“You should’ve fucking knocked. Jesus.” He winces, and because I can’t help myself, I glance down at his pillow and then back up at him.
“Did you get to finish?”
“Does it look like I got to finish?”
“Well, I don’t know. Maybe you were in the middle of coming when I came in.” I reach out and touch the tip of his nipple—still not sure why. “Your nipple is hard.”
He takes a step forward, closing the space between us, and pokes my nipple, dead center.
“Ow,” I complain, covering my nipple.
“Your nipple is hard. Does that mean you’re coming as we speak?”
“Don’t poke my nipple like that. It hurts.”
“It didn’t hurt.”
“Yes, it did.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“YES, it did!” I say as I reach out and poke his nipple the same way he poked mine. He doesn’t even flinch. So, I do it again. And again. And— He pokes my other nipple.
A gasp pops out of me as I cover that boob, too.
The actual audacity of this man.
“I can’t believe you poked both of my nipples.”
“You poked mine,” he says, standing there in a face-off, testing me.
“This isn’t a tit for tit type of thing.”
“Is this something you do often to know the rules about it? Barge in when someone’s jacking off and then start poking their nipples?” He pokes my hand.
I grow angrier and poke him back.
He pokes me in the chest.
I poke him in the abdomen.
He swats my shin with his foot.
I cry out in shock and then swat at him with my foot, followed by a poke.
He fakes me to the right and then pokes me on the left.
“Urgggh.” I release both my breasts and go in for a double poke, but he’s just swift enough to poke me in the nipple one more time before stepping away. Before I know what I’m doing, I run at him at full force and tackle him to the ground, his pillow falling to the side, me falling on top of his stomach, straddling him.
And like the casual ass that he is, he puts his hands behind his head and stares up at me.
“If this is what you wanted, babe, you should’ve just asked.”
My teeth grind together and I say, “I was trying to save you.”
“Likely story.”
“I was,” I say, more irritated. “I said I owe you, and that’s what I meant. I was throwing my body at your attacker.”
“You were throwing your body at me.”
I growl and then poke him again.
He pokes me back, this time, lifting my breast while he does it.
“Stop that!” I yell.
“You stop it.”
“I did stop.”
“No, you started it again.”
“Because you’re irritating me.”
“Because you interrupted my man time.”
“Your man time?” I pause, letting his words sink in, and for some reason—maybe the way he said it, the words he chose—they hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting. I start to giggle.
Then giggle some more.
Then snort.
Then chuckle.
A laugh . . .
“What’s so fucking funny?”
“You said man time.”
“So? What do you call it?”
“Not man time.” I laugh some more, the obnoxious, nervous, but also can’t control it laughter.
That causes him to laugh.
Smile lines crease his eyes. Joy overtakes his expression. And then, we’re laughing together, to the point that I roll off his stomach and fall to the ground. I catch him pulling the pillow back over his crotch so I don’t see anything as his chest moves up and down with laughter.
After what seems like forever, I turn toward him and say, “I’m sorry I interrupted your man time. Next time, can you attempt to not sound like a suffering animal?”
He passes his hands over his eyes. “I’m never going to be able to come again without worrying what I sound like. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome.” I sit up and say, “I think we needed this.”
“You walking in on me jacking off?” he asks with humor.
“No, not that per se, just a moment of levity to break up the tension.”
“Trust me, babe, the tension is still there since you didn’t let me come. Probably worse than ever.”
I wince. “Well, then, let me let you get back to your . . . man time.” We both stand, him still covering himself. “Try not to be so loud this time.”