Page 78 of Play Fake
I scoot back, but I only get an inch before I hit the mirror behind me, which elicits a devious little grin from him.
“You’re gonna go home alone because you promised. To your cold bed, all by yourself. Desperately wishing you had me to fuck you senseless.”
“You assume I don’t have toys that can come off the bench for just such an occasion.” I smirk.
He shrugs one shoulder as if I’ve made a fair point. “But that’s not the problem.”
“No?”
“No…”
As soon as he says it, one of his hands leaves my thigh, sliding up my skirt and giving me a swift hard stroke on my clit through my underwear. I jerk at his touch, and he grins, clearly resolved to torture me more.
“The problem is,” he starts again, stroking me through the lace but deftly avoiding the spot I want most. “You’re going to be laying there knowing I’ve got two jersey chasers walking me up to the spare room here. Shutting the door, stripping down for me…”
He pauses and studies my face for a long moment, like he’s lost in something. “Close your eyes because I want you to imagine it.”
I do as he says, and I feel him lean closer to me, his lips right against the shell of my ear.
“They’re gonna be real fucking eager to get me out of my clothes, get me on a bed and play with their favorite fucking toy. Just like you were last week. One of them is gonna get down on her knees, pull me out and stroke me until she can’t take it anymore and puts me in her mouth. And the other is going to push me down on the bed and climb on me until she straddles my face. She’s gonna have me weak and wanting because the girl I wish she was… left. That’s gonna fucking hurt. So I’m gonna rip the little panties she has on, the ones she already told me earlier tonight she wore especially for me, and I’m gonna take a long hard lick of what’s being offered to me.”
As he says the words, he slides my panties to the side, ones I am more than a little ashamed to say are soaked and dips his finger in to stroke me. A hiss escapes his gritted teeth when he feels how wet I am. He strokes again. I buck involuntarily at the sensation of his warm fingers brushing over every frayed nerve ending in my body. My emotions are a mix, warring against each other. Turned on. Pissed off. Frustrated I’m in this situation.
I open my eyes to glare at his beautiful fucking face. He’s smirking even though his eyes are closed, and I hate him a little for it. But I want him too much to care about withholding the smug satisfaction from him. So I rock my hips forward, urging his fingers deeper.
His eyes open, and he pulls back slightly so he can meet mine. Whatever he sees on my face, he likes it, and he slides my panties off and starts stroking me harder, his thumb circling my clit.
“And while I’m doing that,” he starts up again, telling me all about his sick fantasy, “the other one is going to be working my cock. Sucking me so fucking hard because she wishes she was as good as you were, and I’m going to be picturing you while she— “
I press my hand over his mouth, silencing him because I’m so fucking close to coming, and I don’t want to be picturing them.
“Enough,” I warn.
“You’re fucking hot when you’re jealous,” he mumbles under my hand before kissing my palm, and I release it.
“You’re an ass,” I complain, and he slows down his pace, punishing me for the insult.
“I just wanted you to know what’s going to happen. Have all the details.”
“You’re not fucking them.”
“I’m not?” And I can tell from his smile he had zero plans to do so.
“If I have to be alone, so do you.”
He’s slowed the rhythm down to a glacial pace, and I rock against his hand, trying to get the friction I need, but his free hand wraps around my hip, stilling me.
“Nah. Not good enough.” He shakes his head, still a smile pulling up one side of his mouth like he’s just that amused with himself.
“Then what?” I huff, frustration lacing my tone.
“You’re going to admit you’re jealous. Tell me you don’twantme to fuck anyone else.”
I scrunch my nose up but comply, since it’s the truth. “I’m jealous, and I don’t want you to fuck anyone else, Waylon.”
“Good,” he answers, and he presses his lips to mine in a gentle kiss, and he picks up his pace again, watching me and studying me as he works me back to the edge again. I’m too far gone to care or be embarrassed, just desperately trying to catch the release I need from him. I’m so close to it and my fingers wrap around the edge of the cold stone counter.
And then he stops, and even worse than before, he pulls his fingers from me completely, leaving me empty and cold. My eyes snap open, and I don’t know what game this boy is playing, but I’m ready to throttle him with my bare hands.
