Page 49 of Trick Play
“Your phone. Shouldn’t you turn it off too?”
I blink. “Oh. Right. Good point.” My phone is still in my chair where it was stashed under my thigh during dinner. He retrieves it and holds it out to me, waiting patiently while I turn it off and set it next to his.
“Now,” he says, that dark commanding edge back in his voice, “lie back.”
I lean back, the table hard under my elbows, but I stay propped up enough so I can watch.
He picks up my feet one at a time and unzips my ankle boots, dropping them on the floor. Eyes glittering, Cal slips his hands under my top, the calluses on his fingers making me shiver as they brush over the skin on my belly. He undoes the fastener on my pants, the zip making a soft sound, then he hooks his fingers in the waistband and starts inching my pants and underwear down, down, down, his eyes never leaving mine as he slowly drags them all the way off my body, my hips lifting at the right moment almost of their own accord.
He settles on one of the chairs and places my legs on his shoulders, that cocky grin that turns me on way more than it should playing over his lips.
“You ready?” he asks, his hands sliding up and down the outsides of my thighs.
Everything about this feels deliciously naughty. Decadent. Sinful.
I nod, wondering which version of Cal I’m going to get at first. Will he be restrained, teasing, making me beg? Or is he going to go full savage and devour my pussy with his whole mouth? Which do I want more?
Do I even have a preference?
When he leans closer, his hot breath fanning over my mound, I decide that in fact, I do not. I just want his mouth on me, his tongue on my clit, those magical fingers inside me. I don’t care how he does it, as long as he does it.
His tongue parts my folds, tracing all my dips and valleys with the tip of his tongue. Not slowly, but in no hurry either.
“I’ve been dying for this pussy for days,” he says after a moment, a groan of satisfaction riding the words.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, a note of challenge in my voice.
His eyes dart to mine, narrowing slightly. One eyebrow arches. “You don’t believe me?”
I give my best approximation of an unconcerned shrug considering I’m lying on a kitchen table with my pants somewhere on the floor and my legs over a hot football player’s shoulders. Boulder shoulders is the term that comes to mind whenever I see him, even with a shirt on. He’s a little bulkier than the standard build for a quarterback, but I have zero complaints, especially as my calves rest in the cradle made by the dent between his traps and delts, the soft cotton of his henley making me extra aware of the fact that he’s still fully clothed.
“You’re not acting like someone who’s been dying for my pussy,” I murmur.
His eyes flash, something almost feral moving in their depths, and his jaw clenches. I’m poking the beast, and I’m not at all sorry.
Without another word, his mouth is back on me, and there’s nothing leisurely or gentle about it. His tongue spears into me, moving in and out, then he licks all the way up with the flat of his tongue. His eyes never leave mine as he sucks my clit into his mouth, giving me the edge of his teeth until I cry out. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and I know he’d be smirking if his lips weren’t busy.
Two of his fingers thrust into me without warning, but I’m so wet and ready that the invasion is welcome even as I grunt at the suddenness. Curling his fingers, he immediately finds my G-spot, and I’m already reduced to a shivering, shuddering mess as my orgasm races toward me with the force and speed of a bullet train.
Even as my pussy spasms around his fingers and I shriek at the intensity, he doesn’t let up, doesn’t back down for a second. Not until I’m shoving at his head and pushing on his shoulders with my feet. “Enough. Enough. Stop.”
With one last shudder-inducing lick, he stops, standing and sucking his fingers. The fingers that were just inside me. Fuck. Me. This guy. And even though I’m halfway to another orgasm, I’m grateful for the reprieve, my chest heaving as I suck in huge gulps of air. “Holy shit,” I mutter, staring up at Cal’s smug face, that feral look still lingering in his eyes.
“That proof enough for you?” he practically growls.
“Uh-huh.”
He grips my ankles and wraps my legs around his hips, the seams and rivets of his jeans scraping against my thighs as he grinds into me, leaning over and kissing me. When I arch up into him, rubbing my tits on his chest, he slips his hand behind my back, holding me close as he plunders my mouth with his tongue.
“I’ll break the table if I fuck you here,” he murmurs against my lips, and I can’t help smiling.
“That might be kinda fun, though.”
With a chuckle, he straightens and pulls me to sitting. “Maybe when I have time to get a replacement before my roommate gets home.”
Before I can respond, he ducks his head, his hand still holding my wrist, and plants his shoulder in my belly, hoisting me off the table fireman style, my head dangling down his back before I even know what’s happening.
“Hey!” When I smack his ass in protest, he just laughs, a deep rumbling sound that vibrates through his back and into my chest. “For the record, this isn’t what most girls picture when they think of being swept off their feet.”
