Played (Trapped Book 3)

by Beverley Kendall

  While she grabs a towel, I head to my bedroom where I quickly strip out of my shirt and pants. Clad in a blue pair of boxer briefs, I cross the room to the master bath. There, I briskly towel dry my hair before running it over the rest of my body.

  Suddenly, a startled cry shatters the silence. I’m out the door and standing at the entrance of the kitchen before you can say Mother May I.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Erin

  If I find it difficult to control my baser impulses when it comes to a fully clothed Josh, what chance do I stand when he’s a yard of blue stretch cotton from naked.

  Bulging blue stretch cotton.

  My mouth goes dry. Damn, that chest. And those legs and arms.

  His bulge moves.

  My gaze snaps back up to his.

  Erin, now is not the time to ogle.

  “It fell.” My voice is flat just like the cheesecake lying in ruins at my feet.

  His mouth twitches. “So I see.”

  Because my eyes have a mind of their own, they commit to another whole-body perusal of him. The ridges in his abs and his happy trail have always held enormous fascination to me. I remember my hands and mouth becoming intimate with both.

  The next time our eyes make contact, a smile tips the corners of his lips. “Take your time. Just let me know when you’re done.”

  “Why aren’t you dressed?” I sulk, doing nothing to hide my annoyance.

  Clearly unmindful of his ever-prominent bulge, which I’m very mindful of, he replies, “It must have something to do with you screaming while I was changing.”

  I move then, placing the empty box on the counter to my right. “I’ll clean it up.” You just go put on some pants. And a shirt.

  “I’ll get the mop.”

  Warm and flustered, I wave him away this time, keeping my eyes to myself but fully cognizant of all that tanned, smooth skin and rippling muscles. “No, I’ll take care of it. You just—um, you just go.” I’m precariously perched on the wagon and I’m getting this feeling a fall is imminent.

  One date Jane, that’s who I am. When it comes to Josh, I’m a pushover. Except my fall lands me naked on my back in his bed.

  Does he do as I ask? Of course not. The man is a sadist. Instead, he’s on his haunches in front of me scooping up the bulk of the inedible mess with the scalloped cake pad it came on.

  In his underwear.

  I don’t want you to ever forget what I’m dealing with here. I’m embarrassingly wet and he hasn’t laid a hand on me. I’m sure there’s a word for it. Oh, that’s right, it’s called torture.

  I grab the roll of paper towels from the counter and wet some at the sink while he dumps what he cleaned up in the garbage.

  “I’ll take care of the rest.” I hope he takes the hint and leaves.

  Without saying a word, he retrieves a sponge from under the sink, wets it and proceeds to follow behind me, swiping at spots on the burnished kitchen floor where traces of cheesecake are visible.

  Damn him.

  I’m practically sweating by the time I toss the soiled paper towel in the garbage. And it’s not because cleaning a cake-sized spot on the floor is strenuous work.

  Josh takes his time coming to his feet. “There, that ought to do it.”

  He looks at me. In turn, I look down and make a whimpering sound in my throat. He’s hard and growing, something that’s impossible for him to hide or for me to ignore.

  “Josh.” At this point, I’m not above pleading.

  “Yeah?” he asks all faux wide-eyed innocence.

  You’re killing me. “Would you please put on some clothes.”

  His gaze smolders as he takes in the stiff-peaked condition of my nipples.

  “Or,” he rumbles out the word, “you can take yours off.”

  Since my skin feels too hot and achy for my dress, I would love to take it off. Except down that path lies one date Jane under one ridiculously hot Joshua Marshall, clawing at his back.

  “We—” I swallow hard and clear my throat. “We need to take this slow.” Truth teller that I am, those particular words are wrenched from me.

  He angles his head to the side and steps forward. I let out another soft whimper. He’s too close, and it feels as if male pheromones have replaced all the oxygen in the room.

  “Because you don’t want to have sex with me?”

  He’s using his seduction voice on a woman with a low seduction threshold. But I have to be strong. If Chloe was worth waiting for, so am I.

