Page 177 of Make the Play

“And you’re trapped.” I slide my hand up the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate. “And I’ve got fifty-five minutes left to ruin you.”

She tilts her chin toward me, phone screen casting just enough glow for me to catch the flush on her cheeks.

“Chase…”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“There better not be cameras in here.”

I slide my hand up her thigh, deliberately slow, brushing the lace of her panties with my knuckles. She shivers just a little.

“They’re out,” I murmur. “Power cut like this? Half the systems go offline.”

“Half?” she echoes, skeptical.

I lean in, mouth skimming her jaw. “You want a full technical report?”

“I wanna not be on PornHub next week.”

I chuckle, brushing her hair off her neck. “Then you better be quiet, sweetheart.”

She snorts softly. “That’s not how this works.”

“Then take the risk,” I whisper, sucking her pulse point. “Or tell me to stop.”

She doesn’t say a word, just exhales and lets her thighs drop open beneath my touch. Her breath catches when I drag my fingers slowly up the front of her panties, just the barest pressure, enough to make her hips twitch but not enough to satisfy. She’s already wet, and I haven’t even touched her properly.

“You always this wet after French toast and fake weddings?” I murmur, voice dark.

She swallows. “I hate you.”

I huff a laugh. “No, baby, you don’t.”

“How are you so sure?”

“You wore my hoodie over this dress and sat on my lap for two hours with no fucking shame.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Oh, I was. Just silently, through gritted teeth and a hard-on.”

She grins. “Poor Dolce Waltonato.”

I slip my hand under the fabric in reply, fingers sliding beneath the lace, finding her slick and ready. Her breathstutters, and I pull back enough to see her eyes flash toward the corner of the ceiling again.

“You sure?” she whispers.

I don’t answer. Instead, I guide her hand to my cock, already hard through my sweats, and let her feel the truth of it.

“That’s not very responsible,” she breathes.

“I’mnot very responsible,” I murmur back. “I’m fucking obsessed with you.”

To make my point, I drag my fingers through her again, gathering slick and circling her clit just enough to make her whimper. I slide one finger in, then two, working them in a slow rhythm. Her breath is hot on my jaw, her thighs twitching.

She presses her face to my shoulder, muffling a sound.

“You gonna be quiet for me, baby?”

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