Page 76 of Play Fake
“You can’t tell me who I can leave a party with, Waylon. Especially not when you’re planning to party with multiple someones.” Her eyes narrow.
It’s a fair statement. I know that.
“I know I can’t tell you. But I’m asking you for this one thing. Not him. Please.”
“Why?”
“He’s one of my best friends.”
“Who has definitely fucked London before. Who you’re planning to fuck tonight, right? So how is it any different for me to fuck Ben?”
My stupid drunk dick is hyper focused on the hard emphasis she puts on the word fuck, and I’m getting harder just listening to her say the word. Despite the fact she’s all but telling me she’s gonna fuck him tonight. I scrub my hand over my face, wishing I’d been able to splash some cold water on it before I had to talk to her. So I could think better, talk better. Find some way to tell her the raw, honest truth.
She senses my mind is beyond muddled because she follows it up with a softer tone, “Waylon. You’re already super drunk and not making a lot of sense. Just let me go and enjoy your night, okay?”
I look up, and she’s looking at me so sweetly, like she fucking cares. Like I mean something to her. And so, I do the only thing I can think to do to keep her here. I reach for her, pulling her to me, and I kiss her like my fucking life depends on it. Pressing my lips to hers, and gently biting her lower lip, pressing my tongue against hers, begging her to open for me. And finally, finally, she does. She goes soft in my arms, and she kisses me back.
I walk us backward to the counter again, grabbing her ass in my hands and hauling her up on top of it. Sliding myself between her legs and then sliding her back toward me again, grinding against her where she fits me like a perfect fucking puzzle piece, so she knows how hard I am for her.
One of her legs wraps around mine, her heel digging into the back of my calf. Her fingers climb up the back of my shirt, sliding over and digging into my lats. My body fucking buzzes at her response, at how easily she reacts to me. We stay like that for what feels like an eternity, kissing, searching, grinding against each other, before her hands finally press against my chest and she pulls back, taking gasping little breaths, looking disoriented.
“There’s a spare room up here. And I can remember to fucking lock it this time.” I manage to say between my own heavy breaths.
She frowns, staring at my chest. “We can’t.”
I’m taken aback by her denial, my mind trying and failing to find a reason. “Why can’t we?”
“I don’t want to.”
I laugh bitterly at the statement. “Yeah? Have you told the rest of you that?”
She glares at me. “If it wasn’t your birthday, I’d slap you for that.”
“You can slap me now if you want. It’d probably be better than what this feels like.”
“Good lord. Waylon, I know you’re drunk but knock it off. I’ve told you before, I don’t want to be part of your assembly line.”
“You’re not.”
“Oh. I’m not. So, if I fuck you now, what am I then? An appetizer to the main course later with London and Holly?”
“I don’t give a fuck about London and Holly.” I’m incredulous she thinks they’re even a factor.
“Right. Which is why you’re fucking them. Any guy in your position would be thrilled. What is your problem?”
“I told you. I asked you to promise not him, and you won’t.”
“So that’s your plan, then? Literal cockblocking? He can’t fuck me if you’re already in me?”
The thought of him inside her makes me vibrate with frustration. I run my hands up the insides of her thighs, spreading them and leaning forward again so she can feel me.
“You already know I’ll do a better job giving you what you need.” I pin her with a look. I can tell she wants to slap me again, but the way her throat bobs on a swallow, I also know she knows I’m right. Her body is wired and wanting, and I’m the real solution.
“Why are you so jealous of him, anyway?”
“I’m not jealous of him.”
“Then what—“
