I sat next to him on the couch, close enough to feel how tense he already was. I didn’t climb on his lap. I didn’t even kiss him. I just looked at him with that soft little smile and slowly let my hand slide onto his thigh.
Then I started moving it.
Up… and down… so slowly it almost felt cruel. Every time my fingers got close to where he really wanted them, I stopped. Sometimes I even pulled my hand back a little, just to watch the frustration flash across his face. He tried to stay quiet, but I could hear his breathing getting heavier every time I teased him.
“You booked me for tease and denial,” I whispered, my voice calm and sweet. “So that’s exactly what you’re going to get.”
My hand kept moving — slow, gentle strokes along his thigh, sometimes higher, sometimes stopping completely. I could feel how badly he wanted more. I could feel how hard he was trying not to beg. And I loved every second of it.
Every time he thought I was finally going to give him what he wanted, I would slow down even more… or take my hand away completely.
I leaned in close to his ear and whispered:
“You paid for this. You paid to be teased… and denied. And I’m very good at my job.”
My hand went back to his thigh, stroking him again — nice and slow. He wasn’t getting anything tonight.
Only exactly what he booked.
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