Page 120 of Play the Game

I’m a patient man. I can wait.

Scottie doesn’t text back, and I wish I could call her so fucking bad so I could hear her hot breaths, but with other ears a little too close for comfort, this will have to do.

Slip those panties off. Let me see you.

My mouth dries when she follows my command. This woman surprises me every single day. What I wouldn’t do to grab her blonde locks and pull her head back so I could kiss her.

When her panties are off to the side, I send her another text.

Good girl.

Scottie’s teeth sink into her lip, and I curse under my breath.

Spread for me.

She hesitates. I watch her gaze fly to the camera when her bottom lip plops out from her teeth.

Don’t be shy. I’m your husband. Let me see how perfect you are.

Because she is. I wonder if she knows that. Surely whoever she’s been with before me has told her so.

A tug of possession grips me by the throat, and I’m suddenly typing faster than I ever have.

Spread wider. If I were there, I’d be pushing on the inside of your thigh before I run my finger up to touch that throbbing little clit.

I watch with rapt attention as she drags her finger up her leg and stops right at her sweet spot. Her other hand disappears under the shirt, and I know she’s playing with her nipple, just like I want to do with my teeth.

I’d be inside of you within seconds, if I were there, to prove to you that I am the only one who can take care of you like this.

My core twists with need the longer I watch her. I type another text with shaky fingers.

Don’t come.

I’m selfish as fuck. I would give up my life to feel her underneath me, withering from pleasure. I want to be the only one to make her come. I want my name to be the only name on her lips when she's filled to the brim.

Scottie lazily looks up at the camera, and if I could zoom in on her face, I bet her eyes are lust-filled and hazy.

I’ll be home in thirty. Be ready.

I click my phone off.

If I stare at her any longer, I’m afraid I’ll come right here, and I will be damned if I don’t fuck my wife tonight and prove to her that she’smine.

Fifty-One

SCOTTIE

The more time that passes,the more my legs throb.

I’ve tried to talk myself down from the high I’m feeling after rereading Emory’s texts, but nothing is working. I’ve jogged up and down the stairs, splashed water on my face, and now I’m in the kitchen, gulping down water like I haven’t drank anything in days.

My mouth is dry with the thought of denying myself the simple pleasure of watching his blue eyes take me in. They’re always so serious and brooding, but lately, when we’re alone, they’re full of something else.

I don’t know what it is.

Desire?

Craving?

---