Played (Trapped Book 3)

by Beverley Kendall

  “What if he were interested?” His studied casualness is becoming hard for him to pull off. The tick in his jaw is a visible tell.

  “Too late,” I reply blithely. “He had his chance. Now that he’s been friend-zoned, there’s no getting out. He’s there for life.”

  A smile lazily makes its way across his face. Not just his mouth, but the kind of smile that lights his slate-blue eyes and makes everything warm and bright.

  Before I can blink, I’m being hauled off the couch and carried wedding-night style to his room. When we hit the bed, I’m on his lap. What isn’t awkward is the visible proof of how much he wants me, the flimsy material of his blue-and-green pajama bottoms unable to constrain his growing erection. I love feeling it solid and hard under my butt.

  Driving his fingers through my hair, he angles my head back and nips my neck with his teeth. “And what zone am I in?” he asks, his voice a husky rasp.

  Desire comes at me in a rush of lips, teeth and tongue. I moan, seeking purchase on his broad shoulders. “You’re in the lots of sex zone.”

  With that, I’m quickly relieved of his t-shirt, although it’s my t-shirt now. He cups my breasts in his palms, the first flick of his thumbs over the nipples causing dual shards of pleasure to coalesce in my lower stomach and explode in my core.

  “And what else?” he murmurs as he tweaks both nipples between his fingers.

  “What do you mean what else?” I can’t help it that my words come out slightly slurred. It’s hard to form coherent sentences much less carry on a conversation when my body is under this kind of dizzying assault.

  For responding to his question with a question, he lowers his head and sucks my right nipple into his mouth. My back arches, aiding him in his efforts. The sound that escapes my lips is that of a woman having trouble with her breathing. Talking may require emergency surgery. I grind down on him, his hard cock stoking the fire burning in my center as it rubs against my pussy.

  “Is that all you want me for, sex?”

  It takes a few seconds for his question to penetrate my brain. The nipple licking and sucking is going to be a huge distraction if he’s intent on continuing this line of questioning.

  I kiss the closest sliver of bare skin I can reach on his beautiful body, the nape of his neck. “And whatever you want,” I whisper.

  To that, his head comes up, leaving a wet and beaded nipple in its wake. “What if I told you I want everything? Everything you have to give.”

  The feeling hits me like a sledgehammer and I remember Mitch’s words.

  You have the power to hurt him.

  I don’t want to hurt him. I want to love him. And this is love.

  I smile so hard it hurts. “I’d say you’re in luck.”

  Josh’s eyes darken, the emotion blazing in its depth, a thing of beauty. Never in my life have I ever felt this wanted or cherished.

  “The fucking luckiest man in the world,” he says, his voice husky and low.

  I have to bite down on my bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  In a movie or a book, this would probably be the moment the couple declares their love for each other, but this isn’t a movie or a book. This is real life and giving voice to the words isn’t as easy as expressing the sentiment with action.

  So that is what I set out to do, show him. And it starts with me pushing him onto his back. He lands on the mattress with a growl, his eyes dark with lust. I strip him of the now detested bit of cotton that’s been the only thing standing between me and his beautiful cock. With that taken care of, my thong is the last of our clothing to go. Then I take my time straddling him, making sure to give him an eyeful of what he’ll soon be getting into.

  When he reaches out to touch me—between my legs—I firmly press his hand away.

  “Not yet.” It’s a promise.

  He makes a frustrated sound in his throat.

  Mark my words, he won’t be frustrated for long.

  But first I need to look at him. Long and thick and perfectly shaped, it’s a beautiful cock—as penises go. I close my hand around him and he’s smooth and hot just as I remember.

  His eyes shutter closed on a long hiss, his entire body taut with desire and anticipation. I love having him at my mercy. Fisting my hand, I run it up and down his length. His hips jerk as another hiss emerges from between his lips.

  That sound, it’s music to my ears. The feel of him in my hand has me slick and pulsing between my thighs. The ache of wanting him, needing him inside me speeds steadily toward its peak.

