Playing For Forever_An Erotic Love Story

by J. C. Grant

  Grabbing one of the bowls, I started filling it with water.

  “A pot shop?” David asked, his eyebrows drawn together.

  Doing a double take, I noticed he wasn't too thrilled about that possibility.

  It took a moment for me to put it together.

  Her owning a cannabis dispensary would be in conflict with his carefully crafted persona.

  I knew my behavior affected him, his career, his image, but I hadn’t considered Mom’s would. I couldn’t help but imagine the kind of spin that would get.

  David Taylor’s drug dealer mother-in-law.

  “No,” I laughed, leaning against the sink. “A dry cleaners.”

  “Cool. So when’s she gonna be home?” he pressed, as I placed the water bowl down for Chance.

  I was a little surprised he didn’t already know my mother’s schedule, since he’d spent so much time talking to her. As I looked at him standing in her kitchen, all my frustration bubbled up. Their phone calls, and planning, scheduling this trip behind my back... “Why don't you call her and ask? Brother.”

  He looked at me, confusion marring his too handsome face.

  “I thought I had a husband, but I'm starting to think I really acquired a brother,” I complained, unable to hide my irritation anymore. He had forced himself into this part of my life before I was ready, without asking, as if it was his right. “You talk to her more than I do. You act like... she just adopted you or something.” I caught myself before I made a reference to her being his mom. Bringing up his late mother was not how I wanted to start the holiday.

  My near slip cooled my anger. Because maybe, just maybe, he was reaching out to my mom because he hadn’t had one in so long.

  “Is that what you want? Me to be your brother?” David either didn’t notice or care about my near faux pas, as he purred, “Wanna get into something kinky?”

  It took a second for me to catch on, but when I did my cheeks heated with embarrassment, despite my growing grin. “What?”

  “I'm down to play,” he rasped, crowding me, pressing me back against the sink.

  “You're crazy,” I admonished, but I couldn't stop grinning.

  “I'm crazy? Because I wanna give you every kinky fantasy you ever had?”

  When he put it that way...

  “Do we have time now?” he asked, his half-lidded gaze raking down my body as his strong arms caged me in.

  I bit my lip, looking up at him from under my eyelashes. “Couple hours.”

  “Show me your room.” His voice was deep and rough, making my core flutter.

  I let out a little squeal and ran toward the stairs, David right behind me.

  As we entered my old room, David asked, “How long have you had this bed?”

  My room had exactly five pieces of furniture: an almost black, distressed wood nightstand, armoire and chest of drawers, a taupe chair, and my bed. It was a queen bed with an antique iron headboard featuring a vine design. The headboard I'd had since I was thirteen, but I knew David was referring to the mattress.

  “No one's slept on it but me. That I know of. We bought it a year before I moved to LA.”

  “Cool,” he murmured, stripping off his shirt. Then his boots hit the floor, followed by his jeans.

  The taupe blackout curtains, which I'd insisted on when I was a teen, were partially drawn. The light filtering in through the sheer layer underneath cast a soft glow over his thickly sculpted muscles, magnifying the prominent veins running along his forearms and lower abs.

  I blindly toed off my shoes, my gaze locked on his deep V of muscle as he moved toward my bed.

  I noticed the linens were new, more masculine than my style—a brown and blue damask comforter with navy blue sateen shams and light blue sheets. It was obviously a high-priced luxury set.

  “Looks like you ranked high enough for new sheets,” I teased, downplaying their meaning. Mom wanted David to feel welcome. To feel loved.

  “These're new?” he asked, pulling back the covers, climbing in. “Guess, I really do have your mother's approval.”

  “Like you didn't know,” was my sassy reply as I clumsily pulled off my socks. When I gripped the hem of my shirt, that deep and rich resonant voice stopped me, quietly commanding my full attention.

  “Leave the leggings and shirt on.”

  He held the covers up in invitation, and I noticed he was still wearing his black boxer briefs.

  Biting my lip, I crawled in, unsure what he had in mind.

  As the blankets settled over us, our gazes caught. Those dark eyes pulled me in, promising to fulfill my every fantasy, but I couldn't help feeling silly.

  “David, I don't know if I can do this. Role-playing,” I admitted.

  “I don't wanna role-play. I wanna pretend.” His voice was low and soft, like he was confessing his deepest, darkest secret.

  I shifted uncomfortably, partly from the conversation, partly from being fully dressed in bed. “It's the same thing.”

  “No, it's not. You act, that's pretending. That's pretending so well that you believe it yourself. That's what I wanna do.” He was so sincere, I realized this wasn't sex play; this was something more.

  I made a reluctant noise in my throat.

  “Just listen to me,” he coaxed gently, then pulled me up on my side, facing him, our bodies less than a foot apart, but the only point of contact was his hand on the dip of my waist, playing with the hem of my shirt.

  Something about it was more intimate. Our clothes on, in my childhood bedroom, in absolute silence, the sheet pulled up to his shoulder, creating a semi quasi tent. Suddenly, I felt like a teenager who had snuck a boy into my room, excited, nervous, waiting to find out what he would do next.

  “Close your eyes.”

