Page 74 of Play For Me

She nods eagerly. “I don’t know what it is but, yeah. Totally hot in glasses, Barnes.”

I don’t know who moves into the kiss first—probably me. It just seems like the most natural thing in the world to pull her closer, to press my lips against hers. Natural and completely necessary. Like something terrible might happen if I don’t.

I deepen the kiss and she makes a little noise in her throat and suddenly there’s way too much distance between us. I pull her in so she’s standing between my lags, wrapping my arm around her waist while the other hand remains firm on the back of her head. She grips my shoulders and then—holy shit, she lifts her legs over mine so she’s straddling me and my brain completely shuts off. Then she takes the same glasses she had just been praising off my face, setting them carefully on thenightstand, before kissing me again, even more desperately this time.

There are so many reasons to put a stop to this. I could get kicked out of the program if anyone found out. It could be embarrassing for Cecelia. It’s a distraction from the work I’m supposed to be doing, a distraction from the team.

Even worse, there’s a very good chance that going any farther with her will end up with me feeling far more fucked up than I did after my run in with Sybil. I’ve had twenty-two years to get used to the way my parents make me feel. All things considered, they really can’t hurt me anymore.

But Cecelia Ransome could wreck me.

I’ve known it since the first time I laid eyes on her at that party her freshman year. She’s too beautiful, too funny, too talented. She’s warm and easy and brave and loving—everything I’m not. It won’t take her long to realize that. Yeah, she might be attracted to me. Might like me enough to go to all this trouble tonight to pull me out of my mood. Might even enjoy spending time with me.

But it won’t be more than that. Not once she realizes how different I really am.

Cecelia and I do not make sense together, and I know I’m the one who’s going to end up hurting when she realizes it.

The really fucked up thing, though? I can’t bring myself to care. Not if it means stopping. Not if it means ending this kiss or giving up the feel of her body against mine. Not if it means losing the needy little sounds she’s making or the feel of her hair running through my fingers or the way her hands are clinging to my shoulders.

In that moment I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m not going to be the one to walk away from this. And if that means I end up hurting later, so be it.

I’m pretty sure Cecelia is worth it.

TWENTY

CECELIA

There’s a very dim voice in the back of my head telling me this is a bad idea. And it’s getting quieter every second.

It’s just too hard to think about consequences when I’m kissing Solomon Barnes. I thought I knew what it would be like. After all, I’ve relived that brief kiss on the patio a million times since the party. But I can tell now that he was holding back that night.

Because this kiss? This is not Solomon Barnes holding back. He’s kissing me like I’m his singular point of focus, like I’m the only thing that matters in the world. His lips are warm against mine, insistent and greedy, while his hand cradles the back of my head like I’m something precious to him. His other hand slides down to my waist, tugging me closer, until we’re pressed so tight together it’s hard to tell where he ends and I begin.

So no, I’m really not thinking too much about the consequences right now. Solomon is kissing me and holding me and it’s basically all I’ve wanted since I first saw him covered in punch at the frat house.

That image is the one to finally break through and give me pause. He’d been so upset at that party, completely shut down. The same way he’d been last night after seeing his mom. Thesame way he’d been all day. I don’t pretend to understand exactly what’s going on when he gets like that, but it’s obvious he wasn’t in a good place before I walked in here.

Am I taking advantage of him?

On the other hand, he was pretty annoyed when Emery called to fuss over him. I remember the exhaustion in his voice when he told me how tired he was of feeling needy, being taken care of. If I stop this and check to make sure he’s on board—even when his every action is telling me that he very enthusiastically is—am I just doing the same thing?

His hand drifts from my waist down to my ass and the noise he makes sends my doubts scrambling. It definitely doesn’t feel like I’m taking advantage.

“I want to see you so bad,” he murmurs as his hand finds the hem of my t-shirt. “Can I take this off?”

It’s my turn to make an embarrassingly needy noise and he grins against my mouth. “Is that a yes?” I nod in assent and he slips the fabric up over my belly and God, it feels so good to have his big warm hands on my bare skin.

He goes still when my shirt is off. I’m not wearing anything fancy underneath—I rarely do, preferring to stick to simple triangle bras in comfortable fabrics. But Solomon is staring at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen. And then he reaches over to the nightstand to grab his glasses, presumably to get a better look, and I blush right down to my toes.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he whispers, voice rough. “Foryears, Cecelia.”

“Years?” I squeak out.

“Years,” he confirms, hands moving up to cup me over my bra. “And you’re so much better than I could have imagined.”

“Hang on.” I don’t want him to stop touching me but I need more details here, so I pull back a little. “Years?”

He nods, eyes still locked on my chest. His cheeks are ruddy, his eyes bright and wild, and a rush of warm power goes through me. He wants me. This beautiful, always so controlled man is desperate for me.