  Scooting down his body, I lower my head and take him into my mouth. His entire body jerks upon first contact. I make a satisfied sound and drag my tongue around the rounded head of his cock. That’s when I feel his hand in my hair, ploughing through the long strands until he’s palming the back of my head. There’s no pulling or pushing, his hand there to be a firm guiding hand. By now I know what he wants. How he likes it when I take him deep in my throat, close my mouth around him as tight as I can before releasing him and letting the edges of my teeth lightly graze him on my journey back to the tip.

  Josh

  Jesus Christ. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be able to hold off. My dick is as hard as a fucking pick axe. I think I could drill something with this thing.

  I let out a hoarse groan, my body twitching as I watch my dick disappear between Erin’s pink pouty lips.

  In and out. In and out.

  I can’t put into words what the sight of it does to me.

  I feel my orgasm coming, my balls tight and ready to explode. But tonight, I don’t want to come in her mouth, so before she has a chance to protest—because I know she will at first—I pull out of her mouth and hurriedly snag the condom from the night stand and roll it on.

  I silence her sounds of protest with my mouth, whispering, “Next time.”

  It’s amazing how quickly she becomes amenable with my mouth on hers and my hands between her legs, worrying her clit.

  I kiss the corner of her mouth, her cheek and the underside of her jaw. “How do you want it? Top, bottom or behind?”

  Auburn hair a wild tangled mess, her cheeks flushed and her mouth swollen, she stares at me with passion-drugged eyes. “Whatever you want. I don’t care. I just want to come.”

  The words are barely out of her mouth before I’m behind her and she’s up on her knees, her gorgeous ass up in the air. I can’t help but stroke the smooth rounded cheeks. Soft and firm. Then I’m delving between her legs and testing her readiness.

  She’s wet. And definitely ready if the way she’s pushing back against my fingers is anything to go by.

  “Josh.” Her plea is a heady combination of whining and whimpering.

  With the press of my fingers, I urge her thighs apart. “Wider.”

  Emitting another whimper, she obeys as she looks back at me over her shoulder. Her arms are trembling, and she has a wild look in her eyes. Unfocused. Needy. Hungry.

  At this point, I think I’m in control enough to make it last more than thirty seconds. Dick in hand, I line it up to her entrance. But first I run the tip along the length of her sweet, moist outer lips.

  Her pleas are coming in earnest now.

  I feed her just the head and slap her ass. Not hard. Just enough to get the blood flowing. When her pussy contracts, I’m gone, slamming into her and burying myself as deep as I can go.

  Between her cries and the guttural noises coming from somewhere in my chest, the room becomes a peeping Tom’s wet dream or the nightmare of a neighbor with thin walls.

  My strokes increase in speed and ferocity as do the sounds coming out of her mouth. Suddenly her body contracts, her pussy clenching around me in a vise grip as she finds her release.

  “Josh.”

  It’s a cry. It’s a wail. It’s fucking heaven.

  My name on her lips when she comes is the trigger that sets me off, and then I’m spending myself in her, reaching unimaginable h
eights. My orgasm has me coming long and hard, the pleasure almost damn near unbearable.

  My descent from my high is like coming off a wild ride. The buzz of excitement is still there, I’m simply more mellow. Breathless. Sated. And then there’s the need to do it again as soon as my body’s able.

  Erin collapses onto the bed, pulling me out of her. Eyes closed, she rests her cheek on the pillow, her expression blissed out.

  I give myself a minute to catch my breath before heading to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. When I return, Erin hasn’t moved a muscle, sprawled out on her stomach exactly the way I left her.

  I climb in beside her and tuck her into the shelter of my body.

  She lets out a contented hum. “You’re nice and warm.”

  Smiling, I push her hair away from her neck, and plant a kiss on the place just below her ear. “And you’re tight and wet.”

  She giggles at that, angling her head so she can see my face. “You give good orgasms. The best.”

  I stare deep into her eyes. So deep I feel I’m drowning in them. “They’re yours for as long as you want them. Only yours.”

