Page 64 of Played
“I’m not gon’ tell you again, ma.” His warning deepens the craving for him, excitement shooting through me.
Part of me wants to find out what he’d do if I pushed him to do just that—tell me again. But the thumping heat and moisture leaking out of my pussy hiss at me to shut the fuck up and give him what we want.
“Make me cum, Solomon,” I whisper. “Make me cum hard. I need it.”
It’s been so long since I’ve had an orgasm that wasn’t self-delivered. I’m trembling with the anticipation, the hunger.
“Say less.”
His hands abandon my breasts and fall to my thighs, tilting my hips, spreading me wider. And he thrusts his tongue inside me, shattering my mind in the process.
“Fuck.”I fold over, trusting him to keep me lifted ... keep me safe.
One of my hands remains gripping his hair, and the other claws at his shirt-covered back. That’s what he’s transformed me into—a scratching, clawing, sexual creature chasing an orgasm. Currents race from the back of my neck, down my spine to my ass and even to the soles of my feet. God, I could light up a whole damn street grid with the electricity running through me.
He moans, and I swear my pussy swallows it along with his tongue. There’s something about Solomon ... I don’t know. Maybe the sincere, unshakable knowledge that my body, my pleasure are safe with him, even if my heart isn’t. It releases this lock that has trapped me frozen behind grief, guilt, and fear. He frees me to share this part of myself—a part that has been gone for so long I’d forgotten she existed—without worry or shame.
And as he licks a path back to my clit, wagging his tongue back and forth, kissing it, sucking it, I release everything.
Every inhibition.
Every concern.
Every piece of me.
“Give it to me, Dina. Gimme my nut.”
I give it to him.
Pleasure combusts, sending me scattering in every direction, flying so high, so far, I hear my scream from a distance. I should be afraid of something this powerful, this huge. But I’m not. I’m grateful. I’m so fucking grateful.
I’m still floating, waiting for the many pieces of myself to find their way back, when he hikes me in his arms again, this time bridal-style, and carries me down a hall. I turn my face into his neck, opening my mouth over the taut skin there and lazily draw circles over his skin, humming at the delicious musk that greets my tongue and nose.
His arms squeeze me close, and I take that as encouragement to suck lightly, graze my teeth over him. Am I trying to mark him? I don’t know. Don’t want to think about how any brand would be as temporary as what we’re doing here. Not permanent. He’s already been permanently claimed, and not by me.
I shut my eyes, dropping my forehead to his wide shoulder.Stay in the moment. Stay in the moment.This was about sex. About beating back the loneliness for a little while. About—how had he put it?—feeling normal again.
It isn’t until he sets me down on my feet that I open my eyes and, lifting my head, survey the bedroom we entered. The big sleigh bed piled high with soft gray and cream pillows and a comforter to match. A wardrobe that wouldn’t surprise me if it contained a portal to another land sat in one corner. A small dove gray couch and smoked-glass coffee table form a sitting area on the other side of the room. Matching bedside tables and a vanity.
It’s luxurious.
It’s pretty.
It’s impersonal and obviously a guest room.
There aren’t any pictures, no personal knickknacks, no random items like change or receipts thrown on the bedside table to mark this room as a room where someone regularly lays their head.
He took me to a guest room in his home. And there can only be one reason why.
His bedroom is his sacred space where he shared a place and bed with his wife. I don’t belong there. That’s not a domain meant for me.
A hurt I have no business feeling wells up in me, knotting so hard and tight in my belly I barely stifle a groan. Pain throbs in my chest like someone slammed their fist there. Instead of ignoring it, I embrace it.
I needed this reminder that this is just sex. No matter how greedily he ate me, how gently he held me, how tenderly he touches me, this is. Just. Sex.
He can’t put me in second behind his wife because I’m not vying to place.
So I should be thankful he brought me here. At least in this room, this bed, the ghost that haunts him and the rest of the house will be shut out. There aren’t any memories in this space, and I need to be grateful for that.
