Page 25 of Playing for Keeps

I laugh. “You like when I stretch?” I pinch her nipple as she sucks in a breath.

I decide to get down to business and kick my way out of my pants, pushing her thighs wide enough for me to lick and suck and slide a finger inside until Emerson is pulsing and shrieking. In minutes, her hands drop to my hair and she holds me against her center while I fuck her with one hand and lap at her clit. She comes loud and long, and I lap up every single moan. “Mmm,” I whisper. “Youdidneed it bad, Salty.”

Her hands flop to the mattress as I kneel above her, giving my dick a tug while I try to decide what comes next. “Are you ready for this? Because we don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

Emerson’s gaze snaps to mine. “We’re doing it.”

My mouth hooks to the side in a grin, and I look around her room. I spy a row of cosmetics on the dresser. “Go get your lotion,” I command, and I almost come in my hand when she obeys, climbing out of bed to grab a small container and scurrying back while she opens it.

I lick my lips and continue casually pumping my wood. She scoops out a handful of lotion, fragrant and fresh smelling. “CanI rub it on you?” She looks up at me hopefully, as if I might deny her this request.

“God, yes.” I rock back onto my heels as she sits in front of me, both hands working the lotion into my shaft. She circles my tip with her thumb, concentrating on her work with the same expression I’ve seen her wear when she’s making music. “So good,” I sputter. “You feel so perfect.”

“Really?” She smiles then, enjoying the praise, and I know this won’t take much longer.

“Lie back,” I growl. My voice is low. “Press your boobs together.”

Emerson’s face is indescribable as she settles on her pillow, hair a mess, peachy nipples hard and pointed at the ceiling. Her palms cup the sides of her boobs and press, leaving a heavenly channel for me to slide inside. When I do, we both groan. I might die from the pleasure of seeing my dick disappear in between her boobs, but when I thrust forward and the tip pokes out, she sticks out her tongue and laps at the crown of my cock.

I pull back, shocked into ecstasy, and my hips start rocking without my knowledge until I’m driving into her, grunting. We both moan when she licks the tip of me again, and I dig my hands into the headboard as I come, giving her the hot ropes of my release like she asked for. Emerson screams my name and pants with each splash hitting her skin.

My breath is ragged and hopeless, and I am wrecked when I collapse beside her. But she moans in pleasure, writhing around on the bed. One hand traces the mess I left on her chest, and the other dips between her legs. “Gunnar, that was so, so sexy. Holy cow, I need…I need…”

“Ugh.” I see that my wife needs me again, needs to come after seeing me lose myself like that. I join my hand to hers at the top of her thighs. She rubs at her clit while I slide a finger inside her and together, we pull her over the edge.

I should get up and get her a washcloth, clean her up, get her clean again. But I pass the fuck out with her chanting my name as she drifts off to sleep, marked by our shared desire.

CHAPTER 17

EMERSON

I wakeup feeling warm and relaxed, but as I move to sit up I’m a little sticky. Nothing a shower won’t fix.

The bed is rumpled beside me, and I realize that Gunnar slept here with me. I’m not sure what to make of the rush I feel at that awareness. So, I grab his shirt from the floor, pulling it over my sticky body, and pad to the kitchen, where he’s scribbling a note at the counter. He has a bag draped over one arm and a giant bottle of … something … in his hand.

“Oh, hey, Salty.” His grin shines bright in the gray light of early morning. It must be very early. He slides the note to me, which reads

You’re beautiful, wife

I smile and point at his bottle. “What’s with the sludge?”

He glances at the liquid and frowns. “The trainer says I’m supposed to drink this before my first workout. They feed us during film before we get out on the ice.” His brows shoot up. “What’s on your plate today?”

I tug on the shirt, feeling a little chilly, but I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on my legs at the hem or the heat in his eyesat the sight of me in his shirt. Gunnar likes identifying me ashis.I realize I like it, too. I like him, this unexpected husband of mine. Things feel right with him, like I’m able to really be myself. If I could just figure out who that is…

I sigh and tell him, “I think I’m going to look into that school I saw. For kids into music.”

“Awesome. Let me know if I can help.” He glances at his watch. “I gotta run, but I’ll be back this afternoon.” And he steps toward me, kissing my cheek as if it’s a regular part of our routine. Gunnar’s out the door before I pull my hand from my face, wondering why it feels so real if we’re just here playing pretend.

It’s not typical to feel so at home with a man I just met, right? And yet, Gunnar and his family have been so welcoming. They make it impossible not to fold into their fabric. It seems hardly a lie that we fell for each other immediately…from my end, anyway.

I finally shower, reluctantly putting Gunnar’s shirt in the wash and considering pulling a dirty one from the pile just to smell him all day. “That’s gross, Emerson,” I chide myself, wondering if I can think of some excuse to sniff him later without it being weird. Is he open to more regular physical connection? Maybe he’s just leaning all the way in while this lasts…tightening the ruse as he gets closer to signing the contracts he wants?

I sit at the counter with his laptop and consider my options. I would absolutely love to join the String Fury music group, but I don’t even know if they’re auditioning for new members. Such a niche organization likely receives a thousand hopeful musicians contacting them every day.

I decide that the Scale Up Music Academy is a more approachable first step for me in establishing a purpose here in Pittsburgh. According to the website, students from under-resourced backgrounds can attend music classes at no cost, receiving instruments and even concert clothes for free. The school emphasizes many different styles of music, ranging from European classical to African drumming to Punjabi. My spine tingles with excitement at the idea of working in that sort of environment, helping kids discover the power of music and allowing them to explore the sounds and rhythms that feel right to them.

No one at Scale Up appears to be forcing children to play one particular type of instrument. Based on the photos online, there’s a balance of genders in all of the ensembles. I’m ready to float away as I click the button to apply to work with the organization … until I’m faced with the reality that I have no job experience and nothing to put on a resume for the application.

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