Page 196 of Like a Power Play
Peyton turns, gesturing to the collection of plaques and trophies. “Yeah, but you have enough to scrape them all into a ring or something.”
I laugh, closing the space between us and cupping her face. “What can I say?” I tease, tilting my head to the side. “I’m a winner.”
Those full lips part into an amused grin, and she kisses me soft and slow. Tender. Like she’s savoring it. And my heart still pounds like it did the very first time.
“So humble,” she murmurs against my mouth.
I smile into her, slipping my tongue between the cut of her teeth. Her fingers knot in my hair, nails skimming my scalp, dragging a shuddered breath from my chest. My fingertips sneak beneath the hem of her shirt, slowly tracing the muscle-carved groove down the center of her abdomen, while my other hand rests at the small of her back, anchoring her to the edge of my desk.
We kiss like we’ve got nothing but time. Like our tongues are tectonic plates, slipping against one another, sending an earthquake down my legs. Already desperate, I grip her shirt and tug it over her head, revealing her pale supple chest beneath her black sports bra. It takes everything in me not to moan at the sight of her. Not to come just from the thought of pressing my face in between them. Instead, I slide my thigh between her legs, and press.
“You’re getting cocky,” she breathes.
“Gold’ll do that to you,” I respond.
A laugh tumbles from her perfect, wet mouth, and I kiss the sound right out of her, pressing her harder against the desk, feeling her perfect tits push against me. My head tips back as she yanks my hair more needily this time, a short whimper escaping me.
“I don’t think you realize how badly I want to fuck you,” she murmurs against my neck. “How badly I want to hear you scream my name. What I’d give to make that pretty fucking pussy of yours weep for me.”
“F—fuck,”I moan. Her grip on my hair tightens, moving lower to the nape of my neck. The bite of the pull sends a wetrush between my thighs, and a hot pulse spreads through my body.
“Do you think you can handle that?” she asks lowly. “Me fucking you until you’re nothing but a begging, pleading mess?”
It’s been weeks since I got my chest tube out, and besides the scar, you’d never know it was there. My chest doesn’t hurt when I laugh anymore, or breathe, or move, and even though I’m still set to get surgery next week, the new course of treatment has definitely helped the pain. I’m on something called certolizumab pegol, which is basically a biologic DMARD. The only downside is that it’s an injection, and I’mreallynot a fan of needles. But if a couple needles a month gets me fucked by Peyton like she means it, I’d sign up for a thousand.
“Yes,”I beg. “I can handle it.”
She grins devilishly. “Yeah?”
My pulse hammers into overdrive, and I nod like it’s the only thing I can do, gasping for air. Still gripping my hair, her free hand travels to the waistband of my pants, finger dipping just barely along the seam, scrubbing goosebumps down my burning body.
“Then go over to my backpack and show me what’s inside,” she commands.
Letting go of her, rather reluctantly I might add, my breath and heart don’t settle at all as I stroll over to the bed, where her backpack’s sitting. I swallow when my fingers touch the zipper, then glance over my shoulder.
She’s boasting that cocky grin again, and it makes my knees buckle. She grants me an encouraging nod.
I turn back and unzip the bag. Inside is a smaller black velvet pouch.
I don’t need to open it to know what’s inside.
“Take it out,” she says, then strolls over to the pink upholstered bench along the wall. She sits, back arching slightly,perfect tits on display as she leans against it, patting her lap. “Then come here.”
“Now who’s cocky,” I say, like her telling me what to do doesn’t turn my spine to string. It’s pathetic. Ihatebeing told what to do. Always have. But when Peyton does it?
Yeah, itwrecksme.
My fingers tug at the dainty black strings, opening the bag. When they reach inside, they feel something silicone, and flexible. Heat pools in my cheeks as I pull it out, suddenly feeling a little shy.
“Remember that gift card Bailey and Harlowe got me?” she asks, still sprawled out like she’s on display. God, if she was behind glass, I know I’d stare at her all day, just longing for a touch.
“This is it?”
She nods. I pull out the vibrator, revealing dusty pink silicone, curved like a lopsided “U.” The shorter end has a soft, open mouth, while the longer one is thick and cylindrical. Picturing Peyton using it on herself is already enough to make the slick river between my thighs flood, but the thought of her using it on me forces my core to tighten, and my clit to throb.
“Undress.”
My eyes snap up to meet hers. Those golden gems are glowing, hot and hungry. She pats her thighs again, raising her eyebrows like she won’t be asking twice. I move fast. My shirt flies off first, and I toss it carelessly behind me. When I unclasp my bra and let it fall, I catch the way Peyton’s throat bobs. By the time I’m completely naked, she’s practically squirming. It’s kind of funny. She’s trying to act like she’s in charge, but she’s clearly just as desperate as I am.
