Page 37 of Play With Me
“You ever done that before?”
He shakes his head. “But neither had you, and you gave me the best fucking blow job I’ve ever had.”
My cheeks flame.
“I’m a natural.”
He grins at me and then stares at me for so long that I start squirming.
“So? What do you think?”
I want it. I really do, but I’m not ready. Though I don’t know if I was ever ready for Colton, and yet here I am, getting off with him as often as I can.
“How about just a blow job?” I shoot my shot.
His lips quirk. “Selfish.”
I shrug. “Take it or leave it.”
He contemplates it, makes me wait so long that I start to twitch, and then he flops back onto the bed, his eyes hitting the ceiling.
“What is that for?” I ask, feeling a slight rejection from him not immediately wanting to stick my dick in his mouth.
“Just thinking about what I want. How I want it, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. Usually, you just take it, and I don’t have a chance to object.”
He huffs and leans up, his hair falling over his forehead. “Yeah, right. I always give you a chance to say no, and you never do.”
“Because you’re choking me out while you’re asking me.”
He chuckles at that and then slithers toward me. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Witkoff. You want it so bad you can’t say anything to the contrary.”
I can’t contradict that either, so I snap my lips closed and watch him watch me.
Then he flips over and is on me, his legs and arms wrapped around my torso and thighs. I struggle slightly, letting him pull me into him, flipping me onto my side, and dragging me against him.
“What the fuck,” I murmur as he shifts us up the bed until he’s resting against the headboard, my back against his chest, his legs wrapped around mine.
“There. That’s better.”
“You could have just asked.”
“You would have fought me the entire way.”
I huff and feel his hands brush up my chest, his thumbs dragging across my hard nipples.
“Were you always this big? Or did you get this way by playing rugby?”
I shift slightly, getting comfortable, and his hands cup my pecs, squeezing them.
“Shot up almost a foot freshman year of high school. Got bigger each year. Guess my dad was like this. Or so my mom says.”
“You don’t know your dad?”
“He died when I was younger. I don’t remember him much.”
His hands slip down my chest and settle on my abdomen. “Ah, I see. My dad is dead, too. But I wish my stepdad was six feet under. My entire family, actually. That would be nice.”
