Following the Rules (The Script Club 1)

I yanked my wrist free, cupped his nape to pull him close, and kissed him.

It was fleeting, impetuous, and completely crazy. The aftermath was bound to be embarrassing, but I didn’t care. Simon was much bigger and stronger. He could have easily outpowered me, outmaneuvered me, and put me in my place. But he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t hesitate. He parted his lips as I parted my thighs, licking the corner of my mouth in a request for entry before sliding his tongue alongside mine.

I stopped thinking after that…the way I usually did. My brain had a bad habit of shutting down and taking orders from my dick whenever the opportunity arose. Pun intended.

Today was no exception.

I moaned at the first brush of his obvious erection, draping my arms around his neck as I sent a quick thank-you to the god of athletic shorts. The thin fabric left nothing to the imagination, and it appeared that George’s not-so-straight brother was very interested in me or the kiss or the novelty of both. I wasn’t about to ask for verbal confirmation and potentially ruin the mood. Not yet. I tilted my head slightly when he twisted his tongue with mine, then splayed my hand over his broad shoulders and lifted my hips, dragging my aching shaft over his.

“Holy fuck,” Simon gasped. He braced his weight on his elbows and breathed heavily, his gaze flitting across my face manically. I stilled my hands and waited for him to process the action. Any second now, he’d freak out or— “Do it again.”

“Do what?” I hardly recognized my hoarse tone.

“Move your body.”

“Like this?” I flattened my feet on the mattress and obeyed.

Simon’s eyes drifted shut in a dreamy, blissed-out haze at the sweet, sexy contact. He made me feel like a damn superhero. I decided to test out my powers, trailing my fingers along his sides to rest on his ass. I grabbed his cheeks roughly, rolling my hips to meet his again…and again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He fused his mouth to mine in a passionate kiss that was all hunger, no finesse. He bit, licked, and sucked at my lips, jaw, and neck as he humped and gyrated wantonly. I tried to stay as quiet as possible. It wasn’t easy. I was horny and strung out. I wanted everything he had to offer. I’d deal with the guilt later. After all, we were both willing, consenting adults. There was nothing wrong with making each other feel good. If I slipped my fingers under the elastic of his boxer briefs to trace his crack and—

Simon let out a low groan as he dropped his head on my shoulder.

“I’ll stop. It’s okay,” I whispered.

He kissed my neck. “Don’t stop. Do not stop. You stop, I’m going to be very pissed. Got it?”

I stopped. “Wait. Are you sure? This is pretty gay, I’m super gay, and—”

“Shh. I know. This is good, and you feel amazing. I’m very sure,” he growled, pressing his cock against mine. “If I was any more sure, I’d explode in my shorts. Lift your hips. I want to feel you. Yeah, like that.”

I gyrated shamelessly under him, tipping my chin to the ceiling to give him better access to my throat. I loved the feel of his scruff on my smooth-shaven jaw and his callused hands holding me still. I loved the weight of him and the smell of him. He was masculine beauty at its finest.

“You feel so good,” I hummed recklessly.

He raked his teeth over my bottom lip and rolled us sideways to switch positions. I sat up straight, straddled his legs, and lined my crotch with his, rocking back and forth. Simon watched me through half-hooded lids with his hands on my thighs, his thumbs caressing my balls through the khaki fabric. He inched closer to my zipper before finally placing his palm flat against my hard-on.

“Take them off,” he commanded, reaching for my belt.

My heart did a somersault, triple axel, and cartwheel all at once. See, here’s the thing about me. That “no shame, anything goes” hold my cock had over my brain went into overdrive whenever a delicious hunk took the reins. In some ways, it made no sense. I wasn’t kidding when I told Simon I couldn’t talk to guys like him. The same rules never applied in the bedroom. It was like there was a switch inside me that flipped to action mode the moment there was even a hint that we might end up naked and writhing.

I should probably see a therapist about this, I thought as I hurried to lock the door.

I kicked my shoes off, pulling my T-shirt over my head. I fumbled with my belt and zipper, then pushed my khakis down my legs in a rush as I turned to the unmade bed.