Page 24 of Played
“Adina,” I press, voice low.
She sucks in a deep breath, her eyes briefly closing. I brace myself for her response. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve prepared me for her soft “Kiss me.”
My head jerks back as if those two words are physical blows to the jaw.
“What?” I rasp.
Her eyes widen as if she can’t believe she uttered the request. That makes two of us. Because ... what?
She licks her full lips again and drops her head. But a second later, she lifts it again and looks at me unflinchingly.
“Kiss me. Please.”
Her voice is soft, but it doesn’t waver. There’s no uncertainty, no doubt. Only the determination that’s reflected in her dark eyes.
“Adina ...” I shake my head, my fingers curling and straightening by my sides.
My palms itch, as if her soft-looking skin is already under them. And I swear my mouth is watering, anticipating the taste of her.
But there’s no way in hell I’m kissing her. I didn’t even kiss the women I’ve been with since Kendra. That’s ... no. I shake my head again.
Adina shifts closer to me, her hands raised as if she’s about to set them on my chest. She glances down at them and crosses her arms.
“I haven’t been intimate with anyone since my fiancé died. Not just sex. But nothing. No touching. No kissing. Not even held the hand of a man outside my family.” Her arms fall to her sides, then almost immediately lift to resume her previous position. Then she shifts her weight from one hip to the other. “How will I know if I don’t try? Can I be honest?”
I jerk my chin down in an abrupt nod.
Thrusting her hand in her curls, she sighs. “I love sex. Of course the physical act itself, but also the closeness. From the pleasure and the connection to the weight of a man on top of me. I loved the quiet moments afterward, where the sweat is drying and our hearts are calming as we’re tangled up in each other. For three and a half years, I had that with Keshaun. I miss it. All of it. I know I won’t have the emotional connection we shared, with another person. But everything else? I at least want to try and see if I’m ready for it or if I need to give myself more time.”
“And you think I’m the person you need to experiment with?” I ask, arching an eyebrow, not attempting to hide my skepticism.
She shrugs, loosening her arms to hold her palms up. “More honesty? I don’t have anyone else. Unless it’s family or the people I work with, I don’t have anyone else. Aside from the men my mom tried to set me up with—and God knows they don’t count—you’re the first man I’ve spent this much time with outside that circle. And you ...know. So who better? There’s no expectation. No feelings. No confusion. And what did you tell me earlier? I won’t see you again after tonight. That kind of makes you perfect. It makes you ... safe.”
It makes you safe.
The pounding in my dick feels anything butsafe. But it’s that argument more than anything else she said that has me moving closer to her. That argument and the quiet desperation in her eyes that the light from the streetlamp clearly reveals.
And my own curiosity. My own need that already had me hating myself. But not enough to stop my hand from lifting and cupping the back of her neck. Her brown-and-auburn curls brush my skin, and those strands might as well have grazed my dick. That’s how painfully good it felt.
Drawing her closer, I give her time to change her mind. When she doesn’t, I slowly lower my head and press my lips to hers. Goddamn, they’re so fucking soft. Closing my eyes, I brush my mouth over the corner of hers. Then move to the other side and repeat the caress. Her soft gasp bathes my lips, and I press another kiss to the center of her mouth, taking that sound for my own.
Her hands grip my sweater, balling the sides up in her fists. The hem of my sweater must’ve lifted because her fingertips glance against my bare waist. And that smallest of touches of skin against skin has me bricking up harder than ever.
I part my lips, introduce my tongue to her. And, tilting her head, she greets me. Hesitant, careful at first, I learn her mouth. And she educates herself on mine. With each lick, suck, and twist of our tongues, the kiss becomes hotter, wilder ... nastier. Soon, I’m swallowing her moans, and she’s drinking down my grunts like the beer she just took to the head. My other hand raises to the front of her throat, circling it as I dive deeper, demanding she give me more. I’m fucking that wide dick-tease of a mouth and demanding she take all of it.
A whistle and catcall of “Fuck her!” infiltrates the red haze of lust enshrouding my mind. Reality crashes over me in an icy deluge, and I snatch my hands down and off her, ignoring the tingling in my palms. The feel of her soft skin is branded into them, and though I scrub themdown the sides of my thighs, I can’t rid myself of it. Guilt streams in as if it were just waiting in the wings to remind me that I ain’t shit.
I scrub my hand down my face, swiping the back of my hand over my mouth as if that could remove her taste from my tongue. But it’s a fucking waste of time. Her rich, smoky flavor, like the rarest bourbon and the richest cream, will follow me into my dreams tonight. I just know it.
And that knowledge has guilt digging its claws deeper, towing shame along for shits and giggles.
“Really?” she whispers.
My gaze snaps back to hers, noticing her staring at the hand I have yet to drop—the hand I just swept across my mouth.
Fuck.
“Adina.” I reach for her wrist, but she yanks it behind her, shifting backward several steps. “I didn’t—”
