Page 38 of Honk if You Love Real Men (Tempting SEALs 1)

She moved the vibrator around and took pleasure in taunting him. A brief second of stimulation there, right there, against her clit, then a shallow dip into her vagina. Over and over again she did it to herself, wanting to climax. But she wouldn’t let herself. She had to torment him more. He worked himself faster and faster.

Can’t have me, she whispered to herself.

She ran the dildo around her opening, sucking on a finger at the same time.

She climaxed.

She hadn’t meant to. Damn it. She didn’t want to. But her whole sex organ throbbed in hard climax that flooded her fingers. Her neck arched, her labia pulsed outward, then inward in a series of exquisite contrac

tions that made Bree throw back her head and moan.

Trent moaned, too, and when she looked over at him, it was just in time to see him ejaculate, white fluid surging all over his hand and lap.

Suddenly, their harsh breaths were the only sounds in the room, that and the sound of water running somewhere, and the low hum of the vibrator.

And it was good.

Lord, she could still feel the pleasure ripples flow through her.

She closed her eyes and lay there, her slick valley a yummy reminder of what she’d just done. She wished she could lie there like that all night. Instead she opened her eyes.

Trent gave her a small smile.

She shoved her dress down, pleased and yet . . . not. She’d done it. And he hadn’t touched her while she did it. Even though she’d taunted him, even though she’d all but invited him to stick it inside her, he hadn’t—and that went a long way toward reassuring her. And yet what she really wanted, what she wished she could have was the real thing.

He got up, and her hope that she was cured fled as quickly as it had come. She was still afraid, damn it. The moment he’d moved . . .

He headed toward the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the room.

Shit, what was wrong with her? Obviously she could trust him.

He came out, apparently all cleaned up. Unlike her. She felt like an oil slick, the smell of herself still clinging to her pores.

He’d brought her a towel, one that was slightly damp so she could clean herself up.

Just like old times.

“You still don’t trust me, do you?” he asked after handing her the thing.

“No,” she admitted in a small voice, suddenly unable to move as he hovered over her. He sat down on the edge of the bed again. She could smell him, the scent of his release combining with her own.

“Bree, you know you can.”

“I do know that.”

“But that doesn’t make it better,” he surmised.

She shook her head. “Maybe we should do it again?”

“No,” he said emphatically. “That’s enough for one night. I think we need to take this slow.”

He was going to help her.

Gratitude made tears rise in her eyes once more.

“Why don’t you meet me in the lobby tomorrow night at six.”

“Okay.”

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