Page 135 of Play Along

Nothing about this is hurried. For the first time in my life this doesn’t feel like a simple checkmark on the way to sex, done quickly and inattentively, ready to move on to the next thing.

Isaiah is tasting me as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

He’s sprawled on the couch, one leg bent, the other extended, laying like a goddamn sniper as he eats me out. He’s never been more handsome than he is right now between my legs, hair tousled, lips shining.

“What about fingers? You ever finger yourself?”

“Sometimes.”

“Show me.”

There’s not a single moment of hesitation. I feel drunk on him, mindless and loose as I slip my fingers between my legs and push the middle one inside.

“Goddamn,” Isaiah exhales. “That is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

I pull it out and push it back in again.

“You’re fucking soaked, Ken.”

“I really want to come.” My voice is a whine, my finger moving frantically, as if I could make it happen myself.

“I know, baby. You’re close, aren’t you?”

I nod, desperate, begging eyes connected with his.

“Can I show you something I think you’re going to like?”

“Please.”

He pulls my finger out, slipping it into his mouth to clean off before latching his lips around my clit again. In the same breath, my single finger is replaced with his two. They curl upward, stroking a spot I’ve never had touched before, and I’m done. I’m a mess. I’m entirely at his mercy.

My whole body is almost off the couch, writhing with the sensation. His mouth never leaves me, moving in tandem with his fingers, both our bodies rocking together as if he were really fucking me and not with only his mouth and hand.

“Holy fuck, Ken. You’re so goddamn tight. I can feel you pulsing around me.”

As his hair falls over his eyes, I slide my fingers through it, pushing it back, holding it to his head to give me a clearer view of what he’s doing.

He wickedly smiles up at me, his tongue moving in long, languid strokes.

Isaiah adds his thumb against my clit, rubbing small circles over the bud, his tongue flicking it in tandem, and I’m out of my goddamn mind.

The pressure is too much. It sits right on the edge until it spills over and I’m falling.

“Isaiah,” is all I can plead before I’m coming.

Wave after wave rip through me. I keep my attention on him until I can’t any longer, my eyes screwing shut with the force of my orgasm. It doesn’t stop. It feels like it lasts for minutes on end, and Isaiah keeps his mouth on me the entire time, licking up the evidence.

I can feel his eyes on me before I hear him chant my name like a desperate, pleading prayer, and it only extends my release.

When I finally come down, my muscles uncoiling, I slump back onto the couch. My breaths are labored and earned, and I can only imagine how untethered I look.

Auburn hair sprawled beneath me. Ruined makeup and a wrinkled gown.

Unpolished and imperfect.

It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever felt.

“Shit,” Isaiah exhales when he climbs onto his knees, eyes focused on the crotch of his pants.

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