Page 129 of Play Along

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, arms crossed over my middle.

“Don’t fucking apologize.” He watches me with rapt attention as he peels off his suit jacket and drapes it on the bathroom floor between us. “Now you can get on your knees in front of me.”

Oh.

There’s absolutely no playfulness in his tone. It’s commanding and harsh in a way I never thought I’d hear him be with me. But at the same time, I love it. He feels secure enough to be whoever he needs to be when I’m around. He’s not the goofy and lighthearted Isaiah right now, and I have the privilege to see this other side of him.

With feigned confidence, I drop onto his suit jacket, propping myself up on my knees in front of him, palms braced on his quads. My hands look comically small in comparison to his legs, the ring on my finger shining like a goddamn beacon.

“Look at you,” he says, running his thumb over my mouth. “Plump lips parted and ready for me. Brown eyes big and so fucking innocent.”

“Can you teach me what to do?”

His erection is evident against his zipper as his jaw visibly tics.

“You’ve never sucked a cock before?”

“I have.” My words are quiet as I start undoing his belt. “But I was told I wasn’t very good at it, and I want to be. So, I need you to teach me how to do it.”

He runs a palm over my hair, his nostrils flaring as if he were trying to stay in control. “I’ll teach you how to be good, baby, but I’m sure as fuck not going to teach you for anyone else. I’m going to teach you how to be good for me.”

Fuck.

I swivel my hips in a slow circle, looking for friction, but there’s none with my knees spread the way they are. So instead, I focus on unbuttoning his pants and dropping his zipper.

He uses his forefinger to lift both my chin and my attention to him.

Jesus, he’s downright feral.

“I don’t want to be nice to you right now, Kenny. I’m pissed off, and I don’t feel like faking it.”

I run my tongue over my lower lip, and he tracks the entire thing, looking like some kind of predator.

“I don’t want you to fake anything with me.”

The words hang heavy in the air because I’m no longer referring to him faking his demeanor.

We don’t break eye contact, me on my knees and him standing over me.

His jaw tics. “Take it out.”

I do what he says, dropping his pants to his ankles and tugging his boxer briefs down with them. His cock springs free, right in front of me, pulling this desperate sound from deep in his throat as he watches me. He traces every inch of my face as if he plans to paint it soon.

His cock is only inches from my face, and I can’t look away. Angry veins and leaking tip. Fuck, I want it. I want him.

He runs a palm over my head again, my hair slipping between his fingers, cupping the back of my skull to keep me held in my exact position.

“Get it wet.”

My eyes shoot to his.

“Spit on it. Lick it. I don’t give a fuck, but get it wet for me, Kenny.”

Jesus. I’m a squirming mess as I use the tip of my tongue to lick a path over the slit, cleaning up the bead of precum.

His eyes instantly roll back.

“Mmm,” he hums, his entire body vibrating. “Just like that.”

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