Page 132 of Play Along

In one swift movement, he pulls his pants up and drops onto his haunches to be eye level with me. “Did I hurt you?”

His question is frantic, his tone concerned.

“No.”

“Tell me the truth, Kennedy.” He quickly tries to wipe away my smeared mascara streaks, his thumbs frantically attempting to clean any evidence of what just happened. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“I am telling you the truth.”

He pauses, as if he can’t believe me, those concerned brown eyes meeting mine.

My thoughtful husband is back.

“I liked it,” I reassure him.

His grin is lopsided and lazy before he pulls me in for a searing kiss. It’s desperate and apologetic all at the same time. He stands, pulling me to stand with him, keeping me pinned to the sink as he reaches behind me and wets a towel. He takes his time, gently cleaning up my face, under my eyes, my lips.

“I’m okay, Isaiah.”

“You’re better than okay, Kenny. You’re perfect.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

Hooking his hands under my thighs, he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist as he carries me to the couch on the far side of the bathroom. I don’t know that anyone has ever sat on it, seeing as I’m one of two people who ever come in here, unless Isaiah is spending his free time relaxing on the couch in the women’s restroom.

He sits and positions me to straddle his lap, my gown bunching up around my hips.

His voice is low, kept quiet in the small space between us. “You followed me when I told you not to.”

“Sometimes I don’t like to listen to you.”

His eyes sparkle with mischief. “And sometimes you listen and obey real fucking well.” I huff a laugh as he pushes my hair back, big hands bracketing my jaw. “Why though?” he asks.

“Because I’m not afraid that you’re human. You having a bad day or a bad moment is not going to make me want to be around you any less. I have lots of bad moments and still you come back for more.”

“I’ll always come back for more when it comes to you.”

“Then why can’t you believe that I’d do the same for you?” I ask.

Lips parting, Isaiah’s eyes bounce between mine, but he has no retort. Instead, he pulls me in and kisses me.

Softly at first, but it quickly turns hard, rough, and desperate.

A moan escapes me when he wraps an arm around my waist, using his other hand to push my hips into his. He’s getting hard again.

“Already?” I ask against his lips, continuing to rock myself on his lap.

“I walk around with a constant hard-on thanks to you, wifey.” In a swift movement, I’m on my back and Isaiah is on top of me, his long body between my legs. “But I’m more concerned with this right now.”

Palm covering my belly, his thumb traces a slow line over my clit.

“How wet are you from blowing me in the bathroom at our place of work?”

“I’m soaked.”

He groans.

“Dripping,” I continue. “I felt it run down my thighs when you held me in place and used my mouth.”

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