Page 94 of Play Along

“Yep. Good.”

Her hand smooths over the joint, the same time her pinky dusts along my pubic bone, and it’s as if that alone causes her to jolt back into reality where her hand is down my pants and I’m practically dying over it.

Her eyes shoot to me in horror. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to.”

She pulls her hand out from under the fabric, but I snatch her wrist before she can get too far.

My breaths are labored, my eyes boring into hers.

“I wasn’t—”

“But you could,” I finish for her.

“Isaiah.”

“You’ve diagnosed me. I’ve got a sprain in my hip flexor. Work is officially over. You were professional and all that shit I don’t care about.” Gently pulling her by the wrist, I bring her palm to my lower abdomen. “But you don’t have to be professional now, if you don’t want to be.” I cover her hand with mine. “I don’t want you to be.”

Chapter 18

Kennedy

“What do you want me to do?”

My voice is almost a whisper when Isaiah’s fingers lace between mine.

“I want you to do what feels good to you.”

If this were any other man, I’d be crippled with embarrassment, but it’s Isaiah and for some reason this cocky shortstop with terrible home décor has quickly become the person I trust most.

Do what feels good.

My body is screaming to touch him, to ask him to touch me, but the room is bright, and I’m on full display standing over him like this.

This position right here doesn’t feel good.

Pulling my hand away, I watch the instant disappointment take over his face but he quickly catches it and offers me an understanding smile instead.

“How about that second bowl of spaghetti?” he asks, following me to his bedroom door, but when I get there, I don’t leave.

I close it with us inside.

This... this feels good. Safe. Controlled.

Isaiah stops in his tracks, his mouth parting, his erection straining against his thin sweatpants as he cautiously approaches.

“Kenny?”

I don’t answer, flipping the lights off and instantly flooding the room in darkness minus the glowing rubber ducky night-light plugged in next to his bed.

I huff a quiet yet nervous laugh. “Who picked that one out?”

My eyes have adjusted enough to watch him stalk towards me, closing the final steps between us. With my back flush to the door, he presses his palms to it, caging me in on either side.

“Would you believe me if I said it was me?”

“Not a chance.”

“Good.” He cranes his neck, bending to place a soft kiss on my lips. “Because Zanders put that there.”

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