Page 49 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

As we exit the tower, the humid air thick with the smell of paint and sweat, that familiar post-victory euphoria hits me good and hard.

My pulse races; my hands still tremble from the rush.

Without thinking, I grab Forrest’s wrist and tow him toward a small equipment shed half-hidden by overgrown bushes near the edge of the playing field.

“What are you?—”

I silence him with a look.

“Taio and Saylor can handle the victory formalities,” I whisper, tugging him into the shed and closing the door behind us.

The space is tiny—barely six by six, with shelves of paintball supplies lining the walls.

Dust motes dance in the shafts of afternoon light filtering through cracks in the wooden slats.

Forrest’s eyes darken as he realizes my intent. “Sora…”

“I must be on an adrenaline high or something,” I confess, my voice raspy as I press against him.

“I never do things like this. Ever. But there’s something about you that makes me…

” I gulp, unable to articulate the whirlwind of desire that’s been knocking around my insides since the moment I met him.

“Makes you what?” he prompts, giving me a long, molten look.

“Different,” I whisper. “You make me want to live a little.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Fooling around in an equipment shed is living a little?”

I lift up on tiptoe and press my mouth to his, tasting the salt of sweat on his upper lip.

His helmet dangles from his hand as he drops it to the ground, wrapping his arms around me.

The protective gear makes intimate contact nearly impossible, layers of padding keeping our bodies frustratingly apart.

“Off,” I command, fumbling with the straps of my vest. “Too many…obstacles.”

“Are you sure?” Forrest asks, even as his fingers assist mine, tugging at buckles and fastenings.

“We’ve been dancing around this for weeks,” I say raggedly. “I keep waiting for you to… Anyway, I’m done waiting.”

His chuckle is low and rough. “I was trying to do something special for you. A nice date first, or?—”

“I don’t want special. I want now .” I unsnap the straps of my camo overalls. They fall to my waist, leaving me in only the tight black tank that still feels like too much fabric between us.

Forrest’s gaze travels hungrily over my body. It might as well be a physical touch, leaving trails of heat wherever it lands. “Someone could walk in.”

“Then you better be quick.”

That’s all the invitation he needs. All at once he backs me against the wall, his mouth finding mine in a bruising kiss that’s nothing like the careful, tentative ones we’ve shared before.

This is raw and desperate, his tongue demanding entry, teeth grazing my lower lip.

I match his energy, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

The shed is stifling, the air heavy with dust and the scent of paint and our mingled sweat.

The wooden wall is rough against my back, but I barely register it, too consumed by the heat of Forrest’s body against mine.

His hands are everywhere—sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts, fingertips digging into my hips.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs against my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. “Every night since I moved in. It’s fucking torture, lying in bed, knowing you’re right above me. Wondering if I’m also on your mind…maybe touching yourself, thinking about me.”

His hand goes exploring beneath my tank top, palm hot against my skin as he cups my breast. Even through my sports bra, my nipple hardens against his touch. His thumb circles it, the friction of the fabric creating a delicious tension that has me arching into his hand.

“Forrest,” I gasp, my head falling back against the wall as he pushes the tank up, mouth replacing fingers. The wet heat of his tongue through the thin fabric of my bra delivers shockwaves straight to my core.

My hands go on their own little quest, tracing the hard planes of his chest beneath his shirt, marveling at the contrast of smooth skin and taut muscle.

I tug impatiently at the hem, needing to feel him, all of him.

He pulls back just long enough to strip it off, then returns to me, skin against skin as I rake my nails lightly down his back.

He groans when I palm him through his pants, already hard and straining. “We don’t have much time.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” I whisper, my voice unrecognizable even to myself—breathy, demanding, shameless.

He turns me around to face the wall, the sudden movement making me inhale sharply. His chest presses against my back, one strong arm wrapping around my waist while his other hand slides beneath the waistband of my leggings, fingers dipping into my underwear.

“Already so wet,” he murmurs against my ear, the wonder in his voice sending a fresh surge of arousal through me. His fingers find me slick and ready, the first touch making my knees buckle.

I bite back a moan as his middle finger circles my clit, teasing at first, then with growing pressure. His other hand covers my mouth, muffling the sounds I can’t help making as he glides one finger inside me, then two, deepening his reach to hit the spot that makes me see stars.

“Shh,” he whispers, his mouth open and hot against my neck. “Unless you want the whole paintball field to hear you come.”

