Page 26 of Trick Play

As soon as I come to my decision, Cal parks in the driveway of a cute little one-story brick house with an arched entrance over the door. A few leaves cling to the trees in the yard, fluttering in the breeze, barely illuminated by the porch light glowing from under the archway and a single street lamp across the street.

When he turns off the car, the silence feels almost suffocating. I glance at Cal. He’s staring at me.

I arch an eyebrow and smirk, needing to get back to a comfortable place for both of us. Something about being here feels significant in a way it has no right to. We’re college students. One-night stands are perfectly normal and acceptable. I mean, maybe I don’t have a storied history of engaging in them, but there’s a first time for everything. And given that Cal admits that he only does casual relationships, who better to have my first one-night stand with? This really isn’t a big deal, and neither of us needs to make it one.

His low chuckle slides over me, turning down the tension a notch or two. Enough that we can speak, at least. “My roommate’s not home,” he says quietly, like speaking too loud would be offensive somehow.

My smirk turns into a grin. “That’s good.”

Leaning over the console, he slides a hand behind my neck and pulls me close. His lips touch mine, and I inhale sharply as warmth spreads through my body from every point of contact.

Sweet baby Jesus, if just his fingers on my neck and his lips on mine is this good, what will it be like to have him all over me?

This might be the shortest, most tame kiss we’ve ever shared, but it’s incendiary.

He pulls back, his eyes dark, nostrils flaring, jaw tight. “Let’s get inside.” He practically grinds the words out, like he’s restraining himself from barking out orders. Or yanking me into his lap and fucking me senseless in the driver’s seat of his car only a few feet away from his front door.

At my nod, he throws his door open and climbs out, every movement efficient and purposeful. And I’m left sitting like a rag doll, watching him in his jeans that show off his biteable ass and thick thighs and that sexy leather jacket that clings to his broad shoulders. The dark smirk he gives me as he crosses in front of the headlights that haven’t switched off yet is almost enough to make me orgasm on the spot.

I am in the best kind of trouble.

I’ve barely popped the door open, and he’s there, holding out a hand to help me out of the car. I let him this time, enjoying the grip of his strong, capable fingers wrapped around mine. Once I’m out of the car, he doesn’t let me go, instead sliding his fingers between mine and walking me to his front door.

I almost bury my face in his neck and inhale, but I don’t. Not yet. That can wait until we’re inside, at least. If I did that, I’m not sure what kind of beast I would unleash. He seems like he’s barely able to restrain himself as it is.

Once we’re inside with the door closed behind us, all bets are off. I pull him to me by our joined hands, my free hand gripping his jacket and giving it a yank.

He resists just enough to let me know that he can, but lowers his head, releasing my hand to slide an arm around my waist. I wrap my hand behind the thick column of his neck, the short hair at the nape like velvet under my fingertips, and pull his mouth to mine. Or pull myself up to him. I’m not really sure how it happens exactly, just that it does, and this time, he doesn’t hold back.

His arm cinches around me as his tongue slides into my mouth, and I open willingly, letting him take control of this kiss, even if I’m the one who started it.

His other hand smooths down the soft fabric of my dress, cupping and kneading my ass for a moment, before descending down the back of my thigh. When he reaches the hem, his hand starts its return trip, this time underneath, the heat of his palm so immediate through the thin fabric of my stockings.

I press myself into his body, sliding my hand under his jacket, relishing his firm chest and the bunch and flex of his muscles as he explores my body.

He lets out a groan like a man in pain when he reaches the top of my stockings and finds bare skin between the elastic tops and my lace cheeky panties. He draws back and looks down at my face, his fingers still tracing over my skin under my dress. “I thought we were going to watch a movie,” he rumbles, the words all rough and gritty like sandpaper.

“Is that really why you invited me over?” I ask, my voice far too breathy for my taste, but from the way his cock twitches against my belly, he seems to like it.

Another groan, and his mouth falls to my neck in an open-mouthed kiss, sucking lightly at my skin. “So that’s a no to the movie?” he clarifies, his breath cool on my overheated skin.

“No movie.”

“Thank fuck,” he murmurs, his mouth on mine again. But only for a brief moment, because the next thing I know I’m getting scooped up like a bride and carried down the hall.

A laugh bubbles out of me, and Cal gives me a grin I can only describe as rakish. He shoulders his way into a room and kicks the door shut behind him. For a brief moment, I’m weightless, and then I crash onto a plush mattress that barely even bounces under my weight.

Cal glares down at me as he removes his jacket and tosses it at a chair. It misses, but he either doesn’t know or doesn’t care, because his eyes never leave my body. “I gotta see what you’ve got on under this fucking dress,” he mutters, and I’m not sure if he’s talking more to me or to himself.

Sitting up, I unzip my booties and barely manage to kick them off before his hands are on my knees, spreading them apart so he can kneel between them, his hands bunching the fabric of my dress up to my waist. He glances at my face once, quickly, and when I smirk back, his jaw clenches and his chest inflates as he draws in a deep breath before looking down to see what he’s revealed—lace burgundy panties and the tops of my black, nearly opaque, stockings.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters, his fingertips tracing lightly over the center seam of my panties, stopping just short of the gusset.

I lift my hips almost involuntarily, and he gives me a wicked smile before brushing a knuckle over my own seam. “That what you want?” he asks.

With a jerky nod, I press into his fingers, wanting more.

“Say it,” he commands. “Tell me what you want.”

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