  The tender, pleading quality in his tone had me obeying without question.

  “After my mom died, my aunt called and looked up any family member, no matter how distant, trying to get rid of me. She promised my mother she wouldn't kick me out before I graduated, but she still tried everything she could to get rid of me.”

  With that new information, my heart broke for him officially. I couldn't imagine that level of rejection at seventeen years old. He'd told me she didn't want him around and made him pay for his own food, but to openly and actively try to pawn him off on a virtual stranger?

  “So what I'm saying is, what if some crazy thing happened and someone knew someone who knew someone, and your mom offered to take me in for the last couple of months of my junior year until I graduated.”

  That scenario I could imagine. My mother wouldn't have hesitated to help him, would've wanted to do anything to make his life better, easier.

  “So.” His voice was still hushed but deeper, more intimate, making my breathing hitch. Then his hand moved on my hip, drawing lazy circles, and I felt a little flutter in my stomach. “I'm just saying, what if your mom had taken me in at seventeen.”

  Those lazy circles became bigger, pushing my shirt up fractionally.

  “The first time I laid eyes on you,” he continued, softly. His voice was an arousing mix of possessiveness, desperation, and awe. “It would’ve been game over. I would've reacted to you the same way I did—actually, it would have been way worse.”

  My world narrowed down to his husky voice filling the small space between us as I built the scene he was describing in my mind.

  “I was so lost and looking for someone to hold onto, someone to love, take care of... I would’ve known as soon as I saw you, and I would've followed you everywhere. Clung to you like a life raft in a storm.”

  My heart did a happy leap at the thought of David at seventeen, same height—from our previous discussions—with half the muscle. Me still wearing baggy clothes, desperately trying to hide my developing curves.

  I could picture it perfectly.

  “You don't know that you would've been physically attracted to me when I was fourteen.” My voice was soft, quiet, not wanting to break the mood.


  “Wouldn't have mattered what your body looked like—but, I would've been. I've seen pictures. You were already in a D cup, and your hips had already filled out.”

  My eyes open at that. “My mother showed you pictures?”

  David nodded.

  Goddamn, my mother had no boundaries whatsoever.

  And I wasn't in a D yet. I was at that awkward point where a C was too small and a D was too big. But I wasn't going to correct David's generous interpretation.

  “Hey.” His voice softened, and I inwardly cringed, knowing what was coming. “All that stuff you're scared of me knowing? I've known since before we got married. Your mom told me.”

  Fuck.

  I knew leaving them alone for two seconds was a mistake.

  “Now, close your eyes for me.” There was a tenderness in his voice that pulled at something inside me, making warmth bloom hot and fierce in my chest and cunt.

  Finishing his what if scenario seemed to mean something to him. And knowing it was pointless to be upset about something he'd known for over two months, I forced myself to let it go and closed my eyes.

  “At fourteen, your body was ready for me—”

  My core fluttered. “What if I'd been too intimidated by you?”

  “I'd have told you everything about me, about my past. We'd have connected just like we did, but you'd have been more open.”

  It was messed up, but so true. It hit me then, David had given this quite a bit of thought.

  “And if you weren't ready for a relationship, I would've waited. And I would've scared off any guy who looked at you. I'd have been your permanent shadow.”

  “You'd have been possessive at seventeen?” I whispered through a grin.

  “Hell yeah. Especially since I didn't have anything. Would've kept you all to myself. No boys coming over to do homework, hang out, none of that shit.”

  I couldn't help but giggle at that. “I didn't start hanging out with boys till high school.”

  “Wouldn’t've happened then either,” he muttered.

  His hand fanned out across my hip, palming possessively, his thumb tucked under my shirt, finding my bare skin, sweeping back and forth rhythmically.

  “All mine,” he growled. “Right from the start.”

  Goose bumps raced over my skin and my breath caught.

  “I would've play wrestled with you. Stealing the remote from you, keeping it out of your reach, getting you to climb all over me to get it back.”

  Oh, God.

  I could see it. It felt as real as if it was an actual memory. My breathing turned heavy as I visualized straddling him on the couch, our chests pressed together, me struggling to reach a remote he held captive in his big hand.

  He continued on. “I would've kept play-wrestling with you until your body's instincts took over, finding friction against me. And the first time you did, the first time your body reacted, I would've encouraged you.”

  His hand on my hip slid around, palming my ass, then massaging rhythmically. That's when I noticed my hips were already shifting of their own volition.

  Fuck, I was horny. And wet.

  His strong thigh slid between mine, pressing firmly against my sex, his hand still kneading, urging me to ride it.

  And ride it, I did, my hips shifting with purpose, working my clit against him, chasing my orgasm.

  “Come for me,” he managed through labored breaths, that big hand still encouraging.

  And just like that—with my eyes closed, our heavy breath the only sound in the room, the thin fabric of my leggings the only thing separating my throbbing sex from his hard thigh—we were teenagers, hiding in my room, doing something we weren't supposed to be doing.

  “That's it, just like that. Grind down on me, take what you need,” he rasped, his lips brushing along my forehead, his body strung tight, restraining himself.