  Suddenly, his arms are around me and I’m flush against his bare chest. A startled breath of air escapes my lips. I feel him thick and erect against my stomach. My sex reflexively clenches.

  There are no dead men walking here, just a drowning woman sinking like a stone.

  “Before you answer, I’m going to tell you a few things I know. You have an older sister named Lori. She got married the year before last to a guy your parents approve of and she lives somewhere near Augusta. You’re not close to your parents. Your dad’s a workaholic and your mom wants you to be like her. You were going to be a lawyer but changed your major to finance and then journalism when you were a sophomore in college. You’ve loved every Marvel movie that’s come out in the last ten years except Ant Man. Your favorite dessert is strawberry cheesecake and your second is chocolate fudge brownie with vanilla ice cream. When you were young, you and Paige planned to have your kids around the same time so they could grow up together. You were nice to Chloe when you didn’t have to be.” His voice drops to a rumble. “And you’re the sexiest, hottest, most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  I stopped breathing back when he mentioned me wanting to be a lawyer. My heart thrashes around in my chest, swooning like a Southern debutante with the vapors by the time he finishes. My nipples are diamond hard and my panties are beyond hope. Looking up at him, I’m at a complete loss for words.

  “No, we haven’t technically dated for months, Erin, but don’t ever think that I don’t know you. Don’t ever think that I don’t value and support you.”

  Emotion clogs my throat as I circle my arms around his taut waist. Right now, I don’t know if I’m more touched or turned on.

  I’m both.

  “You are so getting laid tonight,” I say softly, my voice catching.

  His heated stare triggers a series of brush fires inside me, starting from my breasts and burning the hottest between my thighs.

  Stepping out of his embrace, I take his hand in mine. “Now come on, you promised me dessert.” Josh makes a tortured sound in his throat, his erection raging.

  I’m practically trembling with desire as I lead him from the kitchen to his bedroom.

  Once there, I let go of his hand and turn to face him. He looks ready to pounce, his expression ravenous as he looks me up and down.

  “One of us is overdressed,” I murmur, pushing the dress off my shoulders. It catches on my hips for a moment, and then pools on the carpet, leaving me standing in a lace-trimmed, aquamarine bra and matching panties.

  Josh releases an audible breath, his erection growing impossibly larger. His eyes devour me. “Erin.” My name comes on an uneven exhalation. “Are you sure? I can wait if you want, although, at this point waiting may be hazardous to my health.”

  My answer is to quickly and efficiently remove my bra, discarding it alongside my dress. Then I’m cupping him where he’s hard and hot for me.

  “Does this—” my hand tightens around his cock “—answer your question?”

  Josh groans, his pupils the color of night, and the next thing I know, I’m flat on my back on his bed looking up at him.

  “You want dessert?” he growls, deftly stripping my panties from me. “I’ll give you as much as you can stand. And then I’ll give you more.”

  I’m beyond turned on. I wrap my arms around his neck, pull him close and whisper in his ear. “You’re not playing fair. I’m naked and you’re not.”

  His smile is everything wicked
and predatory I love about him. He makes a tsking sound, advising, “Patience, patience.”

  How he manages to accomplish the removal of his briefs with only one had as he’s levered over me, I’ll never know, but within seconds I feel his cock hot and hard against me.

  A rush of moisture collects between my thighs as desire takes my senses hostage. “Kiss me.” This is what need does. It makes you so impatient for things that waiting feels like a lifetime.

  His mouth comes down on mine. It’s a desperate fight to savor and satisfy all in one breath. Tongues stroke, slash and tangle in a passion that’s all-consuming.

  And then there’s the relief of being with him again, like this, naked, his chest flush against my breasts. Thrusting my fingers through his hair, I spread my legs to make more room for him there.

  The tip of his erection finds a home at the top of my slit. Pleasure shoots through me and the strength of it, the way it rolls through like a cresting wave, has me closing my eyes. The way a solar eclipse can’t be viewed with the naked eye, this kind of pleasure is the same. The experience is that much more intense with the eyes closed.

