Page 76 of Landon & Shay: Part One

“Couch,” I whispered.

He moved without needing me to say anything else. As he sat down, I returned to my kneeling position.

His eyes stayed locked with mine. “You don’t have to do this, Shay,” he promised, and I knew that.

But I wanted to do it. I wanted to please him and his head, and this time I was going to give the right head the pleasure.

I started slow again, and the way he grew in my grip turned me on more than I’d known it could. I picked up speed, and my thumb circled the top of him.

“Yes, that, oh my gosh, yeah…” he moaned. “Geez, Shay…right…oh fuck…”

Each time he groaned in pleasure, I felt myself getting more and more turned on. I began thrusting my hips in sync with the motion of my hand. Up and down, up and down, up and…

“Babe...” I liked the sound of that. He’d never called me babe before. “Shay, right there…” I liked it even more when he moaned my name as if I controlled his mind and heart with my touches. “I’m going to…Shay, I’m going to…pull away,” he warned, but I didn’t.

I kept stroking, up and down, up and down, harder, harder…my hips grinding against the air as my hand ground against his rod.

“Fuckkkkk,” he groaned as his body tensed up and he released himself into my hand. I kept stroking, feeling elated and hot, and horny, and proud.

It felt so good to make him feel that way, too.

I pulled my hand out of his sweats and slowly licked my fingers as he watched. It was salty and disgusting, but I tried my best to play it off.

He laughed. “You don’t have to do that,” he promised. “You can just wash it off. Trust me, you did enough. Geez…” he muttered, collapsing against the couch. “That was everything. You. Are. Everything.”

I went to the bathroom to clean myself up, and before I washed my hands, I stood in front of the mirror and finished licking my fingers clean.

I found that I did actually like it. I liked how he tasted on my tongue.

When I was done, I headed out to the living room, where I found Landon wearing a different set of sweatpants. He smirked my way.

“Truth or dare?” he asked me as I plopped down on the couch beside him.

“Truth.”

“I truth you to take off your pants.”

I laughed and threw a pillow at him.

He shrugged and tossed his hands up in defeat. “I had to try.”

Fair enough.

I shifted around in place and crossed my arms. “Can I make a change to the rules of our game?”

He arched an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”

“We have to make it real. Only our truths, no lies. No more pranks. No trying to make each other swoon or trying to get under each other’s skin just in an attempt to win the game. I need you to be you—the realest version of you, and I’ll be the realest version of me. Then, if one of us falls in love, that’s game. That’s how we’ll determine a winner, by being real.”

He grimaced and rubbed his chin repeatedly. “Only truths?”

“Only truths.”

A sigh rolled through him, and he lowered his head a bit before looking up and locking his stare with mine. “I think that’s an unfair playing field.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because my truths aren’t really something worth loving.”

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