  There was something different about his touch. More careful, gentler? Whether deliberate or not, he was showing me what it would’ve been like, how he would have handled me, how he would have treated me. It was fucking hot.

  Arching, I pressed my chest against his, gripping his shoulders as I raced toward climax.

  “Don't stop.” He held my hips, following the movements, not forcing.

  “David,” I gasped as pleasure shot through me, sharp and sudden, tremors racking my body as I came.

  “Yeah, that's my sweet girl,” he growled softly.

  “Again,” I breathed.

  “Take what you want, anything you want.”

  As my hips shifted, I tucked my head into the crook of his neck, focusing on the pleasure still pounding through me.

  “I would've owned your first orgasm,” he went on. “I would've let you use me every day to come, held you just like this until you were shaking against me.”

  God, that sounded perfect.

  “It wouldn't've taken long,” I admitted.

  Because at fourteen, I'd already had more orgasms than I could count. The first by accident; the rest, very much intentional.

  “You were already playing...?”

  I nodded. My voice came out small, shy when I elaborated, “Using a pillow.”

  A deep “Mmm” vibrated through him. “I fucking love your body. It would’ve drove me crazy, but I would've waited to fuck you. Because there're so many things I'd wanna do first. Make you come with my fingers, my mouth. We would've learned together all the different ways to make you come, all the spots that drive you crazy. We would've learned all that together.”

  My body tightened at his words, on the verge of another orgasm. I was shocked by how aroused I was by just the thought of this alternate reality.

  Then the full meaning of what he said sunk in. He was still a virgin at seventeen, which made sense. When did he have the time, between getting the shit beat out of him and taking care of his dying mother.

  “But if that had happened, you wouldn't have your baseball career,” I countered, playing devil’s advocate.

  “Yes, I would.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “But I would've played harder, better, because I would've had you to take care of. I would've worked my ass off and made pro in one year instead of two.”

  I loved that. It made my insides all warm and squishy. He was so open, vulnerable, and I’d never been more in love with him.

  “But how would you have handled me being in high school and you being halfway across the country?” I asked through a growing grin, far too pleased by what he was saying, and wanting more.

  “I would've begged your mom, on my hands and knees, to homeschool you.” I could hear the smile in his voice. He shifted, his tone turning serious and sincere, “I would've seen you every chance I had—flown you out. Called and texted you all fucking day, every day.” Then he added, in the most charmingly cocky way, “And you'd know from the other girls at school, you'd see how shitty their boyfriends treated them... make you want me even more.”

  A huge grin split my face.

  That was true. I could only imagine how mature David was at seventeen, with everything that he'd been through.

  I could visualize everything so clearly.

  “Hell, I bet I could've convinced your mom to let us get married when you were seventeen.”

  God, he's probably right.

  “But if that'd happened, I wouldn't have the show now. I wouldn't have had all those Hollywood firsts.”

  “Yes, you would. I learned everything—all the games, rules, and crazy shit—the hard way. We would've moved to LA together, learned the ropes together. You would've had more firsts, because I wouldn't've known what all I needed to protect you from.”

  Envisioning it so clearly, I let myself get lost in that world for a moment. A world where we'd been together from the start.

  It felt fucking amazing.

  The alternate reality he’d created was perfect. It solved our problems, because our issues weren't what happened to us, not really. The problems between me and David were from our dating history
; the video, the exes, being cheating on—at least for me.

  The first time I was cheated on, I was genuinely blindsided. It never occurred to me that someone would go to the trouble of lying and cheating, instead of just breaking up with me. Maybe that was because I never felt anything for them; getting rid of one and acquiring a new one held no real meaning for me—other than a nice change of pace.

  I wanted the picture David had painted. Really wanted it. In the next breath, I realized we could never have it—ever.

  “But we can pretend.” David's soft rasp broke through my thoughts.

  I didn't know how much of that I had said out loud, but it was apparently enough.

  “Won't we seem kinda crazy?” I asked quietly, both embarrassed and hopeful. I really wanted to pretend.

  “Who's gonna know?” he challenged gently. “But us? And it's not forever, but why not pretend while we can, while we're on vacation?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded, biting my lip.

  I knew we’d just reached a new level of fucked up. Pretending like our problems didn't exist wasn't healthy; it would most likely come back to bite us in the ass. But it felt too good to care.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Hey,” David's deep voice interrupted my intense struggle to wrap my head around the reality show we were watching, WAGS, and the fact I was potentially going to be dealing with these type of catty women.

  Worse. I was technically going to be a WAG.

  WAG… Could they have come up with a more unattractive term?

  We'd been lying on the couch for an hour; I was curled against his side, my legs tangled between his, his heavy arm around me, holding me in place.

  “Is there a reason you’re making me watch this?” I blurted, not looking away from the screen.

  It was the first day since we had arrived that we weren't running errands or going out to lunch and dinner with my mom. It had started as soon as my mother arrived home, shortly after we made our pact to pretend, and David made me come a dozen times.

  Over the past few days, David’s behavior had been drastically different. He was more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. I wasn’t sure if it was being away from Hollywood or just our pact, but things between us were perfect.