Play Along (Windy City Series Book 4)

When I push open the door to the women’s restroom where we first met, I find Isaiah with his hands braced on the sink counter, tie loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

He’s looking at his reflection as if he can’t recognize the person looking back. Then his attention swings to me.

“I’m pissed off right now, Kenny, and I don’t want to talk to you.”

I try to ignore the sting of his words. He’s upset. He’s having a bad day and doesn’t believe he’s allowed to have them.

“Good.” I lock the door behind me. “Be mad at me. I’m not going anywhere. You being pissed off doesn’t scare me.”

His brown eyes flash with confusion.

I slide into the space between him and the sink, reaching up to slip his tie over his head, tossing it to the side before my fingers find the still clasped buttons on his dress shirt.

“That’s fine if you don’t want to talk,” I continue, undoing his shirt until it falls open. “I don’t need to use words to show you that I want you.”

He stills in confusion, as if he doesn’t believe the words I said. And that’s my fault. I confused him. I never let him believe there was a chance with us.

Because I never let myself realize he was there.

So, I do something I didn’t know I would ever do in front of him—I begin to drop to my knees.

He sucks in an audible breath at the sight, but I keep my eyes locked on his, waiting for permission, hands on my knees as I lower myself.

I’m waiting for his resolve to wash away. For his anger to fade, but it doesn’t.

“Stop,” he says harshly, taking a step back and forcing me to stay on my feet.

My stomach sinks with embarrassment at his command.

As much as I was trying to fake it, I’m in no way comfortable doing this. But I wanted to, for him. This is my worst fear, after all, letting myself want someone only for them to realize they’re good without me. It’s why I never have.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, arms crossed over my middle.

“Don’t fucking apologize.” He watches me with rapt attention as he peels off his suit jacket and drapes it on the bathroom floor between us. “Now you can get on your knees in front of me.”

Oh.

There’s absolutely no playfulness in his tone. It’s commanding and harsh in a way I never thought I’d hear him be with me. But at the same time, I love it. He feels secure enough to be whoever he needs to be when I’m around. He’s not the goofy and lighthearted Isaiah right now, and I have the privilege to see this other side of him.

With feigned confidence, I drop onto his suit jacket, propping myself up on my knees in front of him, palms braced on his quads. My hands look comically small in comparison to his legs, the ring on my finger shining like a goddamn beacon.

“Look at you,” he says, running his thumb over my mouth. “Plump lips parted and ready for me. Brown eyes big and so fucking innocent.”

“Can you teach me what to do?”

His erection is evident against his zipper as his jaw visibly tics.

“You’ve never sucked a cock before?”

“I have.” My words are quiet as I start undoing his belt. “But I was told I wasn’t very good at it, and I want to be. So, I need you to teach me how to do it.”

He runs a palm over my hair, his nostrils flaring as if he were trying to stay in control. “I’ll teach you how to be good, baby, but I’m sure as fuck not going to teach you for anyone else. I’m going to teach you how to be good for me.”

Fuck.

I swivel my hips in a slow circle, looking for friction, but there’s none with my knees spread the way they are. So instead, I focus on unbuttoning his pants and dropping his zipper.

He uses his forefinger to lift both my chin and my attention to him.

Jesus, he’s downright feral.

“I don’t want to be nice to you right now, Kenny. I’m pissed off, and I don’t feel like faking it.”

I run my tongue over my lower lip, and he tracks the entire thing, looking like some kind of predator.

“I don’t want you to fake anything with me.”

The words hang heavy in the air because I’m no longer referring to him faking his demeanor.

We don’t break eye contact, me on my knees and him standing over me.

His jaw tics. “Take it out.”

I do what he says, dropping his pants to his ankles and tugging his boxer briefs down with them. His cock springs free, right in front of me, pulling this desperate sound from deep in his throat as he watches me. He traces every inch of my face as if he plans to paint it soon.

His cock is only inches from my face, and I can’t look away. Angry veins and leaking tip. Fuck, I want it. I want him.

He runs a palm over my head again, my hair slipping between his fingers, cupping the back of my skull to keep me held in my exact position.

“Get it wet.”

My eyes shoot to his.

“Spit on it. Lick it. I don’t give a fuck, but get it wet for me, Kenny.”

Jesus. I’m a squirming mess as I use the tip of my tongue to lick a path over the slit, cleaning up the bead of precum.

His eyes instantly roll back.

“Mmm,” he hums, his entire body vibrating. “Just like that.”