  As if she knows what I’m saying, what I’m trying to tell her, tears sheen her eyes as she twists and throws a free arm around my neck and kisses me. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Erin

  “Do you realize you’re glowing?” Paige asks, looking uncharacteristically smug.

  My smile is on the giddy lovesick side. “If that’s your way of telling me I look happy, I can’t argue with you.”

  What can I say? Life is good. I have the most fabulous boyfriend ever. Not only is he brilliant, caring and attentive, but he’s smoking hot. To say the sex is off the charts fantastic is to downplay how good it is.

  A month into our relationship and I can categorically say…I’m in love.

  Not falling hard and fast or completely besotted (although those are true too) but in love.

  But it’s too soon to tell Josh. Those three little words equate to big feelings and I’m not sure he’s ready for that no matter how much I know he wants and loves being with me. What we are both ready for is sex without a condom. I went on the Pill a month ago and honestly, I didn’t think it could get better, but holy crap is it ever.

  “All I can say is I’ve never seen Josh happier,” Paige continues.

  My smile grows. “Again, I can’t argue with you on that.”

  “Mommy, I wan ice cream,” Bree shouts, pointing at the ice cream stand a ways down from where we’re standing. We’re at Harbor Springs’s version of Taste of Chicago waiting for Chelsea. Meeting here was my idea. I figured after four years in Illinois, she’d appreciate the food and familiarity of Summer Eats. Plus, food is the perfect ice breaker when people are meeting for the first time.

  Paige stoops down beside the stroller carrying her daughter and a diaper bag of toddler paraphernalia. “We have to wait for Mommy’s friend to get here first. Then I’ll get you a chocolate ice cream cone, okay?”

  “Daddy said I have ice cream,” Bree whines, her rosebud of a mouth pushed out in a pout. It actually sounds like she’s saying I scheme.

  Paige looks up at me and sighs the way mothers do when they’re getting ready to go into bargaining mode.

  “Go on, take her. I’ll wait.” I flick my hand in the direction of the ice cream stand.

  We all agreed to meet at the entrance near the ticket booth. Paige texted Chelsea a picture of us from earlier this morning and told her we’d be the ones pushing a rainbow stroller with a toddler who’s Paige’s mini-me.

  From the picture Chelsea sent Paige, I know to be on the look-out for a blonde wearing a University of Chicago tank top and jean shorts.

  Rising from her haunches, Paige appears poised to speak. I hold up my hand, stopping her in her tracks. “No arguing. Now go get my goddaughter her cone or I’m calling her father,” I mock threaten. “You know I have his number on speed dial.” The guys and a bunch of their friends try to meet once a month for a pick-up game of basketball. This Saturday is that day.

  Paige performs an exaggerated eye roll. When it comes to their daughter, Mitch is the soft touch and everyone knows it. Especially Bree.

  “Alright, I’m going,” Paige says with a laugh, and then proceeds in the direction of the makeshift storefronts selling everything from peach cobbler, peach pie, red velvet cake, and homemade biscuits to the aforementioned ice cream.

  They are gone less than a minute before I spot a girl wearing a fitted pink tank top staring at me. No U of C shirt, visor or glasses, but she has the same blonde ponytail as the girl in the photo, and she’s looking at me as if I’m familiar to her.

  When she waves at me, I can only conclude it must be her. In a matter of seconds, we’re standing face to face, and wow, the picture doesn’t do her justice. The person in front of me is what’s widely known as a blonde bombshell with vivid blue eyes and full red pouty lips. She resembles a modern-day Marilyn Monroe minus the sultry, come hither vibe.

  “I thought you’d be wearing glasses and the University of Chicago shirt,” I blurt out before I can catch myself.

  A faint blush suffuses Chelsea’s cheeks. “I only need glasses to read and I spilled orange juice on the shirt.”

  Lord, now I’ve embarrassed the poor girl. I quickly thrust out my hand. “Forgive my manners. Hi, I’m Erin. You must be Chelsea.”

  Chelsea’s smile suggests she’s as shy as April said she is. Her handshake is firm, though.

