Page 33 of Scoring the Player
No…definitely not.
Third time this week getting off to his videos. Whatever this is has gotten out of control.
He sets a screen that drops a guard on his ass. A dark grin dances across his face.
I claw the cake, squishing cream between my palm and fingers.
“Ngh.” I gasp at the slick glide as my shaft is lathered in cream, warming with every roll of my wrist.
My toes curl as I rock my hips.
The first pulse sends a shock up my thighs.
My thumb spreads across my slit.
Mmm, damn.
The salty-sweet, pre-cum-laced cake dissolves against my tongue.
Ngh.
My eyes shutter, and like night after night, his sex-dungeon bedroom blinks to life.
My chest kisses fur, fists cling to the poster panels. His tongue, sunk deep, pulls out, and a blunt pressure pushes past my rim.
I choke out his name.
My breath chases a scream as he spreads me open…
Oh, god.
Moans echo through the room, a cold-hot shiver floods my blood, and my teeth crash into my lips. The hint of sweet has me bucking into my fist as the first strip of cum hits my chest. A fizzy roiling lights up my skin. Every wrist pump emits a low, humming plea from my chest until the last of my release drips down my palm.
Ugh.
Heart hammering in my throat, I stare down at the mess of cake and cum. My fingers trail up my abs, over my chest, until they’re parting my lips.
I suck them clean.
I reach down for more.
Fuck. Me.
Fuck. Salem. Jones.
CHAPTER 8
SALEM
As soon as I settle into the back of my ride from JFK airport to home, I try my brother again.
“Before you say anything—” he starts.
“I thought we had an agreement. I don’t press you if you remain reachable by phone.”
“Sheesh,” he grumbles, and I can picture his scowl. “It was off for one day. I was waiting for the cash to come in from that private security job.”
One day.Notweeksof him falling off the face of the earth or his refusal to stay in one place when he got home from Iraq. Our only communications with him while he was deployed was when he called me or Mom and Dad. Every cell phone I bought him was disconnected within months. We let him be, ignoring the unease clouding us. Until the clouds burst, and a call came in last year. The terms of his hospital discharge included him providing a permanent address and an agreement to see a psychiatrist. Between Brooklyn and Pasadena, he chose to live with me. I would get him his own place, but there’s no way he’d stay there, and I want to be close to make sure he takes his meds and makes it to his appointments.
