Play Fling

by Amber Scott

  No more running. No more scared. She would get what she wanted. Everyone else in this world did. Why not her? God, she wanted him. Too young, too beautiful, spinning her head, Elliott. All to herself, for as long as she could have him.

  She toweled off and clamored for her purse. She dialed his number. It rang. She held her breath to steady her voice. She knew, just knew in her soul, he would answer. Whether or not he’d tell her to screw off, she didn’t know. She wouldn’t think that far ahead.

  This moment. Now.

  “Brooke?”

  Oh, his voice. She’d forgotten how gorgeous his voice was, how it woke deep, slumbering parts of her. “Hey, you,” she said and damnit if she didn’t sound flirty, too.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  She could hear in his tone he wasn’t mad. She hadn’t called for two days and he wasn’t mad. She’d played his same dumb game. But he wasn’t begrudging her for it.

  “I’m great now.” Had she just said that? Wow. “I can’t tell you how hard it’s been waiting.”

  His breath sounded through the phone. If only it was on her neck. “Waiting?” he asked.

  “Mmm hmm,” she said and lay upon her bed, stretching her legs out, letting the towel fall open.

  “For what?” he asked, a catch in his voice sending thrills down to her toes.

  She paused, grinning at the ceiling. “For opportunity, of course.” Oh, she’d forgotten this side of herself. This hidden vixen. Where had she buried it all these years? And why?

  He chuckled. Did he like her little game? Can Elliott come out to play? “Oh? What kind of opportunity?” he asked.

  Brooke smacked her lips loudly so he could hear and imagine. “The chance to be alone,” she said.

  Silence, the delicious, erection-on-my-mind kind. For all of four staggering seconds.

  “Are you,” he said. “Alone?”

  “Mmmm hmmm,” she said. “All alone. Finally.”

  “Finally,” he said on a sigh. “Give me twenty minutes.”

  She suppressed a giggle, kicking her feet into the covers. “What if I can’t wait that long?” she mewled.

  “Fifteen. I’ll make it fifteen. I swear it. Just, don’t start without me.”

  “Mmmm. I don’t know if I can promise that. I’m all wet from a hot, steamy shower.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about your face between my legs.”

  “Alright. Okay. Just don’t end without me.”

  Her cheeks hurt from smiling. They hung up and Brooke leapt up. She had a lot to do in fifteen minutes. Body oil, make-up, deodorant, perfume.

  Stay in towel or bra and panties? Satin robe? No, towel. Sexy. Wet hair. She scrambled around, trying not to sweat too much, shoved laundry in the closet and under the bed, opened wine, checked the clock.

  His knock sounded. She dropped the corkscrew on the counter and rushed to the door. A peek through the peephole confirmed it was him. Really him. Her knees wobbled a little. Not the best timing for adrenaline to kick up so high. Her inner vixen helped Brooke swing open the door, cock her head and, in a snap, bailed on her. Brooke tucked back behind the door, knees quaking.

  Elliott beamed. “Hi there.”

  “Hi” she said. God, she’d forgotten how gorgeous he was. One smile and her whole body turned watery. Come back inner vixen, come back! How was she supposed to seduce him with this many butterflies? Even her chin was shaking.

  His grin widened. He leaned against the doorframe. “Miss me?”

  “Maybe a little.” Her fingers trembled making her towel slip free of them. She screeched, catching it mid-waist. Elliott reached out, but Brooke knocked against the door. “Ouch.” She rubbed the spot.

  “Whoa there. Are you alright?”

  “Yes, fine. Great.” The cold air made her shiver. “Come in.”

  Elliott shut the door and shoved his hands into his jeans. They were faded and worn and frayed. Had his shirt been off, he could have walked off of a 501’s billboard. What had she been thinking answering the door in a towel? Where was all her bravado? Probably suffocating under sweat and nerves. “Give me just a minute.”

  Brooke left him to make himself comfortable, mind racing. She had no idea what to wear. That black dress Millie got her came to mind, but, no. Too dressy. Jeans? Like she had any decent ones that wouldn’t leave crease marks all over her belly and hips once he got her naked.

