Page 59 of Played
“Oh, okay.” Wisps of smoke curl and dance inside me. Ignoring them for now, I say, “Damn, Solomon. This is gorgeous.”I stop short of twirling in a complete circle like Maria on top of an Austrian mountaininThe Sound of Musicas I peel off my coat and hand it to him. “Almost worth making the trek all the way out here.”
He stares at my Annual Mordor Fun Run sweatshirt, with its picture of Frodo and Sam on their trek to Mount Doom.
“Cute shirt.”
Since I can’t tell if he’s being facetious or not, I’m taking it as a compliment.
“I think so.”
He snorts and hangs my coat on the end of the stair banister as I continue ogling the beauty of his home. From my vantage point, I can see all the way to the rear of the house and the water sparkling under the early-afternoon sun through floor-to-ceiling windows. A huge living room sits to my left, and unlike what I would’ve expected for a house this size, the space looks warm and cozy instead of austere and stuffy. The same goes for the second living room to my right. That’s some shit, when you need two living rooms. Why anyone would, I have no clue. But the room is as gorgeous as its twin. Fireplaces and obviously expensive but comfortable-looking furniture fill them. My favorite part of the second room? The child’s play area right under the bank of bay windows. Toys, books, a small TV, and a video game console claim the space, and my chest gives another of those uncomfortable pinches.
Pressing a hand to the small of my back again, Solomon guides me forward, his socked and my sneakered feet falling soundlessly on the gleaming hardwood floors. We reach the end of the hallway and step into an immaculate kitchen that would be any cooking enthusiast’s wet dream. I am not among that number, but still—wow. Top-of-the-line appliances, gray-and-white marble counters and island, what have to be custom light-gray cabinets, a farmhouse-style sink ... Everything is absolutely perfect.
The floor-to-ceiling windows I glimpsed from the foyer adorn the kitchen and the breakfast nook nestled behind a half wall, and the view beyond is breathtaking. A wide, long expanse of green is broken by a stunning deck with a firepit, low couches and chairs, a huge pool, and adining area. A latticed covered walkway reaches the deck from another path that curves around the side of the house.
So this is what wealth looks like up close and personal.
“I knew you were paid, but you’repaidpaid.” I circle the island, where sits a spread of salad, steaks, baked potatoes, condiments, and a couple of bottles of wine and beer chilling in a bowl of ice. I look up from all that food and gape at him. “Who else did you invite?”
He frowns. “What the hell you talking ’bout, ma? You lucky you in my shit. For damn sure no one else is coming over here.”
“I’m lucky I’m in your shit?” I glare at him. But when he stares back at me, completely unperturbed, I shake my head. There’s no use in explaining to him thathis rude assinvitedmeover to his house, not the other way around. “I’m surprised no one has beat your ass yet,” I mutter.
“Who?” His chin jerks toward his neck, andnowhe looks offended. “Who’s going to beat me, li’l mama?”
Sighing, I pick up a salad and a dinner plate from the set stationed at one end of the island.
“You lucky this food look good as hell and I didn’t have a chance to eat lunch. Fortunately, my stomach chewing on my back is louder than the voice telling me to go home. So I’m going to eat this buffet that’s enough for five people and just say thank you. And please don’t say shit else until I’ve eaten at least half this steak and all of my potato.”
He smirks and picks up plates of his own. I get to piling food on mine, but he’s not fooling me. No way he stays silent and lets me eat uninterrupted. It’s not in him.
Minutes later, we’re sitting across from one another at the square table in the breakfast nook, digging in to our food. The only sounds are our forks and knives scraping against the plates. And the occasional moan. That’s from me. Because damn! Everything is perfection.
Another moan slips free, and Solomon picks up a beer bottle and tips it to his mouth. The way a man swallows has never fascinated me before—before Solomon, that is. The purse of his lips over the mouth of the bottle. The smooth up-and-down motion of his Adam’s apple inthat strong throat. I lightly bite the inside of my bottom lip, wishing it was that tendon running alongside his neck that’s under my teeth.
“Make another of those sounds, and that steak ain’t the only thing that’s going to be spread out across my plate,” he almost casually warns.
I blink.
Did he just . . . ? No, he didn’t . . .
But the sharp clenching in my lower belly and the scorching heat racing through my veins and pooling into a hot puddle between my thighs assure me that, oh yes, he did.
“Close your mouth, ma.” He chuckles, and it’s low, a little ominous, a hell of a lot sexy. “Unless you’re trying to—”
I pop up a hand, palm out.
“Don’t say it. Don’t you fucking say it,” I growl.
But he doesn’t need to finish it. My imagination effortlessly supplies the ending of that sentence, and it includes my tongue and his dick. My mind jumps on the bandwagon, and in slow, vivid motion, a carousel of images parades past my mind’s eye.
Me, on my knees, head tipped back, lips parted around the thick, long dick he slowly feeds to me. My scalp tingles as if I can feel his big hands tangled in my hair, tugging.
Lust tumbles through me, and I fight the urge to fidget in my seat. Fight and win.
Thank God.
What did my grandma say? God may not show up when you want him, but he’s right on time. I’ve always been skeptical about that bit of wisdom, but now? Call me a believer.