His words spur me on as I grip his shaft with one hand and lick a path from root to tip.

“Yes,” he hisses between his teeth. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”

I attempt to make it worth his wait as I look up at him, flutter my lashes over my heavy eyes, and round my lips to suck him in. Head bobbing, I stroke my tongue in tandem with my lips, but he hits the back of my throat far too soon because he’s much bigger than I’ve ever been with. I keep him there, swallowing around the tip until my eyes are forced closed with tears gathering at the corners, my throat constricting with a choke.

“Jesus, fuck.” He falls forward, bracing himself on the sink with one hand, using the other to tug my hair, forcing me to pull back and take a breath. “Who told you that you weren’t good at this?”

I don’t answer because he already knows. I simply suck in some hard-earned oxygen.

His jaw flexes as he’s bent over, face hovering just inches above mine, cock glistening with my saliva. “He’s a goddamn liar. I don’t need to teach you shit.”

Isaiah runs his thumb by the corner of my eye, gathering the moisture that pooled there.

“I’m going to ruin your makeup.” There’s no warning in his tone. It’s simply a statement. “Then I’m going to ruin you for anyone else. You got it?”

I eagerly nod in agreement.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” I exhale.

“Now keep doing what you’re doing.”

So I do. With my fist, I stroke him, turning my hand to create friction. Then I add my mouth, sucking him deep before coming off him with a lewd pop.

“So fucking good, Kenny. Don’t listen to anyone else. Listen to me. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I follow his cues. His entire abdomen contracts when I use my lips to stroke him, so I keep doing that. His breathing picks up when I flick my tongue over the underside of his head, and then completely stops when I reach up and cup his balls while pushing him into the back of my throat again.

“Fuck.” His curse is sharp as he pulls out of me. “I’m going to come. It’s been way too long and I’m going to come already.”

I nod eagerly, in my fancy gown on the floor of the bathroom with mascara running down my cheeks and spit gathering around the corner of my lips.

Like the classy lady I was raised to be.

He bends over me, gripping my chin. “You going to let me come in your mouth?”

“Yes.” My breaths are short and choppy. “Please.”

“Are you going to be a good little wife and swallow it all for me?”

I nod far too enthusiastically.

“Good.” He licks across my lips and finishes it with a kiss. “Now, take a deep breath because it’s the last one you’re going to get for a while.”

He runs a gentle thumb over my cheekbone, starkly contrasting the warning that he didn’t want to be nice to me, but that’s the only tender moment he gives before guiding my head forward.

As soon as my lips are around him, he sets the pace, fucking my face in a steady rhythm. Palms covering my ears, it’s as if everything else drowns out around me. It’s only him and his body reacting to me.

God, the way he’s looking down at me, his anger mixed with so much need. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed, and I have never felt more powerful than I do now, knowing I’m capable of unraveling him.

I use his legs for support, fingernails digging into his flesh to hold on.

“Hmm,” he hums.

Isaiah watches the way my hands move over him, softly exploring his thighs until they curve around and squeeze his ass. He holds my head and pushes his cock to the back of my throat when I do.

He’s big, towering over me like this. It’s a vulnerable position to be in, at the mercy of someone his size, but I’ve never trusted someone the way I do Isaiah. He pushes into me, but never too far. He keeps pace, but always makes sure I can breathe, visually checking in with me that I’m okay.

“God, you’re so fucking good, Kenny, and that pisses me off that you’d be this good for anyone else.”

Eyes locked on his, I shake my head.

“What’s that?” he asks in this menacing tone, knowing I’m not able to respond with words. “You’re not going to be good for anyone else?”

I shake my head as he continues to fuck my mouth.

“You’re only going to be good for me?”

His thrusts are equally as frantic as his words, and I love it. I nod, my eyes begging for him to believe me.

“Only me, Kenny?”

I moan around his length, my hips rhythmically searching for friction.

“Goddamn, baby. Are you turned on from sucking me off?”

He pulls out of me, giving me a moment to breathe properly. Giving me a chance to think properly. “Yes.”

“Slip your fingers under that dress of yours and show me.”

Heat prickles my skin. I feel a little shy, a little exposed. A bit contradictory seeing as he’s the one almost entirely naked, cock out in the bathroom at our place of work.

He uses a single shaking hand to run through his perfect hair. “Show me.”

I tentatively reach under my dress and gather my arousal on two fingers, holding the evidence up for him to see.

“Fuck,” he growls, his eyes going dark as they lock on my fingers. “You’d do anything I told you to do right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything.”

