Page 4 of Play With Me
The hand that’s clutching the back of my head snakes down my chest and stomach, and I feel my muscles tighten under his palm.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he growls, his fingers sliding under the elastic waist of my workout shorts.
I plan on telling him to get his hands off me. I do, but everything is hazy, and my words are lost in my throat. I can’t get them out. They’re stuck.
He lets out a soft, knowing chuckle as his hand wraps around my bare cock and strokes.
“Knew it.”
And then he works me, those long fingers tight around my shaft. I just lie there in the dirt, taking it, listening to the puffs of his breath against my ear and the horrifying moans coming from my mouth.
He twists and squeezes, his mouth moving across my neck and cheek as he does, wetting me, making me spit slick. It’s an assault on my senses. Everything about him is just fucking too much.
When I come, I shudder and shake so hard that my teeth rattle. My eyes roll back in my head as my cock explodes right into my shorts, my orgasm long and drawn out.
Disgustingly so. There’s no hiding how much I enjoyed it. Anyone within a mile radius could hear me begging for it.
Colton doesn’t stop his assault on me. He just keeps going until I’m wrung dry, my body limp in his arms. It’s only when I’m sagging against him, panting, that he finally lets me go, his body slowly unwinding from mine.
I blink up at the branches above us and see him squatting and looking down at me, his lips tilted up in a mocking smile.
“That won’t happen again. So, don’t come knocking.”
And with that, he hops onto his feet and strides away, leaving me alone to wonder what the fuck just happened and why I let it go that far.
Eventually, I pull myself together, and as I make my way back to the frat house, my shorts full of cum, my head spinning, I realize I have no fucking idea.
I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
After arriving home a half an hour later, I realized my lucky coin was gone. It must have slipped out while I was wrestling with Colton and when he was giving me a hand—yeah, not going there.
I’m pretending it didn’t happen.
Mostly.
I might have jerked off to the thought of it in the shower before bed, but nothing more. I’ve put it out of my mind. It’s in a little box. In the corner and under a rug.
Even so, the following day, I end up at the frat house, scouring the forest floor, looking for my coin. Being here brings back memories, ones that linger from the night before, no matter how far back in my mind I shove them.
His hand around my cock, his breath in my ear.
The way I moaned.
Fuck. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. That’s not how this works, apparently.
The whole thing is entirely horrifying, and while I bend down to push leaves aside, I find my cock is half hard thinking about him.
“What are you looking for?” someone asks, and I jerk upright, my breath coming out in a squeak.
“Shit. You scared me.”
“Sorry,” the guy says, his hair slightly askew, his eyebrow arching. “I live here. What are you looking for?”
“Just lost something here the other night. A lucky coin.”
He huffs a laugh and then moves toward me. “Like finding a needle in a haystack. I once lost an entire shoe out here. Never found it. This place is wild.”
“Shit.”
