Page 123 of Play the Game

“I’m yours, Emory.”

“Tell me your name.” His finger enters me, and he pushes on the spot that makes me feel like I’m flying.

“Biscotti,” I say, trying to win back some of the control.

“Don’t play with me.” His palm scrapes against my clit. “Tell me your name.”

I tighten all over. “Sc-Scottie…”Jesus.

My hips move against his hand, and I don’t care that this crosses every single line I’ve drawn between us. I don’t care that he’s seeing me in this vulnerable state and that he’s asking me to say things I wouldn’t say otherwise.

“Scottie what?” He’s as impatient as I am. If I weren’t mistaken, I’d think he likes to watch me fall apart from his touch just as much as I like to show him.

“Scottie Ols–Olson.”

“That’s my girl,” he coaxes, adding another finger inside me.

I break apart in his grip like shattering glass.

He swallows my moans and licks up every single whimper that falls from my lips.

I’m barely coming down from my high when Emory pulls his hand out from between my legs and places me on my feet. He turns me around, and my world spins.

“Mine,” he grits.

I spread my shaking legs, eager for more.

A gust of air cools me as he pulls his pants down. He positions himself from behind and grips onto my hips like they’re his lifeline before pushing inside.

“Fuck, Scottie.”

My hands spread on the counter, and I push against him to get a better angle. The deeper he goes, the more I succumb.

“You feel fucking incredible.”

I whimper each time he hits a certain spot. His hand falls to mine to steady us, and when our fingers intertwine, my knees buckle.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, taking me deeper with his other hand wrapped around my waist. “Let go for me again. I’ll catch you every time.”

My body trembles, and my legs shake. He grips me tighter, and I fall over the edge again with his name falling from my lips.

“Tell me you’re mine again,” he groans, pumping into me faster and faster.

“I’m yours,” I moan, tightening around his cock.

“Fuck, you’ve got a hold on me, baby.”

In the middle of a whimper, Emory’s fingers dig into my hips, and he pulls out of me. A gush of warm liquid hits me in the lower back, and the sound he makes is the hottest noise I have ever heard.

We stand there for so long his come drips over the curve of my ass and falls to the kitchen floor. His forehead rests against my sweaty skin until both of our raspy breaths are calm enough to move again.

The shuffling of fabric catches my attention, and when I peek behind my shoulder, Emory is shirtless. He bundles his shirt up and wipes the mess between my legs and back before turning me around slowly. He weaves his fingers through my tangled hair and stares down into my eyes.

My head is messy.

It becomes even messier when he presses his mouth to mine and leaves me breathless with a kiss that ends with me having an unforgettable feeling.

Fifty-Two

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