Games We Play (Thistle Cove 2)

“You pick.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Because I’m not going to pick a war movie or something scary.”

He kisses my temple, then reaches over and turns off the light. “I don’t care what we watch, I’m going to spend most of the time looking at you anyway.”

My heart flips. Dammit, Ezra Baxter. The smile that plays on his lips tells me he said it on purpose. The glint in his eye tells me that he means it. I rest my head on his warm, smooth chest and hear the hammering of his heart, way too fast for a boy in control of his emotions, and scroll down the options.

He’s right, I think, settling on a comedy we’ve both seen a dozen times. It doesn’t matter what we watch because just being close to him is going to take up all my attention.

The comedy is a good choice. Slowly, I feel him relax next to me. His fingers stroke casually against my side, making small circles. And I find myself fascinated with the taut, hard muscle on his abdomen, contrasted with the soft hair that stretches below his belly button.

I’m not even thinking when I touch it—that it’s particularly sensitive. His heartrate rockets, then his stomach caves, right before his hand clamps down on mine. His voice comes out in a restrained hiss, “Babe, that’s dangerous territory.”

I lift my head and swallow.

“Sorry. I, uh,” no other words come out, but my cheeks flame with heat. My lack of experience is the direct cause of this awkward situation, and the fact his jaw is clenched tight and a different sort of tension fills his features. Quickly, I shift away, but he reaches for me again, stopping me.

“I know this is new for you, and to be completely honest, this pace—it’s new for me.” He holds my eye even though all I want to do is vanish. “I like it. I like watching a movie and just being close. I like feeling your hands explore me, and god knows, I’d like to explore you, but if we’re moving slow, we need to move slow.” He stands and walks over to the bed, picking up a purple T-shirt and pulling it over his head. His face grimaces when he does it, his side that sore. “Clothes on for now.”

“Wait,” I say, feeling a little sad to see his upper body covered. “When did we decide we were going slow?”

He runs his hand through his hair. “You’re dating three guys at once, KK, and I’m down with it, but I—we—want to make it perfectly clear we’re not taking advantage.”

“You forget this was my idea.”

He laughs. “It didn’t take much persuading.”

“I like you Ez, and I can go as slow as you want, but don’t place that on me.” I eye his long frame. “Don’t make lines in the sand without my input. I may not be experienced, but this was my idea.”

He holds my eye, only wavering once or twice to drop them to my mouth. He sighs and walks back over, sitting back on the couch. There’s a small space between us, and I scoot into it, molding into his side. If it’s possible, when I rest my head on his chest, his heart is beating even harder than before.

“Promise you’ll tell me if I ever cross a line,” he whispers, running his hand down my side. Flames burst across my skin, deep in my belly. I nod, unable to speak, because what Ezra doesn’t get is that I’m not sure where that line is myself, and I’m more than willing to go right up to the edge and drag him over with me.

9

Ezra

My heart pounds in my chest, like a drumbeat to keep me alert. I’m already pumped on adrenaline, first from the game, then from the bullshit with my dad. Kenley came in here and calmed me down, but when she snuggled up to me and ran her fingers across my lower belly, she got me worked up in a whole different way.

I hate that she was embarrassed, but touching me right there, like that, with those soft little fingers. Jesus. I had to get the hell away from her warmth, her smell, her everything. It was that or pull her on top of me and show her exactly how much of a degenerate I really am.

I pulled on my shirt, like that was going to do anything, and I force myself to be a fucking gentleman, telling her I’m going to take it slow. She flipped that back on me, which I should’ve expected. Kenley’s not your typical girl. She proved it when she put on that wig and bikini, and I almost came just looking at her. She doubled down when she climbed in my lap and shot-gunned smoke and her tongue in my mouth in front of Ozzy and Finn, then asked us all to date her. Under that good girl persona is a wild child clawing at her cage. As much as I want to be the one to unlock that door, I’m not sure either of us are ready.

I like Kenley. A lot, and not just because she’s possibly a secret freak. I want to watch movies with her and take a ride in the mountains with her on the back of my motorcycle. I want to kiss her mouth, her fingers and toes. I want to stay out of trouble, just so I can be around her. I mean, hell, I even do my homework so I don’t get kicked out of AP Lit because she sits diagonally across from me and at least twice a class she looks back at me and smiles.

/>

I wrap my arm around her and pull her close, leaving enough room to run my hand down her side. Her head presses against my chest, and I know she can feel the hammering of my heart. Although I told her to watch it, her hand is rubbing small circles near my hip. My thumb grazes her ribs and the soft side of her breast, she shifts, leaning into me so that her feet are up on the couch, and her back is flat against my side.

I look up at the TV and try to focus on the screen, but my eyes keep dragging down to the V-neck of Kenley’s shirt and her tits inches away from my hand. I swallow back the building desire, the ache growing in my balls, and how soft and warm she feels against me.

Her hand moves from my hip to my thigh, and now I’m the one that’s shifting. I steel myself, but she turns her face toward me, placing kisses along my neck, lathing the sensitive skin with her tongue. Her back arches, and my hand slides over her breast, feeling her nipple pebble and her warm breath as she shudders out an exhale.

Jesus.

Light from the TV casts a flickering glow across the room. I run my hands down her body, over her thighs. Her hips rise, and I lean my head back, staring at the ceiling. I count to five. Ten. Her mouth latches to my collarbone, and I squirm, ticklish. She wants more and I can give it to her.

I touch her chin and force her eye up. “Do you trust me?”