  “Can I tell you how much I’ve missed these.” His hands close over my breasts, his mouth following close behind, soon enveloping one beaded nipple.

  Heat shoots south of my navel and pounds the entire region like a drum.

  “They missed you, too,” I manage to choke out with the little breath I still have in me.

  Josh loves playing with my breasts and they adore the attention. He’s gotten me off doing nothing else but that, and I don’t have to tell you what that does to his ego.

  He starts in, worrying the tip with his teeth and then capturing it tight between his lips and sucking it deep into his mouth. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, earning my nipple a firm lash with his tongue. He likes to hear me. He likes to know that I’m enjoying myself. Silence is punished with pleasure-torture actions like that.

  I tamp down a moan, the sound emerging muffled. I’m punished again, and the pleasure is ratcheted up another notch.

  “I want to hear you.” His voice is husky and firm, warning me of the real consequences to come if I don’t do as he says.

  Switching to my other breast, he goes for broke, taking as much as of it into his mouth as he can manage while simultaneously grasping my knee and pressing me wide open to him.

  He runs two fingers lightly over my slit. It’s meant to tease, not to satisfy, the ache of my pussy needing to be filled. I need him inside me.

  The double assault on my sex-deprived body is nothing short of torture.

  “Josh,” I pant, lifting my hips in a desperate need for pressure. I need him to stroke me right there but harder. Part my lips and stroke the entire length of it with his talented fingers. Make me come.

  “Are you ready?” he asks around my nipple as if he can’t feel the moisture on his fingers.

  My answer is to let my legs fall open, wide.

  A hum of pleasure emanates around my captive nipple, throughout my breast, streaking straight down to my core, where his fingers lightly stroke, tempting me to distraction.

  “Do you want this?” His finger dips between my folds, his touch again shallow and teasing. “Or this?” With that question, he shifts above me and his fingers are quickly replaced by the head of his cock.

  I thrust my hips up and throw my head back. “Condom,” I pant with the last vestige of clarity, my need now a palpable thing.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  The warmth of his breath on my breast causes another rush of moisture between my thighs.

  He’s determined to make me say it. And that’s because he knows my pleasure-torture threshold is egregiously low. Tweak my nipple, play with my clit and I’m lost, my hips rising and falling, my hands fisting the sheets.

  “Fuck me.” The words feel torn from me, my voice ragged and low. Begging and demanding.

  In a blur of movement, he retrieves a condom from somewhere to my left. I watch, my gaze half-lidded, as he rolls it over the long, thick length of his cock, the sight of which never fails to turn me on. Then he’s cupping my ass in his hands and driving home in one smooth thrust.

  A gasp escapes my lips. It’s been a long time and he isn’t small. My pussy convulsively clamps down on him. He stills, the tight grip causing a drawn-out hiss from him and his face contorts as if whatever he’s feeling is too much.

  Desire.

  Relief.

  Pleasure.

  Mind-blown.

  Josh lets out a groan. “Fuck, you feel good.”

  I undulate my hips to urge him on. He’s quick to respond, picking up the pace with each stroke.

  This is what I crave. That feeling of being filled by him. The drag of his cock against my inner walls. How at this angle he manages to graze my clit and hit my G-spot. My arms come up, my hands clutching his shoulders as my legs circle his hips, trapping him.

  The combination of him pounding into me and him squeezing my ass sets me off. Light explodes behind my eyes, blurring my vision until everything goes black, my body seizing up in the sweetest kind of agony.

  “Josh,” I cry out.

  Tremors overtake me as the orgasm takes control. I’m at its mercy, helpless like a leaf twisting in the wind. But I love riding out this kind of storm.

  Teeth bared, Josh slams into me hard. “I’m coming,” he gasps, his voice strangled. And the noises he makes when he comes—raw and guttural—is enough to prolong my orgasm. I hold him close as he loses control, my pussy tightening around his cock, wringing him dry.

