He was winning, but he hadn't won yet. His fingers danced across her inner thighs, actively avoiding the most sensitive of areas in his attempt to tease her. The squirming and wriggling underneath his body, the way her fingers impatiently grasped at the sheets, the rising of her hips, the moans—it all had him struggling to keep his own breathing in check as his hips involuntarily pushed against hers in an attempt to find friction for himself.

He grinned wider as she whimpered and complained, albeit in a way that only confirmed that she was getting desperate. Rather than playing hard-to-get (he could hardly justify that after being away for a month), he let his fingers brush over the sensitive bundle of nerves, hoping to evoke the reaction he was looking for.

"You can't win this, Febby," he taunted, quirking a brow in challenge.

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