Page 94 of The Play

“I’m—” Grant’s voice cracked. “I’m done.”

“Take your shirt off,” Deacon said, so intense, like his entire focus had narrowed in on the one thing he wanted above all others.

Grant.

His cock was already throbbing in his pants, and he was so tempted to put a hand on it, to relieve some of the pressure, but he already knew he wouldn’t.

Because Deacon hadn’t told him to do it yet.

He only took off his shirt, discarding it on the floor.

“You being good for me?” Deacon asked.

“Yes.” Grant barely even recognized his own voice, breathy and desperate.

“Good.” Deacon sounded so smug and satisfied Grant’s cock twitched with need.

“Touch yourself. Not your cock. Your chest. Your stomach. Your abs. Your nipples. Make it good. Like I’d make it good.”

Grant groaned, unable to hold it in any longer. “You’d make it so good, Deac.”

“I’d give you anything you wanted.” He paused. “When I wanted it. You good with that?”

Was he good with that? Uh, hell yes, he was.

“Yeah,” Grant said.

“Good, ’cause I’d treat you so good. You still touching yourself?”

He was—long, deliberate touches of his pecs, then his nipples, then his stomach. Feeling his ab muscles jump as he grew closer to what he wanted so desperately.

“Yes,” Grant murmured. Took a chance. “Want more, though.”

“You hard, baby? Your cock’s so good. Tasted so good in my mouth, I’d want to suck it every day.”

“You can’t say shit like that,” Grant panted. He was going to come in his pants, without even touching his cock. Just with Deacon’s voice in his ear, all growly gruff filth, wrapped up in love.

“Oh, but I want to. I’m gonna say it all the goddamn time if it makes you lose your mind like this.”

“Yeah. Please. Please.”

“You wanna come?”

God, did he ever.

“Put your hand on your cock. Don’t squeeze. Just rest it there.” Grant did as he said, and even through two layers of fabric—his pants and his boxer briefs—he could feel the pressure of it, the undeniable pleasure of it.

“You touching yourself too?” Grant had always prided himself on giving back as good as he got, and he realized this had been painfully one-sided.

“Yeah.” Deacon’s voice went even deeper. “Been doin’ it for awhile, now. Thinkin’ about touching you has got me so big and hard. All for you.”

Grant moaned.

“But you’re not gonna come just yet,” Deacon continued. “Not just yet.”

“It’s not gonna take . . .much,” Grant said in a strangled voice. Even the pressure of his hand might be enough, if Deacon kept talking like that. If he kept thinking of how amazing last night had been.

“That’s okay, baby. I get it. It’s hot, isn’t it?”

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