  Our breathing, broken and shallow, echoes in the room as it bounces off the walls. And like the last time we had sex, I don’t want to let him go. I want to stay like this, him heavy on top of me and satisfied, running my fingers slowly through his hair. Our damp skin flush, his warm breath on my neck, I want it all.

  Whether it’s one or five minutes later, I’m not sure, when he lifts his head from the crook of my shoulder and peers down at me with passion-drugged eyes.

  “This was the best date of my life.”

  I can’t help but laugh at that. “That isn’t what you were saying an hour ago,” I tease.

  “This—you in my bed—makes up for everything.” His expression gentles as he lowers his head and kisses me softly on the lips. My lips part. It’s brief but boy is it potent, packing quite the punch.

  “Stay the night,” he whispers.

  I stare into his beautiful eyes and see a promising future and endless possibilities. “I’ll stay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Josh

  “What do you know about Erin’s ex-boyfriend?”

  “Uh, how about nothing,” Mitch says, giving me a where is this coming from look.

  “Do you know why they broke up?” I’m asking one source removed from the main source—Paige—and that’s as good as I’m going to get because Erin refuses to talk about it. I brought the guy up twice in the past week and both times she shut me down. Ugh, let’s not spoil the night by talking about him. I figure if I stay within six degrees, there’s a chance I’ll learn something.

  “Gee, Josh, it’s been a couple weeks since Erin and I have had our monthly heart-to-heart. Check back with me next week.”

  Oh, the sarcasm, it drips.

  I roll my eyes. “Fuck you.” I tip the bottle of lager to my mouth and take a long draw.

  Mitch rarely comes into the city on business, but today he had a late afternoon appointment with a new client. When he called to let me know he was in the area, we’d made arrangements to meet for a quick drink at Mick’s—an after-work hangout—since my office is across the street.

  We both have plans for later, me with Erin and him with Paige. It’s their Netflix and pizza night. Paige’s mother and stepfather are watching Bree until tomorrow. Which, I figure, means they can make as much noise as they want.

  I will confess, it’s taken me a while to get used to my best friend having a ki
d. No more impromptu trips to LA or New York. And I can’t just drop by his place anymore. Everything has to be planned. But for Bree, it’s all worth it. The kid is fucking adorable. And to show you what good taste she already has, she adores me too.

  “C’mon,” Mitch says, smirking and grabbing a handful of pretzels from the bowl on the bar. “What the fuck do I know.”

  “I thought maybe Paige might have said something to you.”

  “The most Paige ever said about him was that he’s an asshole.” He shrugs and pops a pretzel in his mouth.

  I idly drum my fingers on the bar top. Asshole could mean anything. There have been occasions when I have even been called one. I know, go figure.

  “Why’re you asking?”

  “He was at her house a week ago.”

  Mitch is seized by a coughing fit as if his pretzel had gone down wrong. Grabbing his beer from the counter, he gulps down a mouthful.

  As soon as I’m sure he’ll live, I dryly advise, “Don’t kill yourself.”

  “What the hell was he doing at her place?”

  Exactly what I thought.

  “Dropping by to see how she’s doing,” I reply, my voice tight with anger at the thought of him showing up at my girlfriend’s house. As if he still has a right to see her whenever he wants.

  Mitch looks down and studies the pretzels he’s holding between his fingers. Then he gives me a side-eye. “You think he’s trying to get back with her?”

  “Of course he was fucking trying to get back with her,” I snap, irritated. “But Erin made it clear that she wants nothing to do with him, and I’m sure she means it.” Erin’s into me. I don’t doubt that for a second. Whatever happened between her and her ex, she wants nothing to do with him now. I just need to know why.

  Yesterday, we spent the whole day together. Half of it fucking. The other half getting groceries and cooking—I slapped together sandwiches for lunch and she cooked dinner. And we talked. That’s when I tried to broach the subject of her ex again, only to get shot down.

  Can we not talk about Dale?