  Oh, Jesus. Naked. She’d almost forgotten the whole reason for asking him over in all her fuss. Sex. That’s it. Nothing more. So, who cared what she wore? Right? Right. Stick to sexy and stop worrying about first or second or third impressions. He’s here, isn’t he?

  Her hair was half dry and frizzing up nicely. She wrapped herself in her silky Victoria’s Secret robe. More thigh than she remembered it exposing but the jade green fabric shone prettily in the streaming daylight. Enough light to conceal and reveal, all at once. Heat washed through her.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex in the afternoon. Glasses clinked from the kitchen. Was he getting them wine? Good. Maybe it would calm her. She adjusted herself in the mirror, patted a sheet of TP over her glistening face, checked her underarms and shook her hands out.

  Elliott looked up from the kitchen counter when she walked out of her room. His hand stilled. Carefully, he set down the wine glass. He came around the bar counter and toward her. Brooke couldn’t move. She went for her best come hither pose but as soon as he laid eyes upon her, she locked up.

  Her pulse accelerated, her body moistened. He’d taken his jacket off. A snug grey t-shirt outlined his shoulders and chest. His pectorals curved and dipped. Her mind recalled his chiseled abs underneath. Her fingers itched to feel him.

  He stopped in front of her. Close. His heat emanated off of him. “What took you so long?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He cupped her face and pulled her close. His other hand splayed over her lower back. Strength. Tenderness. His gaze held to hers, searching. For what? An answer?

  Even if she had one, she couldn’t talk. She could hardly breathe past the anticipation spiraling up inside her. Her inner vixen returned and she brought an appetite.

  Brooke tugged his shirt up. She touched him. At first with her nails, then her fingertips. Upward and softly. Elliott’s pupils flashed. All question left his eyes. Challenge replaced it.

  Was he daring her?

  Her hands found his jeans. She tugged the fly open, button by button. She dropped to her knees, yanking his pants down. His erection pressed at his boxers. She trailed her nails up his calves, up the backs of his thighs, around to the front, all the while holding her gaze to his.

  Dare her, would he?

  She was no timid little twenty -year-old trying to please a man to keep a man. She was a grown woman who knew what she wanted. For far too long, she’d denied her needs. Years with Jason. Months after him. No more. The gods had given her Elliott.

  His gaze intensified with every inch that she drew closer to his erection. His body jerked as her hands inched in. Over his boxers, inward, nails tickling. Mouth watering.

  She broke their gaze and focused on his burgeoning need. Pulling his boxers slowly down, she thrilled at his sharply indrawn breath. She wanted to make him beg. First, she skimmed the tip of him with her lips, letting her hot breath envelop his softest skin. Elliott’s hands came to her hair. She nudged them away and took charge, flicking her tongue over the tip and licking down his length.

  He was beautiful. Thick and hard, wanting only her.

  Brooke took her time. She wanted to make him forget every other woman he’d ever known. Elliott gasped as she took him into her mouth and suckled, rolling her tongue along the edge of his cock. He throbbed in her mouth. She groaned, enjoying the vibration, imagining the sweet torture she gave him. Her body grew wet at the very idea.

  Then she stopped.

  Elliott gasped again. “Jesus, Brooke. If you knew what you do to me….”

  S
he rose to her feet, hands lingering where he wanted her so badly, wet from her kiss, slick in her hands.

  His body jerked. She smiled wickedly, letting go. Not yet.

  She would savor this affair, drink up every drop. Then end it satiated. She wouldn’t kid herself into believing more could come of this and she no longer cared. Being and feeling like this with him, because of him, was enough.

  Elliot’s hands encircled her waist. He pulled her to him and kissed her. His mouth commanded her lips, his tongue seduced her tongue. Her arousal stoked hot fire through her body, weakening her limbs. She leaned into him. He broke away to kick off his jeans and boxers, then remove his shirt.

  He returned to her, his erection pressing her belly. She pressed back letting her hands find it. Elliott groaned as his mouth ravaged hers, demanding more. She recognized his desperation, because the same need coursed through her. She could sink into him, wrap him around her and bury him inside of her all at once, and it wouldn’t be enough. She would still need more.

