Page 45 of Just Playin'
“You don’t really know me. That might be scary to some women.”
I quirk my lips. “True, but that doesn’t really apply to me, does it?” When he looks at me in confusion, I add on, “I’m not a woman. I’m only a college girl, remember?”
His cheeks flame with heat as his pupils dilate. He looks seconds from coronary failure.
“I’m joking.” I slap him in the chest, my mood extra playful. I love that he wants to spend time alone with me. “I am in college, but I’m one hundred percent legal. Do you want to see my license? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
My promise doesn’t ease the worry on his face. It continues to grow every second we spend standing across from each other in silence.
Fearful he’s minutes from taking me home and tucking me into bed like the good little girl I’m not, I climb the stairs of his condo. “Which rock do you hide your key under? Dalton said it was by the door; he just failed to mentioned there’s over a dozen of them.”
Grumbling about how he’s going to rearrange Dalton’s face, Elvis takes the stairs two at a time, jabs a key from his pocket into the lock, then swings open the door.
“Don’t be grumpy. He wasn’t aware of our conflicting schedules when he suggested I surprise you at home by wearing nothing but a bow.” I scrape my recently grown nails across his chest before sauntering into his foyer.
Wanting to see if my tease had the effect I was aiming for, I spin around to face him. He’s looking at me with so much heat, I miss the first step into his foyer. Lessons from previous incidents save me from doing the flappy-armed chicken dance. I’m going to fall with dignity even if it kills me.
Thankfully, Elvis isn’t as clumsy as me. He seizes my wrist and tugs me forward with barely a second to spare. My crash into his torso most likely sustains me more injury than my fall would have, but in a good, I can’t wait to recreate ittype of way. He’s right there—in front of me: a six-foot-four brick shithouse of muscles with a sexy smirk and an angled head. You can’t get any sexier than what I’m facing right now.
When he notices me drinking him in, he smiles his crazily gorgeous grin. It’s the catalyst of an avalanche. Lips crash, hands wander, and moans not appropriate for an outdoor environment rip through my lips.
My moans aren’t the only things being shredded. So is my skirt from Elvis hoisting me up his body so I can curl my legs around his thighs. My god, just stretching to span the width of his hips adds to the exhaustion of my overworked muscles, much less the growth I feel in his pants. His cock is throbbing against his zipper, begging to be released from its tight confines.
As he starts our climb up the stairwell to his bedroom, I attempt to muffle my giggles with his tongue.
It does me no good.
“You better not be laughing, Willow.”
“Me, laughing?Never.” I snicker over his stern, snapped-shut mouth before lashing his succulent lips with my tongue.
He’s not having any of it. He stops our climb halfway up the stairwell before locking his more-blistering-than-the-sun eyes with me. “Why are you laughing? Is it because I’m walking stiffly? I can’t help it. My therapist said it will take years before my spine returns to its normal agility.”
“What?” I’m more confused now than amused. “Iwasgiggling about your stiffness—it just had nothing to do with your back. When I felt how hard you were, all I could imagine was The Hulk breaking through a brick wall, but since your penis shouldn’t be green—if it is, I suggest you consult your doctor—all I saw when he burst through the wall was one of the snakes on Medusa’s hair. Do you know the ones I’m talking about? The hissing, cute, penis-colored ones?”
I’m rambling because I’m nervous, and the fact I’m nervous makes me even more nervous. I don’t get nervous. I’m not a cocky person, but I can’t be accused of being shy either.
“We should have just fucked in the foyer, then I wouldn’t have made an idiot out of myself.”
When I wiggle my hips, silently demanding for Elvis to put me down, he stays holding on firm. “Look at me.”
Feeling as deflated as I’m sure his cock is now, I shake my head.
“Willow. . .” The roll of his hips is more effective than the demand in his voice. The only deflation issue in this stairwell is mine.
When I lift my eyes to his, he winks. “You think my cock is The Hulk?”
“Seriously?! That’s all you got from that?”
He throws his hips forward two times, increasing the dampness in my panties. “I’m a man, Will, so your confession has me wanting to Hulk-smash your ass.”
“Settle down, big boy. Hulk-smash and ass should never be mentioned in the same sentence. How about we start with my front hole, then, when you’ve aced that test, we’ll discuss the possibilities of extracurricular activities?”
Now I’m not the only one laughing—thank god.A little bit of playfulness puts our exchange back on the track it was traveling before I stupidly laughed, although it’s a little friskier now. The way he tosses me onto his bed reveals the fun I’m about to have—and then there’s the removal of his shirt.
“Still not fair,” I murmur to myself. I didn’t think it was possible for his body to get more spectacular than what it was, but if my mental calculations are anything to go by, his body is more rigid now than it was three weeks ago.
Insecurities plague me when my eyes take in the deep carves of his eight-pack, the indented lines of his formidable V muscle, and the brawny span of his hips. His body isn’t compact, but it’s not squidgy like mine. The bumps in my stomach aren’t muscles. The girth of my arms isn’t from the gym, and my thigh gap isn’t natural. It’s from Elvis’s knee bracing between my legs as he leans over to reacquaint our lips. We couldn’t be any more opposite if we tried. I’m soft and fluffy, and he’s hard and firm, but his mouth tastes really,reallygood, and I don’t want to give it up for anything.
