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When I felt him get under the covers, I thought I’d won the battle for
territory until his feet pushed my legs.
“Hey!”
He shoved me to the edge, laughing as I fought back move for move. I
was no match for him, and before I knew it, the sheets were a mess and I
was halfway to falling off.
“Yield!” he cried, pinning my wrist to the night table.
“Never!” With my free hand, I pinched a chunk of skin under his ribs.
He pulled away, back to the center, giving me enough room to slide
back. “Is that how it is?”
He grabbed me and we wrestled, our troubles forgotten in laughter and
hand-to-hand combat. I tried to pinch him again, but he was too quick,
grabbing my hand, then the other, and holding them together with two
fingers.
“You want to play dirty.” He reached under my arm and tickled me. I
squealed. “Oh, she’s ticklish!”
“Cheat—” The word was drowned in uncontrollable giggles. I twisted
away, and he rolled with me, getting on top so he could pin my wrists to the
headboard with one hand.
“What was that?” he asked.
“That’s cheating,” I said between gasps for breath.
“You mean this?” He went to tickle me again, but when I tried to roll, he
slid between my legs to pin me with his pelvis.
He was hard.
We didn’t say a word. We didn’t move. We’d gone from dead serious, to
playful, to aroused in the space of ten minutes.
“That night,” he whispered, letting my wrists go. “You let me have my
side of the bed, but not right away.”
“When?” My hips pushed into his rod with an involuntarily jerk.
He slipped his hand under my sweatshirt and traced the underside of my
breast with his fingertips.
“After we finished our first date.” His teasing fingers were cool on my
nipple, making it even harder.
“So we’re on the same date? Now?”
“Do you want to be?”
“Yes. Do you?”
“Yes.”