Out of Play

He opens his mouth like he’s got more to say, so I smile, hoping he’ll smile. It’s strange to see him like this—so uncertain. I want to ask him more about being famous, playing the drums, his band, but I don’t want him to feel like I’m going to get weird on him over it, either. It’s obvious this is embarrassing for him. Or awkward or something, which sort of makes him sweeter. Nicer. Like he could have come up here and been an asshole and demanded something different or special because of who he is, but instead he tried to blend. Or hide. “Come?”

“‘Course I’ll come.” He sighs again and pulls in a deep breath. “That’s not the only reason I—”

I cut him off. “Later.” Or I’ll lose my nerve.

“But—”

I grab the bottom of his hoodie and pull it over my head followed quickly by the tank I slept in last night. The move leaves me in my black bra and the pants he loaned me.

His fingers trace the top of my pants, and then slide up, fingering the bottom edge of my bra sending my whole body into a frenzy of wanting his weight on me again.

Instead of collapsing into the puddle of goo my body wants me to, I hold out my hand. “So, can I have your shirt, or are you going to let me be the only one half-naked?” I ask.

“Um…” His fingers are still tracing, and his gaze hasn’t left my stomach. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about—”

“Stop. Bishop. I get it. You didn’t want to be recognized. Can we talk later? I don’t know my mom’s schedule, only that she’s not here now.” I don’t want being around him to be about apologizing for something that really is just a part of him. “This doesn’t change who you are to me. Okay? So, do I get your shirt or not?”

He groans, but slides his shirt over his head. Our bodies come together at the same time as our mouths. The heat from his skin on mine tingles its way through my body, fueling my need to be closer, to have more. His hands dig into my back as he pulls us together, and I’m matching him pressure for pressure, touch for touch, kiss for kiss, as deep as we can go. I stumble backward as he slowly leads us toward my blanket and pillow pile. No matter how much of him I feel, it’s not enough. In seconds I’m on the floor while he hovers over me, almost like I wanted.

He pauses and searches my face, and then his gaze floats over my body, looking at me so much the same as Mitch looks at Rebecca. My stomach tightens with anticipation and the feeling of being wanted. His eyes come back to mine, and something’s different. Slower. Like he wants every touch to count. Every movement to count. He teases me with his lips a few times before I wrap my arms around him and pull him down.

So this is why people say they “melt together.” I’ve always wondered. Like melting candle wax, and blending colors—the more we’re together and kissing, the less I can tell where I stop and he starts. His weight’s on me again. I want him. Seriously want him. And it has nothing to do with who he is in the world. It has to do with who he is here. The guy who dishes it out, but can take it, and doesn’t just put up with me, but seems to like it.

My hands go up and down his sides, on his back, across his shoulders, in his hair, and I’m ru

He rolls onto his side bringing me with him, and I sit up gasping for air. I’m afraid, but not afraid. Mostly, I don’t feel in control of what my body wants, and that’s a first for me.

“Your tattoo. I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t—”

“My tattoo’s fine. I just want to look at you.”

I sit on my knees and gently push on his chest. It takes him a while to relax enough lay down on his back the way I want him. “So weird. You don’t act like a famous guy.”

“I’m just me.”

I keep staring at his bare chest and abs and arms, loving the newness of it all and amazed that I’m not more nervous or afraid. It’s that I believe he wants to be here. Wants to see me, touch me, and have me do all those same things to him. My body warms up again, but it’s not from the need to feel him closer like it was before. It’s the closeness and the trust and the way I’m falling for a guy I’m still discovering.

He pulls in a long breath. “This takes a serious amount of trust.”

“Chicken?” I tease.

“Afraid of you,” he teases back.

“Close your eyes.” My heartbeat’s flooding my ears, and my breathing still isn’t normal.

I sit next to where he lies on the floor and wait. And wait. I don’t blink, don’t move, just stare into the dark eyes that pull me in, hoping he’ll cave.

“Fuck,” he whispers but does it. He closes his eyes, but his body’s still tense.

I want to take in everything about him. I run my fingers across his forehead and down the sides of his face. I touch his cheekbones, and smooth my finger over his lips and lip ring. Instead of tensing up, he relaxes. The few pictures I’ve seen of him in magazines sort of float through my head, but they feel disco

My thigh is pressed against his side, and I move my fingers down his neck and across his collarbone. And even though I don’t want it to, it hits me again—this is Bishop Riley. I’m touching Bishop Riley. The guy who lets me be real, and likes me anyway. The guy who risked Mom’s wrath this morning, and thought to get my cream and clothes for school today.

I run each hand down his muscular arms and trace all the veins and contours—there are a lot. A very nice side effect of playing the drums. His palms are smooth, and he clasps my hand the moment our fingers touch. He opens his eyes and pulls his arms out to the side, which brings me close. We kiss once before I pull away.

“Not yet.” I smile. “I’m not done.”

“I might be insane by the time you finish.” The need in his eyes should scare me, but it doesn’t. It just makes me feel more like I made a really good decision in coming here.

“I’m okay with that.” I sit back and run my hands over his chest, under the line where his pecs are cut and then down his toned stomach. My fingertips slide underneath the top of his boxers, and I run them back and forth at the edge of the waistband, which just shows above his jeans. I could sit here and touch him like this for hours.

“Yeah, definitely going insane.” He sits up and pulls us together, while avoiding touching my tattoo. The heat from him almost gives my body what it needs to take over again, and he brushes his lips against mine. When I don’t protest, his kiss is slow and deep, once again making me feel like he’s exploring every part of me. “Time for you to relinquish control for a minute.” His lips touch mine as he speaks.

My heart starts hammering at the thought. “I—” I was going to say I don’t think so, but the way he’s looking at me… I let him take my hands with his and guide me to lying down next to him. Close. Touching. I can’t take in a deep breath with his bare chest against me, but I love it. Love that he does this to me, to my body. Love that he wants to be here. Wants to have this effect on me.

Our eyes lock in the dim light. “You’re beautiful, Pe

All I can do is smile because, for the first time, I feel beautiful.

Bishop hovers, holding my hands over my head, pi

“I don’t think I can go all the—”

“We’re not going there.” He kisses me softly. “I won’t rush you.”

I’m feeling too much at once, so teasing feels safer. “You know I could push you off, right?” I press up with my arms so he can feel how strong I am.