Isaiah bends over, grabbing my hand, and slipping my fingers into his warm, wet mouth before flicking his tongue over the tips in a way he might do to a very different part of my body.

He nods towards his cock, covered in my saliva, hard and ready to come. “Finish the job, Ken.”

I can’t hold back my smirk, seeing him a little bit unhinged, a little bit wild with me.

“You think this is funny? I’m out of my goddamn mind right now. I don’t ever want to see another man touch you again.”

In response, I hold eye contact, gripping his shaft, and bringing my mouth back to cover him.

“Yes,” he moans, head falling back. “Never again.”

“Never.”

I work his length with one hand, wrapping my lips around the head. It doesn’t take long until his hips jerk in short, sloppy movements. His breathing is labored, his sounds mesmerizing.

“Kenny,” he cries out, followed by a whimper of desperation.

Contrary to his words, Isaiah tenderly holds my other hand—my left hand, rubbing his thumb over my ring—and then he’s coming in my mouth.

I watch the whole thing. The way he folds over and braces himself on one arm, using the sink behind me. The way he tries to keep his eyes locked on mine until the sensation forces them to close. The way every muscle coils up when hot pulses hit the back of my throat. The way he holds my hand the entire time, as if he needed some part of him to be sweet with me the way he typically is.

Reopening his eyes, every ounce of anger washes away.

He gently brushes my hair out of my face. “So pretty like this,” he says. “Mouth full of my cum.” The pad of his thumb traces down the line of my throat. “Now swallow it.”

I don’t even hesitate and do as I’m told.

In one swift movement, he pulls his pants up and drops onto his haunches to be eye level with me. “Did I hurt you?”

His question is frantic, his tone concerned.

“No.”

“Tell me the truth, Kennedy.” He quickly tries to wipe away my smeared mascara streaks, his thumbs frantically attempting to clean any evidence of what just happened. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“I am telling you the truth.”

He pauses, as if he can’t believe me, those concerned brown eyes meeting mine.

My thoughtful husband is back.

“I liked it,” I reassure him.

His grin is lopsided and lazy before he pulls me in for a searing kiss. It’s desperate and apologetic all at the same time. He stands, pulling me to stand with him, keeping me pinned to the sink as he reaches behind me and wets a towel. He takes his time, gently cleaning up my face, under my eyes, my lips.

“I’m okay, Isaiah.”

“You’re better than okay, Kenny. You’re perfect.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

Hooking his hands under my thighs, he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist as he carries me to the couch on the far side of the bathroom. I don’t know that anyone has ever sat on it, seeing as I’m one of two people who ever come in here, unless Isaiah is spending his free time relaxing on the couch in the women’s restroom.

He sits and positions me to straddle his lap, my gown bunching up around my hips.

His voice is low, kept quiet in the small space between us. “You followed me when I told you not to.”

“Sometimes I don’t like to listen to you.”

His eyes sparkle with mischief. “And sometimes you listen and obey real fucking well.” I huff a laugh as he pushes my hair back, big hands bracketing my jaw. “Why though?” he asks.

“Because I’m not afraid that you’re human. You having a bad day or a bad moment is not going to make me want to be around you any less. I have lots of bad moments and still you come back for more.”

“I’ll always come back for more when it comes to you.”

“Then why can’t you believe that I’d do the same for you?” I ask.

Lips parting, Isaiah’s eyes bounce between mine, but he has no retort. Instead, he pulls me in and kisses me.

Softly at first, but it quickly turns hard, rough, and desperate.

A moan escapes me when he wraps an arm around my waist, using his other hand to push my hips into his. He’s getting hard again.

“Already?” I ask against his lips, continuing to rock myself on his lap.

“I walk around with a constant hard-on thanks to you, wifey.” In a swift movement, I’m on my back and Isaiah is on top of me, his long body between my legs. “But I’m more concerned with this right now.”

Palm covering my belly, his thumb traces a slow line over my clit.

“How wet are you from blowing me in the bathroom at our place of work?”

“I’m soaked.”

He groans.

“Dripping,” I continue. “I felt it run down my thighs when you held me in place and used my mouth.”

“You liked that?”

A smirk lifts on my lips. “I loved it.”

His smile matches mine when he leans down and presses his mouth to mine. His tongue sweeps in and the way it moves has me imagining how it’d glide over a different part of my body.

“What do you need?” he whispers.

“I need you to fuck me.”

