Games We Play (Thistle Cove 2)

“Hanging out or making out?” I ask.

“Do you care?”

“Honestly? No, but if you go to someone and tell them this, they’re going to ask questions—you heard Brice Waller talk about Jacqueline today. They’re willing to throw teenage girls under the first available bus. Making out with Ezra Baxter, known juvenile delinquent and drug dealer, isn’t going to help your credibility against the most beloved teacher and coach at the school.”

She frowns, thinking it over. It’s a bullshit double-standard to have to defend your own sexuality when accusing someone else of inappropriate behavior, but I’m just looking out for her.

“I just want you to be careful, okay? If all of this is really going on, it could be dangerous. We still don’t really know what happened to Rose.”

“That’s what Juliette said to me on the bridge. That I need to be careful about poking around in Rose’s secret life.”

“At least you never did anything with that SugarBabies account, we have no idea who’s on the other side of that.”

“Yeah,” she says, giving me a tight smile. “So, are you really not upset that I was in the storage room at school with Ezra?”

It’s a little awkward in the small Honda, but I slip my hand around her neck, tilting her face so we’re eye-to-eye. “You and Ezra have the storage room. We have Friday nights under the bleachers. I assume you and Finn have somewhere quiet to spend time with each other, too. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to this. My only priority is you.”

She bends forward and kisses me, and I’m glad for the moment together. I doubt we’ll get to spend much time under the bleachers tonight—not with all the homecoming fanfare. Her lips part, and I dart in my tongue, feeling the want and tension taking over. I slide my hand up her side, feeling the soft swell of her breast. Her hand lays flat on my chest, fingers tugging at my shirt. A moment later we’re rising over the center of the car, kissing and fumbling for one another. I squeeze between the seat, never taking my hands off of her, and she follows, landing on me with an awkward crash.

The whole moment is spontaneous—I mean, I’m hard half the day thinking about Kenley, and when I’m in close proximity to her like this and I’m overwhelmed by her smell, her face and body, I feel like I’m coming unhinged. But this moment, rushed and heated in the back of the car, I didn’t expect.

Especially when she straddles me in the small space and sits up, removing her shirt. Her hair falls out of her ponytail, over her shoulders, trailing to the exquisite valley between her breasts.

My jaw drops and my dick twitches against her, and I unabashedly reach for the pale blue lace atop creamy skin. Her tits are perfect, round and full. I cup them both and rub my thumbs across the top, marveling at the hardened peaks that push at the fabric.

She pushes at the hem of my shirt and after smashing my elbow into the door, I manage to get it off. She bends over, hair grazing my chest, giving me the most outstanding view, and places her mouth on mine. The movement rubs her crotch against mine.

Like I fool, I push her back. “KK, what are we doing here?”

Because I need to know. There’s a condom in my wallet that’s been waiting for this moment for the last three years. There’s a shirtless girl—not just a girl—the girl, grinding on my lap. My head, my heart, my cock, are all about to explode.

“I’m a virgin,” she admits, “and I know Finn and Ezra aren’t. I don’t know about you—”

“I’ve never done this—it—before.” I cut her off, wanting honesty between us. “If you want to wait for someone more experienced, I get it.”

“No,” she says, touching my face. My fingers touch the soft, smooth skin of her stomach. “I want it to be you.”

My balls, which have run my life since I turned twelve, seize in response. I reach for her and pull her on top of me, kissing her in response.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. Hot and sweaty, we get our clothes off in the cramped space. Her jeans fall to the floorboards, a stack of business cards slipping from the back pocket. She reaches for me, running her fingers along my shaft in a way that tells me she’s done it before. I find the condom, package wrinkled over the years, and she watches with interest as I roll it down.

“Are you sure?” I ask as she hovers over me, golden hair like a halo.

“I’m sure.”

At first she moves slow, tentative, but as she lowers herself down, her jaw drops, either in surprise or pain. I run my hand down her side, trying not to force her hips, but rise up to meet her, pushing past the tight barrier.

“Okay?” I ask, rubbing her arm.

She nods, but I’m not convinced, not until she starts to move, and my body instinctively follows. It’s erratic, jerky, overwhelmingly strange. It’s also the best damn moment in my life. Soon, we establish a rhythm, and I pull her face to mine, wanting to kiss her badly, wanting to come even more. Our breath mingles and our skin slips, her tits are the most fantastic thing I’ve seen in my life—or so I think.

Kenley pulls back and rolls her hips, drawing my cock inside. She looks down at me and grins, lips parted, eyes glazed. That’s the actual most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life. My balls tighten and my fingers grip her waist, holding on as I come; thrusting and groaning hard, while I look up at the girl I love.

I don’t say it, because I know it’s a fucking cliché and it’ll cheapen it, but I pull her into my arms, refusing to let her go—not yet. Our hearts thrum together, and I consider telling her that I know it wasn’t perfect, that I think I may have seriously fucked up my elbow, and I’m pissed that she didn’t come, but I keep my mouth shut and hold onto her and vow to never let her go.

24

Kenley