  He nipped her lips then sucked. She grasped his flesh, stroking it. Her robe fell to the floor, her insecurities up in smoke. Skin on skin, warmth and chill at once. Her nipples hardened, grazing against his hard chest. Elliott cupped both breasts, teasing his thumbs over her nipples. Brooke gasped in pleasure. His mouth moved to her throat while his hands massaged sweet circles on her aching breasts and his cock teased closer to her heat. Heady arousal thundered through her veins. Touch and sensation swallowed her thoughts up. No fears, only feeling.

  She breathed his woodsy scent in. She tasted his salty skin. Her own breathy panting filled her ears, like the distant slip and crash of waves. Drawing her closer, sheer pleasure ready to pull her under.

  Elliott scooped her into his arms and strode to her bed. He laid her there, then joined her, above her. Brooke pulled him to her, ready to dive into the hot abyss. Elliott shook his head, no. Something naughty glittered in his heavy lidded eyes. He pinned her wrists above her head and licked, down her chest, over each peaked nipple, down her belly.

  Brooke writhed, torn. His mouth would feel so good, wet and hot on her aching need. But she wanted to feel him inside of her. His erection, deep, hard, long. She shook her head and gripped his shoulders. “Please, Elliott” she said and held his gaze.

  He groaned and buried his face into her neck, but he didn’t move. Brooke’s body begged for more. She couldn’t help herself. She wiggled her hips, negotiating his cock into position.

  “You’re going to make me come,” he said, hoarse.

  His cock felt so decadent against her. She dipped and pressed, manipulating it forward. The musky scent of their bodies fed her desire as much as his throaty words. “Not before I do,” she whispered.

  Brooke pushed her hips up. His cock slid into her. She inhaled as the exquisite feel of his cock filled her up. Elliott lifted his head. Ardor beyond anything she’d ever known blazed in his eyes. More than want, adulation shone in them and it sent her to pleasure’s precipice.

  Elliott slid full into her as her walls clenched with the first grips of orgasm. Such sweet fullness. Had a man ever felt so delicious? Her eyes fluttered closed. A deep moan escaped her.

  He withdrew, returned. Another wave hit her.

  “Open your eyes, baby,” he said.

  She obeyed. Slow and methodical, the intensity in his gaze growing, her body crashed around him. Again and again, Brooke gasped and moaned until the last sprays of pleasure left her. Elliott slowed, then began to move faster, harder. He closed his eyes. He stopped.

  New need blossomed within her. His cock pulsed. Brooke squeezed her legs around him, “Not yet. I need more.”

  So close, so very, very close and she would come again. One lift, one press. She glided away and back. Her eyes and her hands gripped his shoulders. She bit against his salty flesh. All the sweet sensations gathered inside of her, coiling closer, tightening. Elliott licked the sensitive spot behind her ear. “You feel so damned good, Brooke.”

  His deep, throaty voice sent shivers over her skin. Climax burst through her in a bright, hot flash. She moaned his name, abandoning to pure ecstasy. Wave after wave radiated through her, deeper and longer than before. Mindless to anything beyond his body inside of hers.

  Elliott drew out every last spasm from her body. Then he drove one hard, deep stroke into her. His cock throbbed. He arched and delved his hips so deep, Brooke cried out. He came, throb after throb, into her, filling her with primal satisfaction.

  The minutes trickled by, and by the time Brooke’s heart resumed a normal rhythm, Elliott lay asleep next to her. Brooke watched him, amused. She supposed it was his turn to pass out. A stream of sunlight cast a line across his waist. Dust danced in the light. Quiet blanketed the room, broken only by the rustle of sheets when she shifted, a muffled spring from the mattress expanding. The sounds of his sleep.

  Should she wake him? Ask him to go? She certainly couldn’t be offended when she’d done the exact thing not so long ago. She wouldn’t be writing any cryptic note, though.

  Questions spun in her head, but she suppressed them all. Wanting to know meant asking, and asking meant answers she might not like. She wanted to keep this as simple as possible. Let him sleep. He was going to need more energy. Because, though she refused to lose her heart, her body was another matter entirely.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Elliott had never spent this long in bed with any woman. Brooke lay next to him, drifting off, glowing from what he gave her again. He let his eyes rove over her. Hours in bed, maybe, but not days. Never longer than a day, with a bit of morning thrown in, and that had only been once. He and Brooke had spent days in bed. Under the covers, crawling over each other like kittens in a basket. They ate, they showered, they went back to bed. They made out.