Isaiah stills above me.

“What?”

“I. Need. You. To. Fuck. Me.” They’re words I never thought I’d say.

“Tonight?”

“Right now.”

“Ken.” His forehead falls to my chest. “I have been dreaming about the day you might say that to me, but I can’t. Not like this. I’m having a shit night. You leave tomorrow. There’s a lot of emotions going on and I don’t want you to regret it in the morning.”

“I won’t,” I quickly disagree. “I know I won’t regret it.”

He doesn’t believe me, and I don’t blame him. I’ve resisted this for years. From his point of view, it does seem like I suddenly changed my mind. And shit, maybe I did. Maybe everything I learned about him tonight is what I was wishing for from him all along. Maybe now I know his feelings towards me aren’t spurred on by wanting something he can’t have.

“Fine,” I relent. “Then I’ll take your mouth.”

His lips tilt, that devilish, knowing smile he’s mastered over the years. “Where?”

A heat creeps up my cheeks, but it quickly cools when I remember who I’m with. “On my pussy.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “My prim and proper wife did not just say ‘pussy’ to me. You keep talking like that and I’m going to come again.”

I chuckle below him. “I would really love it if we stopped talking altogether and you got to work. Show me what you’ve got, Rhodes.”

He laughs. “You know I like it when you’re a little bit mean to me, Kenny. Makes me want to work harder for you.”

Hand wrapping around his nape, I thread my fingers through his hair, running my nails up his scalp until I get to his crown and push down, leading him down my body.

He chuckles to himself as he scoots back on his knees, finding a comfortable spot between my open legs.

He slowly lifts my dress, pushing it up my thighs. “What color panties am I going to find under here?”

My dress gathers over my middle, the back still pinned under my ass, and I watch as Isaiah’s eyes instantly heat, his nostrils flaring when his attention snags on the apex of my thighs.

“You’re not going to find any at all.”

Sitting back, heels to ass, he doesn’t take his attention off me. He scrubs a big palm over his mouth as he traces every inch of my core with his eyes.

“You weren’t wearing panties this whole time?”

I shake my head no. “It caused lines with my dress.”

“I have no fucking clue what that means, and I don’t care.” He runs the pad of his thumb up my inner thigh, cleaning up my arousal. “Fuck me. You really were dripping, weren’t you?”

“Everywhere.”

“We’ve got to clean you up, baby. You can’t be walking around like this. God, this must fucking ache.”

“So much. I need you to help me.”

“I will.”

Isaiah slides down the couch, hooking his forearms under my legs and using his fingers to separate me. The pads of his thumbs sweep up my center, and our matching moans echo off the bathroom walls.

“I should’ve known,” he says, licking a path down my inner thigh, cleaning up my previous mess, “that your pussy would be as perfect as the rest of you.”

“Did you ever think about it before tonight?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His hooded eyes bounce up to mine as he licks another path on the opposite leg. “Countless times, Kenny. I thought about how you’d taste.” His tongue darts out to clean up his lower lip. “Fucking heavenly, by the way. I thought about the way you’d squirm under me. I thought about the way you’d grip my fingers and one day, maybe my cock. I thought about it all. But my imagination wasn’t nearly as good as the real thing.”

He licks a line up the center of my pussy, eyes locked on mine when my back bows off the couch. He hums against my core, sending a wicked vibration up my entire body.

“I want to be so good for you.”

I nod quickly. “You always are.”

“Has anyone ever done this to you?”

“Yes. A few times.”

His eyes flash with annoyance. “Did you come?”

“No. You’re the only person who’s ever made me come besides myself.”

He places a soft kiss on my clit. “Do you touch yourself, Kenny?”

“Sometimes.”

“Good.” He licks me in one long, languid stroke. “Show me.”

“What?”

“You want to learn, but so do I. Teach me how you like to be touched.”

Isaiah gently takes my hand in his, guiding it down my body, over my bunched dress and between my legs.

“Teach me.”

His breaths are labored, his exposed chest expanding and contracting at a quickening pace, but his breathing entirely stops when I glide my fingers down, running the pad of my middle one over my clit.

“Fuck.” It’s silent, as if he forgot to use his voice.

“I start like this.” My hips follow my fingers. “Then I do small circles.”

“Like this?” he asks when he takes my fingers away and bends, his tongue mirroring my movements, circling over my clit in a rhythmic pattern.

“Oh,” I moan. “Yeah, just like that.”

