He had expected her to just know, somehow, even though his every thought for the past two days had revolved around keeping it from her. After so many months of effort devoted entirely to this subject, and all those months thinking about her, picturing what she must be doing and thinking, it was impossible to believe she had not been as singularly occupied. And if she had been mentally tracking his progress the way he had been imagining and anticipating her reactions every step of the way, it was foolish to think she might not have also guessed at the climax. If she hadn't been sure before, certainly she would be, now. Could she see it in the way he held himself? Smell it leaking from his pores like sweat?

She must have been taunting him with the question. She wanted to force him to say it. His lip curled in derision as he pulled his arm back from her touch again.

"Fuck off," he growled, turning towards his bedroom door.