Page 148 of Game Night: Truth or Dare

“I overheard Kai talking once—” TK cuts me off with a groan, and I prop up on my elbows. “Now hold on. Listen. I heard him talking about getting hot and heavy with a guy, and he mentioned rubbing their dicks together? Like taking them both in his hand and beating the meat. I’ve been kind of curious.”

TK stalks over to me, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and eyebrows scrunched up. He’s always been handsome in sort of a boyish way. His doe-like eyes are a bright shade of blue, and the shaggy way his blond hair nearly covers his eyes reminds me of a golden retriever I had as a kid. Usually it’s covered with a beanie—the dork has a drawer full of them—but he never wears them to the parties so they don’t end up lost or ruined.

He straddles my hips on either side of the bench, fingertips lacing behind my neck and drawing me forward. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you’re going to humor me anyway?”

A reluctant smile pulls at his mouth as his nose bumps mine. “I’m going to humor you anyway,” he confirms, lowering his weight to my lap and his lips to mine with a faux-frustrated breath.

We haven’t kissed since that morning nearly a week ago, and the sweet little pecks he places aren’t enough. I sink a hand into his hair and tug until his lips part in a gasp and I can thrust my tongue inside. He tastes like a strange mix of coffee and energy drink, but little oddities like that only make me want to explore him more.

His mouth, his body; whatever parts of him I can get my hands on.

Chapter 4

TK

Saying no to Dash is like holding your breath until you pass out. Your nervous system will almost always force you to stop and take that breath.

All week I’ve been fighting with myself that this whole thing was just a result of Dash’s goofiness going a bit too far. But here he is again egging me on, asking to give up more of myself to his playful whims.

And here I am doing it.

Because Dash’s hands are somehow the perfect mix of rough and gentle, and his mouth a hungry, demanding cavern. He’s always gotten under my skin, always pushed me a little out of my comfort zone, but this is like asking for heartache.

Not that my heart is the only part of me aching right now, with Dash’s bare body pressed up on my fully clothed one.

He dips a hand beneath the neck of my hoodie and tugs up, an audible pop sounding as our lips disconnect, and we free the offending material in a mess of limbs. Dash grabs it before I can fling it away, shoving it behind him on the bench.

“Think straight, Sunshine. This place is a mess.”

Thoughtful Dash is always twisting me up in knots, taking the parts of me that are careful and reserved and making me want to shove them down for something more dangerous, more daring.

His hands are up under my t-shirt in record time, ridding me of it before I even realize that’s his plan.

“You know,” he says, dragging his palm down the center of my chest. “It’s not fair that I had to endure being ribbed by the whole team thanks to those hickeys you left. Think I should return the favor?”

He looks so earnest, eager brown eyes drinking me in like I’m something he’s been waiting to devour and not just an interesting wine he’s acquired a taste for.

“Hickeys or handjob, my dude. You pick.”

This insanely cute furrow fits between his brows, and if I had even a fraction less self control I would likely give him whatever he asked for. He could play with my cock, and I’d wear his marks, but I need to keep some of my sanity intact. Keep a piece of my heart from lodging itself in his chest and abandoning my own.

“Unfair.” Dash presses on the band of my sweats. “Raincheck on the hickeys. Getting off with you again is top priority.”

He sounds so fucking sweet when he says it. Like he’s already planning on this happening again. On us fooling around.

“I guess you’d better get your dick hard, hotshot,” I half groan the words as he skims his fingers across my ribs and stomach.

He grins while pulling our mouths back together, and within seconds I feel the heat of his arousal leaking against my skin. Rough hands tug at the band of my sweats, and one leg at a time I slip out and let them pool to the floor. Before Dash can take things any further, I break away from his mouth and look down.

His cockhead is slightly flushed and glistening at the tip, resting on the bulge in my briefs. Dash is gripping himself at the base, pressing his wet tip to my stomach. Seeing this kind of eroticism up close is like a system overload.

My face feels hot, my chest tight, and all I want is to fuse our mouths together again and wrap my hand around the cock I’ve been dreaming about for months on end.

“You can touch me,” he says, leaning back and opening himself up to me. “Please touch me.”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice as I fumble my fingers around his girth. Dash is undeniably bigger than me. Our builds might be similar, but in the junk department he wins by a longshot. I’m mesmerized by how he thickens in my grip, by the fluid dripping down his shaft.

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