Play Along(63)

A moan slips from my lips, my back arching when he grazes my clit.

“Fuck,” he draws out as he watches himself do it again.

I have never, not once, felt so comfortable touching someone the way I touch Isaiah. In fact, I never have touched someone the way I touch Isaiah.

“Keep going,” he encourages, fingers smoothing any flyaway hairs from my face, thumb gently dusting over my cheekbone.

I languidly trace every dip and curve of his chest and stomach as he patiently watches, holding himself back and giving me room to explore.

“Feels so good, Kenny.”

It’s the confidence I need to keep going, keep touching.

I study the way his eyes shut as my palms cover the expanse of his back. The way his nostrils flare with each exhale as I discover the ropes of his arms. The way his breath hitches as my fingertips trail back down to trace the V that dips into his sweats.

I have this aching need to touch him everywhere, this beautiful boy who used to drive me insane.

Pushing my hips, I roll my body into him and watch his Adam’s apple protrude with his deep swallow.

I lean over and press my lips to it.

“Jesus, Kenny, do that again and I’m going to come in my fucking sweatpants like some kind of pent-up teenager.”

I smile against his skin.

His entire body shivers against me, his breathing turning shallow as I trace a forefinger along the line of the V that dips down to his cock.

“Touch it,” he commands. “Fucking hell, Kennedy, please just touch it.”

Wow, this arrogant man sounds fantastic when he begs.

I do as he asks, dipping a hand under the waistband. My fingers trace over his warm skin, over his taut muscles and protruding veins, dusting over the hair there, before sliding down and grazing the soft skin of his erection.

Isaiah grits through his teeth, every muscle in his body firing as his fingers dig into my thigh that’s draped around him. “Please,” he begs. “Please wrap your hand around it.”

“You’re very polite when you want something.”

His chuckle is dark. “Oh baby, I told you already. I’m a good boy, especially when I want something.”

I circle his width with my hand, the pad of my thumb smoothing over his crown to gather a bead of moisture.

“And that . . .” He whimpers against my neck, the desperate sound sending a pulse straight to my clit. “That is what I want most.”

I didn’t know I could have this effect on someone. On him.

The man is experienced, and this is just a little touching, a little exploring.

“Your hand,” he grits out. “Goddamn, I’ve been dreaming of it, Kenny. Of your mouth. Of your fucking pussy. I bet it’s as perfect as the rest of you, isn’t it?”

Isaiah thrusts into my hand, looking for friction, and it’s when he runs his entire length through my fist that I feel exactly what kind of size he’s working with.

Jesus.

“Does that feel good?”

“Shut up,” he laughs, his voice strained as he desperately pushes into my hand again. “I’m hard as a fucking rock for you and you know it. You can feel it.”

My cheeks burn, but I can’t seem to stop myself from telling him, “I’ve never really had the opportunity to ask, so I just want to make sure I’m doing what you like.”

He halts his movements, holding his hips steady, but doesn’t ask any probing, embarrassing questions. Lifting his head away from my shoulder, he looks at me, those curious brown eyes watching and reading, but not in a way that makes me feel silly or inexperienced.

“I’ve never really talked this kind of stuff through,” I continue. “Never had someone I could communicate with.”

“Well, you’re fucking perfect on your first go, Kenny.” He meets my hand in pace. “Of course you are.”

“But tell me what I can do to make it better for you. I want to learn.”

He shakes his head, chuckling at me because I can’t help but want to be the best. And yes, apparently that means at giving hand jobs too.

“You could grip a little tighter if you want.”

I do exactly that. “What else?”

“I like it when you give the head a little attention.”

I circle my thumb again, spreading the moisture over the tip before coating my fist in it and running it down his shaft.

“Mmm,” he moans. “That’s it, baby.”

Isaiah’s body is tense, his breathing shallow. He sounds like he’s close, but it’s far too soon. I don’t want this to end just yet.

As much as I love touching him, I want him to touch me.

Reading my mind, he throws his hand over mine to stop me. “I’m going to come too fast, and I really need to make you feel as good as you’re making me.” His lips softly meet mine. “Can I make you feel good, Kenny?”

My answer is a far too eager head nod matched by his soft eyes and boyish smile as I remove my hand from his sweatpants.

He cups my ass, pulling me flush to him. His fingers toy with the seam of my leggings, achingly close to the spot I need them most, as his lips trail down my throat, my collarbone, my chest, tongue darting out to lick over the fabric of my bralette.

“Oh,” I exhale when his tongue flicks over the lace, creating this delicious friction on my stiff nipple. “Okay, I like that.”