Play Along(51)

Her brown eyes peek up at me through her lashes. “Really?”

“Promise. Think of this as part of our game.” Going first, I let my hands find her outer thighs, fingers working to pull her closer. “Play along.”

Kennedy steps into me, her palms dragging up my legs, thumbs gliding along the inside seam of my pants.

I’d like to say I’ve got this under control. That I’ve been touched by enough women to handle the fact that my wife’s thumbs are languidly tracing a path straight to my cock, but I’d be lying if I said I were anywhere near calm or collected right now.

“This okay?” she asks, her hands working their way to my upper thighs.

My voice is strained. “More than okay.”

She’s watching her hands as they move over my thighs and I swear to God I know she can see, even through the darkness, that I’m half hard and needy as fuck.

This. This is why I haven’t slept in the bed with her, because she’s innocently touching me and I’m over here getting a hard-on because of it.

As her hands move up my legs, my fingers dig into her hips, gripping onto her for dear life, and when she’s only two inches away from where my body needs her attention the most, she takes her hands away.

My lungs find a bit of oxygen again when she moves to my forearms, working the same path upward. She stops at the bend in my elbow. “Can you take this off?” she asks, referring to my jacket.

“You can take it off for me.”

She attempts to hide her smile by slipping her bottom lip between her teeth, and fuck if I don’t want to get it out of there and slip it between my own.

I’ve been aching for another kiss, a somewhat real one.

Kennedy’s hands press against my shirt, her palms gliding up my chest until her fingers dip under my jacket, pushing it over my shoulders. Her body falls into me as she reaches, but I help her out by slipping my arms out and letting my jacket fall onto the stool.

She doesn’t move, her hips settled into the cradle of mine, our equally pounding chests only inches from each other.

Again, I wait for her. She watches, her eyes roaming over every inch of my body.

The darkness is helping her. The hidden corner and the melodic music too.

Kennedy’s hands find my chest, gliding over my shoulders and the back of my neck, until she falls into me with a hug, her cheek pressed to mine.

Bending, I kiss the top of her shoulder then the soft skin of her neck as my hands wrap around her, fingers tempting and toying with the material of her pants just above her ass.

“You still doing okay?” I whisper.

She nods against me. “I like touching you.”

“Yeah?” I let my hands drop a bit further south.

“And I’d like it if you touched me too, Isaiah.”

Fuck. Me.

My lips are toying with the shell of her ear when I drop my hands and let them glide over her ass, squeezing and kneading.

She hums in my ear, her arms tightening around me.

“You like that, Ken.” I grab her again.

Her breaths are ragged, her body writhing against me. “Yes.”

We could blame the music for the way our bodies are rocking against one another, but we both know it could be dead silent in here and we’d be doing the same damn thing.

This time, when I grab her, I let my fingers dip down to the fold where her ass meets her thighs, and I trace the line with the pads of my fingertips.

Kennedy’s hips roll over me, this delicious friction between the apex of her thighs and my cock.

There’s nothing half hard about me anymore. I’m aching, painfully aching by having this woman on top of me.

With my face hidden in her neck and curtained by her hair, I breathe her in, gripping the underside of one of her legs, situating her bent knee to rest on my thigh. I leave her standing on one foot, but half on top of me.

“Isaiah.”

My lips meet her throat. “You still okay?”

She rolls her hips. “God, that feels good.”

I note the moment her clit gains friction because she’s a shuttering mess against me. I’m two seconds away from grabbing her other thigh to make her straddle me. I’d be able to work her hips and in no time, I’d have her coming, still fully clothed in my lap.

And again, this is why I’m sleeping on the goddamn floor. I can’t help myself with her.

I slow things down a bit, hand curling around her waist to grip her hip and keep her from grinding on me. She pulls back to look at me, confusion plastered on her face, and I can’t fucking help myself any longer.

Other hand cupping her cheek, I pull her in until my mouth collides with hers.

She moans into me, and unlike last time, I set the pace.

It’s frantic and needy.

God, her mouth is soft. Eager too, like she’s been waiting her whole life to kiss someone the way she’s kissing me.

While my fingers tangle into that auburn hair, Kennedy’s tongue ever so slightly licks my bottom lip, and the needy groan that leaves my throat might be the most desperate sound I’ve ever made.

She smiles into me, my wife who has no idea how fucking badly I’ve wanted this. Wished for this. Dreamed of this.

Lips parting, her tongue—her perfect fucking tongue—slides against my own and this time it’s Kennedy moaning into my mouth.