Page 29 of The Devil's Playground

It’s my turn.

I kiss him.

It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Royce was asking questions I didn’t want to answer, and I thought: if he’s kissing me, he can’t ask inconvenient questions, right?

One hand on his chest, the other cupping his jaw, I go up on my tiptoes and I kiss him.

When I’m done, Royce is panting, I’m just about ready to climb him, and he knows it.

“Yeah.” Guttural. Husky. Hot. Okay. Later.”

Or now.

I grab Royce by the front of his shirt. I don’t know if he thought I was going to take a peek at his ink, but I have a better idea. Tugging on him, I drag him so that he’s standing by the living room couch. I push him down on it, completely aware that I’m only able to do this because he’s letting me.

I reward him with a grin as I shimmy my sweatpants down my ass. I kick them off, then yank off my panties. By the time I’m climbing onto his lap, Royce has caught on to what exactly I want to do.

He could reject me. He could say no. He could remind me again that he only wanted to fuck me when I wanted to fuck him.

Well, guess what? This is me showing him that, at this very moment, there isn’t anything I want to do more in the world.

I straddle him, putting both one of my legs on each side of him. My left hand is on his chest, supporting my weight as I reach down between our bodies.

Royce goes for the bottom of my sweater.

No.

I stop him. With a gentle shove at his hands, I shake my head when he looks up at me.

“You can take your pants off,” I whisper in as throaty a voice as I can, “but my shirt stays on.”

It’s my one boundary. I’ll fuck him. I really, really want to fuck him. But if me keeping my shirt on is a dealbreaker right now? Then it’s better we get that out of the way before I go past the point of no return. I won’t sleep with him if he does, and I hope he gets that.

He does. Burying his face against my chest, he muffles, “As long as I can touch them over the shirt, I’m okay with that.”

I think I can handle that.

But when I try to help him take off his pants, he gives me the most lascivious grin a man can manage as he says, “You keep your shirt on. Don’t worry about the pants. If I don’t get inside of you now, I’m gonna fucking blow. Just take me out.”

Sounds good to me.

Flicking the button on his trousers, unzipping him as quickly as I can, I find his erection already tenting his boxers and feed him through the hole in the front.

I hesitate for a moment. He’s hot and heavy in my hand, and though I haven’t gotten a good look at his dick, it feels like a good size as I grip it with my hand.

“Condoms—”

“I’ll use ‘em if you want, but I don’t have any.”

Niether do I.

Shit.

You know fucking what? I think I already passed the point of no return.

“I’m on birth control to regulate my period,” I murmur. “We’ll be fine.”

And then, because I don’t want anyone talking me out of this—not me, not Royce, not my missing common sense—I lift my ass up, grabbing his cock so that our bodies are lined up right where they need to be before letting gravity take control.

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