can ask what he means by that, we both hear it.
A honk. Outside. A feminine voice yelling goodbye at the top of her lungs.
We freeze. Then, in a panicked rush, I hiss, “Hide.”
Spencer launches himself over the back of the couch before I finish the word. Bounds up the stairs to my room, where we’d luckily stashed his things when we’d cleaned that morning. As I hear the keys in the lock, I check that there’s nothing to give us away, no forgotten item, no trace of him ever being here.
I flop on the couch the second Natalie—Natalie, with her rotten timing and lack of planning, who said she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow—walks through the door.
“Hey!” she greets. “Feeling better?”
I’d texted her earlier in the week about my cold. Voice high with nerves, I say, “All better.”
“Yay!” She drops her coat on the floor and kicks off her shoes, knocking over her suitcase. “Theo wanted to come back a day early, so I said, sure, let me change my flight and we’ll meet at the airport—He’s on his way home now—Oh, we should go over and have dinner with him and Gray tonight—”
I let her ramble, my mind on the boy in my bedroom.
“Kennedy?”
“What?” I blink rapidly.
“Are you—” Natalie glances over me. Takes in my red face and wide eyes and the romance on the TV and my heavy breathing. Then gasps, “Oh my god, were you—Did I just interrupt—”
“Nothing, you interrupted nothing,” I squeak.
“Your headlights are on.”
I shove my arms over my chest.
“It’s totally healthy to—”
I jump off the couch, sticking my fingers in my ears as I rush for the stairs. Natalie follows me
