Page 104 of Role Play
Randy looks from me to Forrest and back again, his expression slowly morphing from shock to grudging respect. “Well played. But Jax is still out there, and this game isn’t over until?—”
A loud whistle cuts him off. Below, a referee waves a blue flag. “Game over! Home team wins by elimination!”
“What?” Randy rushes to the railing. “That’s impossible.”
“Oh, did I forget to mention, mates?” Saylor’s voice comes through our earpieces, dripping with satisfaction. “I was never really out. Played dead, then circled around and got Jax while you lot were busy with your hostage situation.”
Forrest lifts up his visor, breaking into a wide grin shadowed beneath his helmet, beaming at me.
“Not bad for an ‘afternoon tea at the Ritz’ girl, huh?” I call over my shoulder, breathless from the adrenaline and his proximity.
“Not bad at all,” he agrees, his voice dropping to a lower register that sends a shiver up my spine. He very obviously looks me up and down. “In fact, that was…incredibly sexy.”
Taio clears his throat. “If you two are done having a moment, we have a victory dance to perform and some very public humiliation to witness.”
As we exit the tower, the humid air thick with the smell of paint and sweat, that familiar post-victory euphoria hits me good and hard. My pulse races; my hands still tremble from the rush. Without thinking, I grab Forrest’s wrist and tow him toward a small equipment shed half-hidden by overgrown bushes near the edge of the playing field.
“What are you?—”
I silence him with a look.
“Taio and Saylor can handle the victory formalities,” I whisper, tugging him into the shed and closing the door behind us. The space is tiny—barely six by six, with shelves of paintball supplies lining the walls. Dust motes dance in the shafts of afternoon light filtering through cracks in the wooden slats.
Forrest’s eyes darken as he realizes my intent. “Sora…”
“I must be on an adrenaline high or something,” I confess, my voice raspy as I press against him. “I never do things like this. Ever. But there’s something about you that makes me…” I gulp, unable to articulate the whirlwind of desire that’s been knocking around my insides since the moment I met him.
“Makes you what?” he prompts, giving me a long, molten look.
“Different,” I whisper. “You make me want to live a little.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Fooling around in an equipment shed is living a little?”
I lift up on tiptoe and press my mouth to his, tasting the salt of sweat on his upper lip. His helmet dangles from his hand as he drops it to the ground, wrapping his arms around me. The protective gear makes intimate contact nearly impossible, layers of padding keeping our bodies frustratingly apart.
“Off,” I command, fumbling with the straps of my vest. “Too many…obstacles.”
“Are you sure?” Forrest asks, even as his fingers assist mine, tugging at buckles and fastenings.
“We’ve been dancing around this for weeks,” I say raggedly. “I keep waiting for you to… Anyway, I’m done waiting.”
His chuckle is low and rough. “I was trying to do something special for you. A nice date first, or?—”
“I don’t want special. I wantnow.” I unsnap the straps of my camo overalls. They fall to my waist, leaving me in only the tight black tank thatstillfeels like too much fabric between us.
Forrest’s gaze travels hungrily over my body. It might as well be a physical touch, leaving trails of heat wherever it lands. “Someone could walk in.”
“Then you better be quick.”
That’s all the invitation he needs. All at once he backs me against the wall, his mouth finding mine in a bruising kiss that’s nothing like the careful, tentative ones we’ve shared before. This is raw and desperate, his tongue demanding entry, teeth grazing my lower lip. I match his energy, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
The shed is stifling, the air heavy with dust and the scent of paint and our mingled sweat. The wooden wall is rough against my back, but I barely register it, too consumed by the heat of Forrest’s body against mine. His hands are everywhere—sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts, fingertips digging into my hips.
“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs against my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. “Every night since I moved in. It’s fucking torture, lying in bed, knowing you’re right above me. Wondering if I’m also on your mind…maybe touching yourself, thinking about me.”
His hand goes exploring beneath my tank top, palm hot against my skin as he cups my breast. Even through my sports bra, my nipple hardens against his touch. His thumb circles it, the friction of the fabric creating a delicious tension that has me arching into his hand.
“Forrest,” I gasp, my head falling back against the wall as he pushes the tank up, mouth replacing fingers. The wet heat of his tongue through the thin fabric of my bra delivers shockwaves straight to my core.
