Rules of Play (The Script Club 2)

“What will we call it? Every operation needs a name. Every book needs a title,” George declared, wiping his hands on a napkin and picking up his phone.

“Well, it’s not really a book, so we’ll just call them rules of play. What do we have so far?” I asked, peering at his cell.

“ ’Don’t stand too close. Appear interested, but not psycho.’ ”

“Good start. Those are pretty basic. Make a note about the importance of appearing natural.”

He furrowed his brow. “Give me an example.”

“Don’t laugh too hard at a silly joke or bend over backward to be polite. There’s a danger of coming across as insincere when you’re too engaged. It’s like the guy who’s so excited to finally kiss his date, his braces get caught with hers.”

“That happened to me once. I was wearing a retainer, though. The metal of his braces scraped my gum and when I pushed my tongue forward, my retainer popped out. It got stuck and”—George paused to grimace—“it just hung there, dangling from his mouth.”

“Ew. I rest my case.”

George chuckled as he made a small production of typing a new entry into his cell. “Moderate your enthusiasm.”

We busted up laughing. And when we sobered, we just…stared at each other until our smiles faded.

We came together like a pair of magnets, licking and sucking until our lips were swollen. We made out in a frenzy…my hands in his hair, his hands on my chest, then on my dick. We retired to a deep corner of the garage, fumbling with belts and zippers, sighing with pleasure and relief at first touch.

The same thing happened on Wednesday over waffles and chicken.

I noticed that the meal and conversation were part of the equation too. It felt like we were on a crash-course series of dates, taking notes along the way, and connecting the way two people who were attracted to each other might.

Our kisses became more urgent, and the desire to get to skin became a physical need. More manic, more passionate.

And I got bolder.

On Thursday, I barely ate the turkey casserole and I had a hard time stringing coherent sentences together. I just wanted George.

I let my hands wander as if they had a will of their own…tracing his toned stomach, caressing his hips, and kneading his ass cheeks before drifting to the steel rod nudging my cock insistently. I closed my fingers around his shaft, gently tracing the wide mushroom head, tightening my grip as I slid my fist up and down.

Holy shit. I was jacking another man’s dick.

My heart raced like mad. I couldn’t see in the dark. This was a true sensory exploration. And while it was slightly frustrating, it was also incredibly freeing. I wondered if George chose the dark on purpose, away from the house where no one would know what we were up to. Whatever. Deep thoughts weren’t in the cards while I stroked someone else’s cock for the first time ever.

I shifted sideways to switch positions, backing him against the farthest corner of the worktable. I fused my mouth to his and jacked him with abandon, doing everything I knew I personally loved when I was close to orgasm—short, quick strokes, cupped balls, and lots of tongue action. I nipped his bottom lip, sighing with frustration when he batted my hand away.

“G, what are you—oh, fuck.”

He aligned our cocks and stroked us together in a tight hold. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s good. So good. Too good.”

“I can do better.”

George dropped to his knees in the dark and swallowed me whole.

Okay, let’s get something straight…pun intended. I’d been on the receiving end of a fuckton of BJs, but this…this was incredible. Just wow. The lack of light made it feel like I was getting blown by a ghost. A very talented ghost with a magic tongue. He pulled back to lick my shaft, up one side and down the other, stroking whatever spot he couldn’t reach as he sucked. I was not going to last.

“I’m—I’m gonna come,” I warned.

“Do it.” He swallowed me again, milking me as I trembled through wave after wave of pleasure.

He released me with a pop and sat back on his heels. A single shadowy ray of moonlight illuminated the space between us. I watched in awe as he jerked himself, running my fingers through his thick hair when he came, shaking like a leaf before collapsing at my feet.

I didn’t disturb the silence. I was afraid to.

“That was…amazing,” I said after a moment.

“Yeah.”

I helped him to his feet. “We should probably discuss…this.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “But not tonight.”

“George…”

He lowered his eyes. “Tomorrow?”

“Okay. Um…do you know where my shirt is? I can’t see a thing in here.” I looked around aimlessly, unsure what to do or say.

George pushed my T-shirt into my hand, chanting in a low, monosyllabic tone as he cleaned up and redressed, “Do not freak out, do not freak out.”