Page 103 of Play Along

I don’t stop working my hand. I continue to stroke him, up and down, wanting every ounce he has to give me.

God, he’s mesmerizing like this. Desperately clinging to me, and I can’t believe I was able to do that to him.

His face drops into my neck, panting and whimpering against my skin. “So good. You did so good. You’re so good,” he continues on repeat like some kind of post-orgasm praise chant.

It works. My ego is currently through the fucking roof.

“You’re okay with that?” he asks.

“I’m perfect.”

“I know.” He kisses my throat. “I’ve been trying to tell you.”

He keeps his naked body on me for some time, breathing me in, snuggling close. I stroke his back, toy with the ends of his hair and hold him to me because I have never felt so comfortable with another person.

The heated moment slows to something soft and sweet as we lay together.

He dots warm kisses up across my jaw as he speaks. “As much as I would love for you to walk around for the rest of your life with my cum dripping all over you, I need to clean you up.”

Isaiah lifts his giant body off of me, before grabbing a fresh pair of sweatpants and jogging to the bathroom.

He, of course, still doesn’t go for a shirt.

The water runs while he whistles, and I lay on the bed covered in him, stupid goddamn smile on my face and wondering what the hell just happened.

It’s what I asked for—a lesson in intimacy, but what the hell was that? Is that what I’ve been missing out on all these years? That was just foreplay.

He might very well be right. He might ruin me for any man after him and I can’t allow that to happen because all of this is temporary. All of this is practice for what comes after.

Isaiah quickly returns with that boyish smile and a damp towel in his hand.

“I can do it,” I tell him, sitting up and reaching for the cloth.

“Good for you.” He holds it out of my reach. “Now move your greedy little hands and let me clean you up before I wrap them around my cock and we do this all over again.”

“Jesus.” I startle with a laugh.

He cleans himself off me, the towel warm to the touch. He takes his time, his fingers soothing over my skin with every pass of the washcloth.

It’s sweet and kind and gentle. Three words I now associate with this man when once, I could only think of him as cocky, impulsive, and childish.

“Kennedy.” His voice shakes as if he were nervous, keeping his eyes on my stomach as he cleans me up. “Do you think that maybe you would sta—”

The sound of a lock unbolting stops his sentence short. Our eyes shoot to each other, keeping quiet to hear his apartment door open and shut.

Footsteps and keys rattling.

Someone is in his apartment. More footsteps. More people.

“Please ignore the home décor,” the male intruder says. “It was my grandmother’s, but I miss her so much that I just had to keep it all up for sentimental value.”

“That’s sweet,” another voice says—a female voice.

“Yeah.” Followed by a heavy sigh. “She meant the world to me.”

Cody. That voice belongs to Cody.

Isaiah’s eyes go wide as he stands from the bed. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

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