Page 48 of Playing Rough

“Well, I’m here. And I’ll get you whatever you need.”

Warmth curls through me, dulling the constant ache for a minute, and I raise my eyebrows before smirking. "WhateverI need, huh?"

I let my gaze roam over him suggestively. "Gotta admit, some activities come to mind that don't require me exerting myself too much."

Riot's eyes widen, a smirk tilting his full lips. "Oh yeah? And what activities might those be?" His voice drops an octave until it’s that low tone he used when we fucked and now my dick’s getting hard.

I lick my lips slowly. "Use your imagination, Ri. I'm sure you could find a way to... take care of me."

Riot makes a low sound in his throat, eyes darkening. He leans in closer. "Don't tempt me, Hotshot. You trying to take advantage of me?"

"Maybe a little." I run my fingers up his veiny, tatted forearm. "But admitting you want me isn't a crime."

Riot shudders, his gaze heating. "Believe me, I want you." His eyes flick to my lips. "But you're still recovering. I don't wanna do anything to hurt you more."

I pout dramatically. "You're no fun. I can think of a few things we could do that require minimal exertion." I slide my hand up his thigh.

Riot inhales sharply. "Fuck, you're killing me, Lancaster." He gently removes my hand, lacing our fingers together. "How about this—you focus on healing up and later... I promise we'll pick up where we left off."

His heated look leaves no doubt just how much he wants me. I sigh theatrically. "Fiiine. But just know, once I'm back on my feet, you’re in trouble, Kensington."

I lean in, dropping my voice to a husky murmur. "And I won't even need to do any work for what I have planned. All I’ll have to do is lay there while you show me how talented your mouth is."

Riot makes a strangled sound, his eyes molten. "Jesus, London. You tryin' to kill me?"

I chuckle lowly. "Maybe a little death wouldn't be so bad." I kiss him deeply, reveling in his sharp inhale. “Isn’t that what the French call an orgasm?The little death?”

When we separate, Riot rests his forehead against mine. "Soon, I promise. But for now, just focus on getting better. Please." His smile turns tender. “And until then, I’m not going anywhere.”

As much as I want him, his words kindle a warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with lust. “You’re gonna get sick of me, Kensington.” I brush a soft kiss over his lips. “But I’ll take it.”

Riot's answering smile is radiant as the sun, but dark like an eclipse.

He helps me get settled before I let bone-deep exhaustion suck me back under. With Riot here, I know I can pass out and no one’s gonna fuck with me.

The next few days, Riot keeps his word. He practically becomes my personal servant, all attentive to my every whim and need.

Well,mostof my needs.

Fucker still won’t touch me like I want.

If the sunlight stabs my sensitive eyes, he's up in a flash fixing the blinds. If I even so much as shift against the mountain of pillows propping me up, he swoops in to rearrange them and mess with my blankets.

He helps me hobble to take a piss when standing makes my head spin like a carnival ride. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to hold my dick for me.

Riot brings me water, snacks, and pain meds right on schedule. His dedicated care calms me when I start feeling caged by this damn bedrest. Part of me wants to grumble that I can handle shit myself. But the way he looks after me, always making sure I've got what I need... it fills some empty space in me I didn't realize needed filling.

Late one night when the throbbing pain keeps me awake, Riot climbs into bed and lets me tuck myself against him. He holds me while his steady heartbeat and warmth lull me to sleep.

It should maybe feel weird getting all snuggly with him after everything, but it just feels right in a way I can't explain. Like I can drop my guard with him for the first time. Like all the secrets between us are finally gone.

A few days in we're chilling on the couch half watching some comedy after the all-clear for limited screen time. My legs are draped over Riot's lap. His hand rests on my ankle, thumb idly sweeping back and forth. Soothing me. It's simple but intimate in a way that makes my pulse pick up.

We’re very couple-y right now.

Riot's laughing at some dumb joke when the front door just swings open. We both startle as Warren fucking Decker strolls in like he owns the place.

Deck stops short, and his eyes sweep over the two of us.

---