Play Along(86)

I see him.

Lifting his bowed head, he exhales a hard-earned breath. “I need a minute. Don’t follow me,” he says before turning down a side corridor, but I know exactly where he’s going.





Chapter 23


Kennedy


When I push open the door to the women’s restroom where we first met, I find Isaiah with his hands braced on the sink counter, tie loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

He’s looking at his reflection as if he can’t recognize the person looking back. Then his attention swings to me.

“I’m pissed off right now, Kenny, and I don’t want to talk to you.”

I try to ignore the sting of his words. He’s upset. He’s having a bad day and doesn’t believe he’s allowed to have them.

“Good.” I lock the door behind me. “Be mad at me. I’m not going anywhere. You being pissed off doesn’t scare me.”

His brown eyes flash with confusion.

I slide into the space between him and the sink, reaching up to slip his tie over his head, tossing it to the side before my fingers find the still clasped buttons on his dress shirt.

“That’s fine if you don’t want to talk,” I continue, undoing his shirt until it falls open. “I don’t need to use words to show you that I want you.”

He stills in confusion, as if he doesn’t believe the words I said. And that’s my fault. I confused him. I never let him believe there was a chance with us.

Because I never let myself realize he was there.

So, I do something I didn’t know I would ever do in front of him—I begin to drop to my knees.

He sucks in an audible breath at the sight, but I keep my eyes locked on his, waiting for permission, hands on my knees as I lower myself.

I’m waiting for his resolve to wash away. For his anger to fade, but it doesn’t.

“Stop,” he says harshly, taking a step back and forcing me to stay on my feet.

My stomach sinks with embarrassment at his command.

As much as I was trying to fake it, I’m in no way comfortable doing this. But I wanted to, for him. This is my worst fear, after all, letting myself want someone only for them to realize they’re good without me. It’s why I never have.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, arms crossed over my middle.

“Don’t fucking apologize.” He watches me with rapt attention as he peels off his suit jacket and drapes it on the bathroom floor between us. “Now you can get on your knees in front of me.”

Oh.

There’s absolutely no playfulness in his tone. It’s commanding and harsh in a way I never thought I’d hear him be with me. But at the same time, I love it. He feels secure enough to be whoever he needs to be when I’m around. He’s not the goofy and lighthearted Isaiah right now, and I have the privilege to see this other side of him.

With feigned confidence, I drop onto his suit jacket, propping myself up on my knees in front of him, palms braced on his quads. My hands look comically small in comparison to his legs, the ring on my finger shining like a goddamn beacon.

“Look at you,” he says, running his thumb over my mouth. “Plump lips parted and ready for me. Brown eyes big and so fucking innocent.”

“Can you teach me what to do?”

His erection is evident against his zipper as his jaw visibly tics.

“You’ve never sucked a cock before?”

“I have.” My words are quiet as I start undoing his belt. “But I was told I wasn’t very good at it, and I want to be. So, I need you to teach me how to do it.”

He runs a palm over my hair, his nostrils flaring as if he were trying to stay in control. “I’ll teach you how to be good, baby, but I’m sure as fuck not going to teach you for anyone else. I’m going to teach you how to be good for me.”

Fuck.

I swivel my hips in a slow circle, looking for friction, but there’s none with my knees spread the way they are. So instead, I focus on unbuttoning his pants and dropping his zipper.

He uses his forefinger to lift both my chin and my attention to him.

Jesus, he’s downright feral.

“I don’t want to be nice to you right now, Kenny. I’m pissed off, and I don’t feel like faking it.”

I run my tongue over my lower lip, and he tracks the entire thing, looking like some kind of predator.

“I don’t want you to fake anything with me.”

The words hang heavy in the air because I’m no longer referring to him faking his demeanor.

We don’t break eye contact, me on my knees and him standing over me.

His jaw tics. “Take it out.”

I do what he says, dropping his pants to his ankles and tugging his boxer briefs down with them. His cock springs free, right in front of me, pulling this desperate sound from deep in his throat as he watches me. He traces every inch of my face as if he plans to paint it soon.

His cock is only inches from my face, and I can’t look away. Angry veins and leaking tip. Fuck, I want it. I want him.

He runs a palm over my head again, my hair slipping between his fingers, cupping the back of my skull to keep me held in my exact position.

“Get it wet.”

My eyes shoot to his.

“Spit on it. Lick it. I don’t give a fuck, but get it wet for me, Kenny.”