  They made love.

  When they weren’t making love, they talked. Make that, he talked. She listened. Intently, too. She nodded and knit her forehead up and scrunched her chin. She asked questions. Good, specific questions like, “Why are you and Gordon so close? Were your mothers close?”

  Yes, she’d remembered from Thanksgiving, their mothers were sisters. (Aha! She had been paying attention.) “Gordon and I were always friends before cousins, though.” And he’d explained.

  Elliott had been a gangly, quirky kid. He’d be nosed inside a book while his brothers were scaling sap-ridden trees or carving bikes down treacherous dirt hills. When they weren’t ditching him, they were bullying. Not an easy boyhood. Picked on by an older and a younger brother, he’d always been the closest with his mom. She was the only one who he wasn’t self-conscious with.

  Until Gordon came around, and that was pretty often. He stood up for Elliott. The bad odds became evened. Matt and Cyrus had to fall back on verbal abuse rather than wet willies and digging noogies.

  “How?” Brooke had asked.

  “Well, Cy, he’s my younger brother, is a master at insults, but with Gordon around, the odds were evened.” Even their insults failed. No one could throw a verbal jab like Gordie. He’d been more chubby than big, and took enough crap at his school that his cousins couldn’t keep up.

  His size helped, plus, Gordon understood Elliott the same way his mom did.

  Gordon didn’t sit around and read with him, though. He dragged him outside instead. But not to trounce the yard or skid their knees. They didn’t have to get rough to have outstanding fun. They sailed the sea, pirated treasure, invaded space, uncovered secret tombs. Boys being boys, but with imagination instead of arm-wrestling.

  Brooke laughed at all the funny parts. Funny like when Elliott and Gordon tied tampons to Matt’s dirt bike and he’d ridden the whole day without noticing. And only noticed when Cindy Montanga asked what they were, all grossed out. “We even colored them red. Bright, blood red.”

  Brooke let her guard down at one point. “Every time I went toilet papering, I chickened out. My friends and I would dress all in black and wear hats and then sneak around the neighborho
od, but never actually do anything. What geeks!”

  Elliott laughed. “Never were a bad girl, huh?”

  “Nope.” She laughed, too. “Good girl through and through.”

  Until now.

  He laughed even harder when she went so far as to advise him on the best way to fake blood for a pad or tampon. “The trick is to make it brownish. Chocolate is excellent and you can really gross a person out if you want to. My sister was a master at it.”

  “What’s your sister like?”

  With a shrug, Brooke closed back up.

  She didn’t share much else and most of what he told her wasn’t very sexy. Even so, it didn’t get in the way of rolling over and kissing her senseless. Sweaty and tired, he could still tell her more.

  About his mom. How much he missed her. How ugly her death was. A horrific ending for such an amazing person. She was the kind of mom that would set up a new toy in the living room, waiting there for you after school. Not because he’d begged her for it or because Christmas was too long a wait. She did it just to see the look on his face when he saw it.

  One time, she got Matt, his oldest brother, an erecter set no one else had. He was a nut for them. Matt had just about peed his pants when he’d seen it. The thing had probably hit the shelves that morning. Matt always loved to build things up just so he could break them down after.

  And Brooke had kissed his forehead then. She didn’t have to talk to tell him things, though. He’d figured plenty out on his own. She hated doing laundry, but was otherwise ultra clean. Clean and organized. Her spare toothbrushes were lined up like soldiers. Her sheets had hospital corners. Or used to. Now they lay in rumpled carnage.

  Most important of all, Gordon was right. She didn’t know Jason was gay. He doubted Brooke suspected, either. Meanwhile, Gordon was anxiously waiting for Jason to get the guts to come out. Brooke asked about Gordon like he was Jason’s business friend who just happened to be his cousin. Like, hey, small world. Leaving the gay parts out of Gordon stories hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it. Just in case. Cagey as she’d been with this affair so far, he wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. Something like that had to be damaging on a woman’s self-esteem.