The thought of being discovered only heightens every sensation—his fingers pumping inside me, his thumb working my clit, his erection pressed hard against my ass through our clothes. I rock back against him, chasing the building pressure, lost in the dual sensations of fullness and friction.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice hewn with desire. “Don’t fight it. Let go for me.”

The cords of his forearm flex with his movements, his wrist twisting slightly to adjust the angle. His palm molds to my pubic bone, creating counter pressure with the rhythm of his fingers inside me that’s making me mindless, and my inner walls clench hard around him.

As if inspired, Forrest’s thumb presses more firmly, making tight circles around my clit as his fingertips curl upward, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. The combination is overwhelming, sending floods of sensation that capsize me.

I moan and whimper, issuing sounds I don’t recognize.

My thighs begin to tremble, my body tensing as the orgasm builds.

When his teeth scrape the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder, I shatter.

The orgasm hits me with sudden force, my walls clamping down around his fingers as the burst of pleasure radiates.

What I could not have prepared for is the intense release that follows, a small rush of wetness soaking his hand and the inside of my underwear.

“Sora,” Forrest whispers, sounding awed. “Do you always do that?”

I shake my head, too stunned to speak, my legs quivering so badly I’d collapse if not for his arm around my waist. “Sorry, sorry,” I murmur, breathlessly. “I’ve never…not like that ?—”

“Just for me? Fuck, I love that so much. Good girl ,” he growls. “From now on you only come for me.”

“Yes, okay. Yes .” My lungs are all but collapsed, my skin hypersensitive as aftershocks ripple through me.

When I can finally move again, I turn in his arms, dropping to my knees on the dusty floor. His head rears back as I reach for his waistband, then work the button of his pants with newfound determination.

“Your turn,” I offer, peering up at him through my lashes. My hair has come loose from its ponytail, falling in waves around my face.

“You don’t have to—” he begins, but stops when I press my palm committedly to the large bulge in his pants.

“I want to.” I free his cock, wrapping my hand around the impressive length.

My thumb and middle finger can barely connect around his girth.

It might be more than I can handle, but lust obliterates my hesitance.

He’s pulsing and hot in my palm, the skin like velvet over steel, already leaking from the tip. “I’ve pictured this for weeks.”

“Does it measure up to your fantasy?” His voice is shredded and strained.

“Far exceeds.” As I lap at the smooth crown of his sex.

The shed’s dim lighting casts shadows across his face, but I can still see the way his pupils dilate, the way his jaw clenches with restraint. His hand comes to rest on my cheek, thumb brushing my bottom lip in a gesture that’s surprisingly tender given the urgency of the moment.

His head falls back against the wall as I take him into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the head before I take him deeper. The taste of him is salt and musk, distinctly male, distinctly Forrest. His fingers twine in my hair, not guiding, just holding on as I set my own pace.

I hollow my cheeks, sucking as I pull back, then swallow him deeper. My hand works what my mouth can’t reach, twisting slightly on the upstroke. I can feel the tautness in his thighs, the restraint it takes for him not to thrust.

“Fuck’s sake,” he groans when I use my free hand to cup him, gently rolling his balls between my fingers. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

I hum in agreement, the vibration eliciting a curse under his breath. His hips start to move in small, controlled thrusts, careful not to go too deep. Always considerate, even when he’s losing control.

The power I feel is intoxicating—this strong, gorgeous man coming undone by my touch, by my mouth. I’ve never felt so desirable, so feminine, so connected to someone during an act that’s always felt more mechanical than intimate before.

“I’m close,” he cautions me after a few minutes, trying to pull away. “Sora, move?—”

I ignore his warning, redoubling my efforts.

I take him as deep as I can, relaxing my throat around him, feeling him swell against my tongue.

With a strangled groan, he comes, his release hot, so deep against the back of my throat, I have no choice but to swallow.

I do so without hesitation, reveling in the carnal intimacy of knowing him like this— the taste of him.

My breath slows. I hold his eye contact as I lick my lips.

For a moment, we’re locked in time—him leaning against the wall, me kneeling before him, both of us breathing hard. Then reality starts to filter back in. The sounds of the paintball field outside, voices calling for us, the uncomfortable awareness of our surroundings.

“That was…” Forrest starts, helping me to my feet.

“Overdue,” I complete, adjusting my clothes. “We’re behind on our research, Forrest. Time to catch up.”

He chuckles, tucking himself back into his pants. “I fucking love school.”