Page 100 of Playing With My Heart Strings

I nod. “I feel the same way. I’ve been falling for him for a while now.”

She reaches out to place her hand over mine. “Thank you for taking care of my son.” There’s both acknowledgment and approval in her voice.

The sliding door opens to Dusty and Mitchell before I can respond. Dusty kisses his mom on the cheek before taking a seat next to me.

“You didn’t scare her off, did you now, Mom?” he teases.

“Oh, my son. If you haven’t already scared her off, nothing will.”

They banter back and forth, and, for once, my heart isn’t heavy seeing this type of family dynamic. It’s full.

“Come on, let me give you the tour.” Dusty pulls me up from my chair.

I’m able to catch a quick glimpse of Gen exchanging a bemused smile with Mitch before Dusty pulls me into the living room and slides the screen door shut.

“I like your parents,” I whisper as he tugs me along to a staircase on the other side of the house.

“They like you, too.”

“So, where’s this tour I was promised?” I wink as he presses my back against the wall and undresses me with his eyes.

“Well”—he peppers my neck with kisses—“these are the stairs. Conveniently out of view of the backyard.”

“Tell me more,” I moan when he nips my ear.

“Up the stairs to the right is a bathroom, and down the hall is my childhood bedroom. Wanna see?”

“Mhm.”

He stops kissing me, but only so he can scoop me up in his arms bridal style, and walks up the stairs. When we reach the end of the hall, he puts me down. The door in front of us has a decal that saysDusty’s Roomon it.

“Cute.” I snicker, and he rolls his eyes.

“I was an angsty teenager, all right? And it won’t come off. I tried,” he mutters before opening the door.

The inside of his room is small, but it matches Dusty’s personality to a T. Guitars hang on the wall with posters ofclassic country singers, and a gray comforter lies on the perfectly made full-size bed.

“Like it?” He wraps his arm around my waist, his hand splayed out across my stomach.

“It’s almost exactly how I pictured it.” I lean into his chest. “You’re so lucky.”

“Yes, yes I am,” he agrees. Flipping me around so I face him, he tucks my hair behind my ear. His eyes trace lines from my eyes down to my lips and back up.

“Are you going to kiss me, or not?”

Dusty yanks me close to him, crashing our lips together. His back is turned toward the wall this time, so I push him against it, pressing my body against his. With a gentle stroke of his tongue, he deepens the kiss, tangling it with mine. His hands roam across my body, through my hair, across my breasts, down my stomach to my hips.

I grind my hips against his front, eliciting a groan from his lips. His length hardens against me, stretching against the fabric of his jeans.

“Baby, I want you so bad, but you’re going to have to be quiet,” he rasps. “Can you do that for me?”

I nod, because I want him, too. He flips me around so my back is flush against the wall. For a moment everything pauses, our hushed pants the only audible sound. Until he slips a finger beneath the waistband of my jeans with one hand and tugs the zipper with the other. Dragging the fabric down my thighs, he slowly strips my clothing off.

“Arms up,” he instructs.

I raise them, and he pulls my shirt over my head. Before he unclasps my bra, he pushes my breasts together, deepening my cleavage.

“Perfect tits, perfect ass, perfect pussy, perfect woman,” he purrs, his voice turning my legs into Jell-O. All it takes for meto arch my back, pushing my chest toward him, is grazing my nipple with his knuckles. “So sensitive. I’d bet you’re fucking soaked for me and I’ve barely even touched you.”

---