Page 78 of Role Play
“Like you want me to kiss you again.”
“Well, I’d ask, but you said I’m a terrible kisser.”
He smiles. “I also just told you I’m a liar. And teasing you is my favorite new hobby.” He runs his thumb over my cheek. “Guilty confession? It turns me on when you blush.”
My heart hammers painfully. The logical part of my brain screams that this is dangerous territory, that I should laugh it off and step away. But my body has other ideas, rooting me to the spot, craving his touch like a physical ache.
“Maybe I do want you to kiss me,” I whisper, surprising myself with my honesty.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “All you have to do is ask, Sora.”
“I’m not good at this,” I admit, trying to push him away with my palms against his strong chest. He doesn’t budge, but my discomfort overcomes the tension between us.
“You’re not good at what?”
“Being sexy and salacious. It’s why I rarely write dirty talk. My characters kind of rush through sex with big, sweeping declarations of love. Not exactly what the readers want.”
“Not that I’m complaining,” Forrest says, still transfixed on my lips. “But why are you telling me this right now?”
“Because you’re helping me with book inspiration, right?”
His lips turn down in a frown. “Sure.”
“So, if I can’t write it, what makes you think I can say it?”
I canseethe epiphany dawn on his face. “I’ve been questioning my usefulness to you, but this I can do. I can teach you dirty talk. It’s a second language for me.”
I shake my head, my cheeks flaming. “No, thank you. I can think of nothing more awkward than you giving me a lesson in sex talk.”
He pinches my side gently, but warningly. “I can. Like how awkward would it be if I tickled you until you peed yourself?”
“Forrest,” I hiss. “Don’t you dare.”
“Tickle torture or lessons in dirty talk. Pick your poison.”
“Fine. Tickle torture,” I sass.
He shrugs and pulls me tighter against him. “Nope. Sorry. Dealer’s choice. I’m going to demonstrate.” There’s a dangerous edge sharpening his tone now, and a curl of heat forms low in my belly. Forrest’s eyes darken. He glances around the half-painted room, like he’s come to a decision. “But not in here.”
“What?”
Without warning, he scoops me up, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. I let out a startled rasp.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m not saying filthy things to you in my daughter’s future bedroom,” he explains, carrying me out into the hallway. “That would be weird.”
“That’s fair. Where are we going, then?”
“Your room.” He navigates the staircase with impressive ease, considering he’s carrying me. “The master suite, right?”
I nod mutely, suddenly nervous. But I don’t tell him to put me down. I don’t ask him to stop. Because deep down, beneath all my excuses about book authenticity, I want this. I want him…really bad.
My stomach flutters with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. Flirting and banter are my native tongue. But now we’re moving into Forrest’s natural habitat. The land where panties melt underneath his smoldering gaze. Where women don’t just ask, they beg on their knees.
What if I disappoint him? What if I’m a turn-off? Or even worse, what if all this is just another job to him? Dane’s rejection is still raw in my mind… What if I’m also a “dime a dozen” to Forrest? Somehow that might hurt worse. The thoughts swirl mercilessly in my mind, but beneath them all is a singular, overwhelming and curious desire that drowns out every doubt.
He nudges open the door to my bedroom with his foot. The room is sparsely decorated; I haven’t fully moved in yet. Just a massive king-sized bed with crisp white linens, a few boxes of clothes, and my laptop on the nightstand.