“What else?” He replaces my fingers as he pulls back to watch, his lips glistening with my arousal, and that image alone almost sends me over the edge.

“This.” Up and down, up and down in short fluid motions.

He holds my hand out of the way, using his tongue to match my fingers.

But it feels infinitely better. He takes his time, licking me with pressure, and I can’t help but chase his mouth with my hips as they lift from the couch, looking for more.

He moans. He fucking moans from tasting me.

Nothing about this is hurried. For the first time in my life this doesn’t feel like a simple checkmark on the way to sex, done quickly and inattentively, ready to move on to the next thing.

Isaiah is tasting me as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

He’s sprawled on the couch, one leg bent, the other extended, laying like a goddamn sniper as he eats me out. He’s never been more handsome than he is right now between my legs, hair tousled, lips shining.

“What about fingers? You ever finger yourself?”

“Sometimes.”

“Show me.”

There’s not a single moment of hesitation. I feel drunk on him, mindless and loose as I slip my fingers between my legs and push the middle one inside.

“Goddamn,” Isaiah exhales. “That is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

I pull it out and push it back in again.

“You’re fucking soaked, Ken.”

“I really want to come.” My voice is a whine, my finger moving frantically, as if I could make it happen myself.

“I know, baby. You’re close, aren’t you?”

I nod, desperate, begging eyes connected with his.

“Can I show you something I think you’re going to like?”

“Please.”

He pulls my finger out, slipping it into his mouth to clean off before latching his lips around my clit again. In the same breath, my single finger is replaced with his two. They curl upward, stroking a spot I’ve never had touched before, and I’m done. I’m a mess. I’m entirely at his mercy.

My whole body is almost off the couch, writhing with the sensation. His mouth never leaves me, moving in tandem with his fingers, both our bodies rocking together as if he were really fucking me and not with only his mouth and hand.

“Holy fuck, Ken. You’re so goddamn tight. I can feel you pulsing around me.”

As his hair falls over his eyes, I slide my fingers through it, pushing it back, holding it to his head to give me a clearer view of what he’s doing.

He wickedly smiles up at me, his tongue moving in long, languid strokes.

Isaiah adds his thumb against my clit, rubbing small circles over the bud, his tongue flicking it in tandem, and I’m out of my goddamn mind.

The pressure is too much. It sits right on the edge until it spills over and I’m falling.

“Isaiah,” is all I can plead before I’m coming.

Wave after wave rip through me. I keep my attention on him until I can’t any longer, my eyes screwing shut with the force of my orgasm. It doesn’t stop. It feels like it lasts for minutes on end, and Isaiah keeps his mouth on me the entire time, licking up the evidence.

I can feel his eyes on me before I hear him chant my name like a desperate, pleading prayer, and it only extends my release.

When I finally come down, my muscles uncoiling, I slump back onto the couch. My breaths are labored and earned, and I can only imagine how untethered I look.

Auburn hair sprawled beneath me. Ruined makeup and a wrinkled gown.

Unpolished and imperfect.

It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever felt.

“Shit,” Isaiah exhales when he climbs onto his knees, eyes focused on the crotch of his pants.

“Did you . . .”

“Come?” he finishes the sentence for me. “Yeah.”

“From . . .”

This confident man holds no apology in his gaze when he looks up at me, devilish smirk tilted on his lips.

“From eating you out. Watching you come. Hearing my name as you did. I couldn’t help it. You turn me on, Kenny. It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that I came in my fucking pants like some inexperienced dork seeing as you know exactly how obsessed I am with you.”

He might not blush, but I do.

He crawls over my body, draping himself over me on the couch, and with a heavy, exhausted sigh, he melts into my shoulder.

“We should get you home and into bed,” I whisper.

“I know. I should get going. It’s not like I can go back out there like this anyway.”

I hold him there, my arms wrapped around him. There’s a moment of hesitation before I ask, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Yes.” He lifts to look at me, quickly agreeing as if I were going to change my mind. “Of course you can.”

He bends to kiss me before resting his head on my shoulder once again, too exhausted from everything that happened tonight.

My fingers twirl the ends of his hair. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be comfortable with someone the way I am with you.”

Fuck, that didn’t come out right.

A heavy pause lingers between us.

“I’m sure you’ll get there,” he eventually says. “I know that’s what you want.”

It’s supposed to be said in an encouraging way, but his voice is full of defeat.

But what if I don’t? The question is on the tip of my tongue because that’s what I meant.

I don’t think there’s any part of me that wants to be this comfortable with someone else.