Page 86 of Role Play
“What the?—”
Palms in the air in surrender, Sora elaborates. “I live in my head, Forrest. Day in, day out. Creating scenarios, hopping from one mental vision board to another. And when we did what we did the other day, I think it caught me off guard because while we were playing, the pleasure was very real. I got confused for a minute, but I swear, I think I’ve got my sea legs now.” She grins goofily, proud of her circumstance-appropriate pun.
“Your sea legs?”
“Right. I need to get lost in the moments, but not lose touch with reality. And I think I have the solution.”
“Great, lay it on me.”
She sucks in her lips, her gaze dropping from mine down to the hem of her dress. “We need to have sex. A lot of it. To the point we’re desensitized.”
Shocked, I blink at her. “While I like the ‘a lot’ part, I don’t think desensitized sex is going to be particularly fun for either of us.”
“No, not like that.” She rolls her eyes and her wrist. “We can finish and stuff, I just mean we should focus on the mechanics more than the emotion. We should have sex the way you do with your other clients.”
Her words hang in the air between us, the casual suggestion at odds with the way her voice trembles slightly. The night breeze picks up, sending a tendril of her hair across her face. I tuck it behind her ear, letting my fingertips linger against her skin.
“Is that what you think I do with my clients? Have emotionless sex?”
She shrugs, aiming for nonchalance but missing by a mile. “Isn’t that the point? It’s a transaction, not a connection.”
I step closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “You really think you can separate the physical from the emotional so cleanly? That you can compartmentalize like that? It’s not that easy.”
“Of course I can,” she answers too quickly. “I’m an adult. I understand the arrangement and the end goal.”
Her chin lifts in that stubborn way I’m starting to recognize, but her eyes betray her—wide and uncertain, like she’s trying to convince herself more than me.
“Sora.” I keep my voice low, intimate. “You’re a romance writer. You literally make your living writing about emotional connections. And you’re telling me you can have meaningless sex for the sake of research?”
“Yes.” Her answer is firm, but her fingers fidget with the fabric of her dress.
I study her face, searching for the truth behind her bravado. “You don’t believe that.”
“I do,” she insists, crossing her arms like armor against her chest. “I have to believe that or this won’t work. Us, too entangled…doesn’t work.”
There’s logic in her words, but her eyes tell a different story. They’ve always been her tell—those expressive dark eyes that reveal every emotion she tries to hide.
“All right,” I say finally. “Let’s test your theory.”
Her brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
I move closer, until there’s barely a breath between us. “If you can have emotionless sex, then surely you can handle an emotionless kiss.”
Her breathing quickens visibly, her lips parting slightly. “Right, right. Of course.”
I tilt her chin up with one finger. “Unless you’re afraid I might prove you wrong.”
“I’m not afraid,” she says, the defiance in her voice betrayed by the flush spreading across her cheeks.
“Then close your eyes.”
For a moment, I think she’ll refuse. Then, with a small exhale of surrender, her eyelids flutter shut.
I take my time, studying the delicate lines of her face in the moonlight—the curve of her cheekbones, the slight wrinkle between her brows, the nervous tremble of her full lips. I’ve kissed her before, but not like this, never with this strange mixture of hope and fear twisting in my chest. I’m so desperate to prove her wrong.
When I finally lean in, I brush my lips against hers with exquisite gentleness—a whisper, a question, a beginning. She remains perfectly still, as if afraid to shatter whatever fragilething is building between us. I trace the seam of her lips with my tongue, coaxing rather than demanding, and feel the small gasp she tries to contain.
Her hands come up hesitantly, fingers splaying across my chest, neither pushing away nor pulling closer. I deepen the kiss gradually, my hands framing her face, thumbs stroking the soft skin of her cheeks. There’s no rush, no urgency—just a slow, deliberate exploration that feels more intimate than any passionate embrace.