  “Paige is getting ice cream for Bree,” I explain when I see her gaze darting around, no doubt looking for the other two members of the outing. “They should be back in a few minutes.”

  Chelsea nods before saying softly, “I really appreciate you guys offering to show me around. April can’t say enough nice things about you and Paige.”

  I huff a laugh. “Well, April is pretty fabulous herself.” They’re all great. April, Liv, Rebecca and Emily, whom I met when Paige and I went to New York last spring. Their men are great too, and definitely easy on the eyes.

  Smiling, Chelsea nods in agreement. “Yeah she is. Very much the life of the party.”

  I glance around, looking for somewhere out of the sun to wait for Paige and Bree when my search comes to a screeching halt. Unable to believe my eyes, I do a double take.

  Oh my God. Dale. What is he doing here?

  This must be what it’s like to hit a brick wall going sixty miles an hour. My breath catches in my throat as my pulse accelerates.

  The lack of emotion on his face is a fair indication that my presence here isn’t a surprise to him. That perhaps he knew I’d be here. My skin prickles at the thought along with a healthy dose of alarm.

  Then he’s striding toward me, his whole demeanor giving the impression he’s here on a mission. That he only has one destination in mind and that’s me. I instinctively take several steps back when he comes to a halt in front of me and almost bump into Chelsea. Despite the fact that I’m invading her personal space, she remains close by my side. It’s as if she senses what I know to be true: Dale is trouble.

  “We need to talk.”

  That’s Dale. He doesn’t ask, he demands like a spoiled little rich boy accustomed to getting his way. It’s the same way I heard him speak to his housekeeper and the man who takes care of their lawn. I’ve even heard him take that tone with his mother.

  “We don’t need to do anything,” I reply, my tone calm but razor sharp. “I told you not to contact me again.”

  Chelsea’s eyes widen as she finds herself witness to a test of wills.

  Dale’s gaze flicks briefly to her. The lack of interest he exhibits is surprising because Chelsea is the type of girl who’d catch his eye. Who am I kidding? She probably catches the eye of every guy wherever she goes

  “Look, Erin, I don’t have time for games. We need to talk.” The latter is uttered through clenched teeth.

  I’ve seen that look in his eyes
before. It’s when his anger is building and his hold on his emotions begins to fray. And sometime after that, he snaps.

  My heart is beating thunderously loud in my ears, but I refuse to succumb to panic or fear. Dale won’t hurt me. At least not out in public where there’d be witnesses because appearances are everything to him.

  “She said she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  My gaze snaps to Chelsea. I’m somewhat surprised that the cool, no-nonsense voice belongs to the same shy blushing girl I met two minutes ago. Then I remember the firmness of her handshake that hinted at an inner strength.

  Dale’s eyes rake her over from head to toe, the action meant to belittle and degrade. “No one’s talking to you, blondie,” he says in a bored dismissive voice.

  Blondie. He couldn’t have made the term sound more disparaging if he’d called her a slut or the c-word. Enraged, I step in front of her in a futile attempt to prevent him from even looking at her. Chelsea doesn’t deserve this. “If you don’t leave us alone right now, I’m calling security.”

  Hands thrusts in his cargo shorts, Dale takes an idle look around. There isn’t a security guard in sight. When his cold stare returns to me, his eyes dare me to follow through on my threat.

  God, all I want to do is wipe that arrogant, smirk off his face. You know who could? Josh—and I’m sure he’d enjoy doing it. But I have means of own. I quickly retrieve my cell phone from my purse. “You know what, screw security, I’m calling the police.”

  The speed at which his smirk disappears is almost edifying. I hit 9 as he watches. Then 1. Before I can hit it again, he barks out harshly, “Alright, I’m leaving.”

  I press 1 anyway and position my finger above the green dial button in case he goes back on his word. One wrong move and this time I will do it.

  “Jesus Christ. When did you become such a bitch?” And with those parting words, he turns and storms off.

  I heave a sigh of relief as I watch him head for the parking lot. Go home or go to hell, I don’t care as long as he’s gone.

  “Oh my God. Who was that?”