Games We Play (Thistle Cove 2)

She doesn’t blink. “Yes.”

I move fast, settling her between my thighs, feeling her ass press against my erection. I’m not worried about myself. I get ten boners a day. The first one when I wake up. The third one when I see Kenley in Lit. The process continues through the day. This one feels especially good because it’s not brought on by my imagination but with the real, live girl pressing against me. But this isn’t about me. I wasn’t lying when I wanted to make it clear I wasn’t taking advantage. And not only that, the girl sitting in front of me is a livewire. She needs some fucking relief.

Her hand lifts over her head, back behind my neck, running her fingers along the fringe of my hair. I take my time, never going under her shirt, yet reveling in the soft curves of her body, the slim dip of her belly, all the way down to the waist band of her jeans. I take my time, licking her ear, sucking on her collar bone, skimming the tips of my fingers over her breasts. Her chest rises and falls and I massage her gently, increasing the pressure as I go.

Her shirt rides up, revealing a strip of stomach. I inch my hands down, pushing my thumbs under her shirt, feeling the soft skin underneath. With diligence I make my way upward, painstakingly slow. She opens her eyes and stares up at me, giving me a solid, “What the fuck?” glare.

“I told you to trust me,” I whisper. “It may be slow, but I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Her nails scratch gently down my cheek as I ghost my thumbs over her nipples. She moans softly, lips parted, body arching.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

With one hand I keep rubbing her tit, and the other inches downward, I slide it down her thigh, making similar circles. Her legs drop, spreading apart, one against my leg, the other against the back of the couch. Her jeans are tight, and I stroke down her thigh, brushing over the seam. Her hips rise, and I’m thankful for the barrier of fabric. I get the feeling she’s pretty impatient. A moment later she grabs my hand and lays it flat on her lower belly, fingers pointed down. My dick twitches behind her. I’m damn sure she felt it.

I run my fingers between her legs, feeling the seam and the warm heat radiating. She whimpers, and I do it again, dying to hear that sound, that little cry, a second time.

“Ez,” she breathes, looking up at me with bright blue eyes, “you’re killing me.”

I smile, feeling wicked, and make another pass between her legs, this time stopping and using the heel of my palm to apply pressure. She starts to twist, but I hold her still, only allowing her to press the side of her face into my chest. I can tell I’m in the right place, hitting the right spot, because her breath comes out spotty, and her knees bend.

It takes everything in me not to push my hands down her pants, to feel the wet heat between her legs, but I’m not going there—not tonight. Tonight, I just want to do something good for her. Bring someone pleasure. Make this girl, my girl, know what it feels like to be touched by someone. I focus on her, on her breathing, on her face, on the way her nose scrunches, and how her tongue darts out between her lips. I rub the spot that makes her whimper and hold her against my chest as she starts to shudder, writhing against my body. I watch Kenley come, eyes closed, lips parted, body curling inside out.

When she finally stills, I smooth down her shirt and run a hand down her cheek, tilting her face upward. She’s fucking gorgeous. Her face is pink from exertion, and I bend, brushing my lips across hers.

She props up on her elbow. “I came up here to check on you and make sure you were okay, not for you to do that.”

“Watching that was better than any damn movie on TV, got it? And trust me, after that, I’m more than okay.”

“But you didn’t—”

“I’m good, babe,” I say, brushing her hair out of her eyes. She doesn’t need to know that what I just witnessed will keep me supplied with weeks of erotic mental material. “Sometimes the best thing you can do is something for someone else.”

She settles her cheek on my chest, her breathing evening out, unaware of how she’s the best damned thing that’s happened in my life in a long, long time.

10

Kenley

I stretch, lifting my arms over my head, still feeling the tingling warm aftermath of the night before. Ezra had shown me a kinder, gentler, generous side, and I’d shown him what I look like turned into a puddle of goo.

My phone buzzes from the table beside my bed, and I pick it up. It’s from Ezra.

Someone left a mark on me.

A photo drops next. The first thing I notice is his handsome face and the smug smile tugging at his lips. The next is where his fingers tug down the collar of his shirt, revealing a blotchy, red bruise. I’d left a hickey on Ezra Baxter’s collarbone.

I rush to type out an apology.

Kenley: I’m so sorry.

Ezra: Don’t be. But there may be questions in the locker room about where I got it. What do you want me to say?

I consider this. None of us are “out” in our relationship. Ozzy and I may be the closest thing because we kind of started dating before anything else happened with the guys. Thistle Cove is small, and gossip runs wild. I’m not sure I’m ready that.

Kenley: Whatever you want to say is fine. I trust you.

He replies with a thumbs-up emoji, and we text back and forth for a minute. He’s going to the gym, and I’ve got homework. I promise to meet him back at float building later that day.