Page 26 of Just Playin'
“It’s been a few years since I’ve stepped foot on college grounds. Don’t want the dean thinking I’m an old geezer looking to bed some college girls.”
His reply elevates my curiosity of the past three weeks. The difference in our maturity proves he’s older than me; I’m just lost on how many years separate us. I’m not bothered either way. Age is just a number, and with him tossing the napkin in the bin, his number is the only one I have in my phone right now.
“If you’re worried about the dean getting upset, you clearly haven’t met him. He is a dirty old geezer wanting to bed college girls himself. He’ll only be angry about you mowing the lawn he’s been watering the past six months.”
Elvis throws his head back and laughs. It barely lingers for ten seconds before the entirety of my statement smacks into him. His head returns front and center as his mouth snaps shut. “Watering with the hope of mowing? Or is he already mowing it?”
Happy I have him on tenterhooks, I jog the last ten paces between us and the stairs at the front of my dorm. The fun we’ve had tonight is all over my face, and it doesn’t reflect half the excitement tingling in my stomach. . .and a region a few inches lower.
Elvis stands in the middle of the footpath as his suspicious eyes dart between Mickey’s and me. “You live next door to a pizzeria?”
I grimace. “Yep! And it’s as torturous as you’re picturing. My ass has never been more thankful for a lack of student funding.”
My screwed up nose and furrowed brows jump onto Elvis’s face. “Ah, the good old college days. I’ve not touched a ramen noodle since the day I graduated.”
“And how long ago was that?” Just because I said I don’t care how many digits are between us, doesn’t mean I’m not curious.
Elvis’s head bobs side to side as a blinding smile stretches across his face. “A while. . .”
I climb two stairs so we meet eye to eye before asking, “As in, more than a decade, or is it closer to two?”
“Jesus H to the fucking Christ, how old do you think I am?” His playful roar gains us the attention of a handful of students milling around.
“I don’t know? It’s hard to gauge without anin-depthinvestigation, so you either need to fess up and tell me. . .” I drag my eyes down his body in a long, dedicated sweep while murmuring, “. . . Or show me.”
Damn, I’ve never been overly good at flirting, but I’ve got the moves tonight, and I’m not even drunk. Usually, that’s the only time I dust off the cobwebs and break out the one-liners that will either have the guys in a fit of laughter or purring at my feet.
I really hope Elvis is a giant kitty under all those layers of muscles.
After pulling his cap down even further on his head, Elvis places one foot onto the step separating us before tilting his torso close to mine. Pizza, garlic bread, and a smell that’s even yummier than them all combined smacks into me when he whispers, “I’m old enough to know I could get in trouble for this, but young enough not to care.”
Any reply I am planning to give is swallowed by his mouth.
Elvis. . .I don’t know his last name. . . is kissing me. It’s a blood-warming tingle from the top of my head to the tips of my toes,I’ll never eat pizza in the same light againkiss. He devours my mouth with slow licks and playful nibs while drawing me closer with his big hands gripping the generous swell of my hips.
I spread my hands across his chest to make sure I don’t topple to the ground. The firmness under his shirt worsens the wooziness in my head. His pecs are amazing—and heaving. He’s as breathless by our kiss as I am shocked that we’re kissing. I daydreamed about this exact moment many times the past three weeks, but I never believed it would actually happen.
When I pull back to catch my breath, Elvis tugs me closer. “No, not yet. Need more.”
After nipping at my lower lip, he spears his tongue between my gaped, kiss-swollen mouth. He drags it along the roof of my mouth, tasting and sampling me before dueling with mine. I can feel him against me, as hot and heavy as the heat his kiss elicits from me. He’s not even rolling his hips, yet I feel every inch of him. Every. Perfect. Inch. When he threads his fingers through my hair, I melt into his embrace. I respond to the strokes of his tongue as if this isn’t the first time we’ve engaged in a tender embrace of tonsil hockey.
I am right there with him, every step of the way. My tongue is as courageous as his, my hands just as wild, and he’s loving every minute of it. He smiles against my mouth, happy he’s getting as good as he’s giving. His kiss is greedy and hard, but tender and loving at the same time. He takes control, but only as much as I’m willing to give.
Seconds from melting into a puddle of pleasure, he relinquishes my mouth from his. It isn’t that he’s had his fill. It’s the cat-calls and shouts for him to “give it to me” killing his mojo.
“I was right. Your mouth is as sweet as your face but as naughty as the glint in your eyes.”
I smile a blistering grin, adoring that I’m not the only one who’s fantasized the past three weeks about us kissing.
“Now I better leave before things get difficult.” He looks pained, as if his words were as bitter for him as they were for me.
He leans in to press a peck to my tingling mouth before spinning on his heels and walking down the cracked path. We must have put on a real show because not only does he get slapped on the back numerous times during his short commute past bystanders, he also has his picture snapped.
I wait until he’s gobbled up by the darkness before entering my dormitory. Since my room is on the first level, it doesn’t take me long to push my key into the lock. My heart rate is so high it takes several attempts to open the door, and don’t even get me started on my wobbly knees, but nothing—not a single friggin’ thing—can stop my little boogie when I enter my room.
I’m so shocked and deliriously happy, I groove around my room like I’m in the middle of a night club. I shake my booty and pump out my chest to the imaginary song in my head. I may even do a few lassoes with an invisible rope. I wiggle and shake until all the food and drink in my belly becomes slop, my thighs ache, and my cell phone rings.
My hip thrust suspends mid-air when I realize who is calling me. It’s Elvis. After wiping the sweat from my brow, I push my phone to my ear and play it cool. “Hey.”
