Page 27 of Play With Me
I toss my phone aside, my hand moving under my pillow where the jersey lives now.
I pull it out and stuff it over my face, my hand snaking down to my dick and tugging on it.
Unknown Number:
I know you’re reading this. Come. Over.
I stare at my phone and inhale the scent of his jersey once more.
Me:
No. Go away.
My phone rings a second later, and I roll my eyes. It’s him. He’s fucking calling me.
I tell myself to refuse the call, but end up answering, listening to his sultry voice on the other end.
“Come over, Witkoff. I want to kiss you again.”
I feel my breathing pick up. “Fuck you. I’m busy.”
“You aren’t. It’s late. I know your bedtime is eight. Come over.”
I huff, and he laughs. “Come on. I want to touch your dick again, watch you come. And then I want to kiss you until I can’t anymore.”
I close my eyes and squeeze my dick harder.
Would it really be so bad to show up at his place in the middle of the night so he can get me off? Would it really make me weak?
“Come on. I can call you a ride. It’ll bring you right here. To me.”
“Why do you want this? Want me?” I hear myself asking.
“I don’t know. I just do. I’m calling you a ride. Be downstairs in fifteen minutes.”
I don’t ask how he knows where I live. He obviously does because he’s sent that jersey over a few times now. He must have friends in the admissions and records department. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had them all wrapped around his sexy fingers.
The phone is silent in my ear, and I realize he’s hung up on me. I toss it aside and rub at my face. I really shouldn’t go over there. This is just a disaster waiting to happen.
But still, I roll up, stuff his jersey into a bag, and walk downstairs. A moment later, there’s a black car idling at the curb. When I approach, a man steps out and opens the passenger door for me.
“Myles Witkoff?”
“Yes.”
“Right this way, sir.”
I stare at the man before sliding onto the leather seat. As the car moves down the road toward the frat house, my hand lands on the door handle, and for a moment, I wonder if I should roll out and escape. But I don’t. And five minutes later, I’m standing in front of the frat house door.
My heart beats in triple time as I stride inside, not making eye contact with anyone as I move through the living room and up the stairs. No one says anything, although a few eyes swing my way. I could be a murderer for all they know.
But no, I’m just here for Colton to murder my mouth with his tongue.
My cock hardens as I make my way to his door, a jockstrap hanging on the handle. And before I can reach out and twist the handle, it swings open, and he grabs onto my shirt, pulling me inside.
The door shuts behind me, and I hear the snick of the lock before his lips find mine. He wastes no time. His tongue pushes into my mouth, his hands moving under my shirt, tugging it up.
“You bring the jersey?” he asks, and I groan as he grinds against me.
