Page 12 of Play With Me
“Fuck off. You’re making fun of me.”
“Am I?” He runs a finger up my thigh, and I bite my bottom lip to keep the whine inside. I will not moan. I’m already as fucked as I can get.
“Yeah, you are. I know guys like you. You’re just…you’re just showing off.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re bigger than me.”
He huffs a laugh and then cocks his head. “So youwerelooking at my dick.”
“Fuck no, I wasn’t.”
“You were, but that’s okay. I don’t mind your eyes on me. For some reason, it doesn’t bother me at all.”
I let out a shaky breath and attempt to shove him away from me, but my arms refuse to move. Especially when his finger tracks up the underside of my dick and I start trembling.
“Maybe we should compare and see,” he says, and I have no idea what he’s talking about for a minute until his towel falls to his feet and he steps closer. Up close, his dick is huge, thick, and uncut.
I didn’t realize that before, but now I do.
He reaches between us and brings them together, and the feel of his fingers wrapped around me makes my head nearly combust.
I can’t believe he’s doing this. I’m caught in a literal dick measuring contest. I should tell him to stop, but I can’t make myself say it. The feel of him against me, his hand, his cock…
“If you want me to stop, say something,” he says, and I let out a shaky breath as I glance down at us pressed together. It’s a sight. Nothing I’ve ever seen before. Two dicks, a bead of precum sitting on the tip of mine, his foreskin bunched beneath the head of his cock.
“Not bad,” he murmurs as his thumb brushes over the tips, and my fingers curl into the lockers behind me. We shouldn’t be doing this here. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could see this. But that doesn’t stop me from letting it happen, and it certainly doesn’t stop him.
His hand tightens, and he drags his fist down our combined lengths.
My dick jerks at the sensation, and my breathing accelerates.
“Well, you’re right. I have a bigger dick,” he tells me as he twists his hand near the base, his fingertips stroking my balls. My eyes cross, my eyelashes fluttering. I need to tell him to go away, to leave me and my dick alone, but I don’t. I just let him touch and stroke, his hand doing things to my cock that I didn’t know were possible. Why are his hand jobs so good?
He leans forward slightly, his lips hitting the skin of my neck, and he inhales. “But you’re bigger than me everywhere else, so it seems we’re even.”
I meet his gaze, his mouth impossibly close to mine.
Fuck, he’s not going to kiss me, is he?
I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck is happening. I don’t know why I’m allowing this to continue.
But it feels so damn good, so fucking right that I’m speechless.
“You know what I’ve wanted to do ever since that forest floor where I had my hand down your pants?”
“Wh—what?”
“Kiss you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine.
“Fuck no.”
“Fuck yes. It’s a bit of a kink of mine. Kissing. I fucking love it. And I want to kiss you. Right. The fuck. Now.”
He brushes my lips again, and I jerk back, my head hitting the lockers behind me. But he doesn’t let me escape, doesn’t let me retreat. He just chases my mouth, slamming his down on mine, his tongue pushing its way inside. I groan at the sensation, knowing it’s a man doing this to me—no, that it’shimdoing this to me. Colton Cavanaugh, the star soccer player, was kissing me, the fly-half of the rugby team. If anyone found out…the scandal. The gossip.
It doesn’t stop me. It only makes me kiss him back harder. He tilts his head, licking sloppily inside of me, and I meet every thrust of his tongue with my own. It’s a war of sorts. And yet, I like it, the tremble in my body giving everything away.
