Getting Played (Getting Some Book 2)

by Emma Chase

  For a moment, Dean doesn’t react, like I’ve surprised him by making the first move. But then he recovers—and I’m treated to the head-spinning sensation of his wet tongue tracing my lips, before plunging inside my mouth, stroking hungrily. He tugs my hat off, cradling my head, fingers tightening, pulling me closer, and a deep groan passes from his throat to mine. Dean spins us around and presses me into the wall, opening his mouth wider to suck at my lips and scrape them with his teeth. And I feel lightheaded and languid and desperate for more.

  Dean’s voice pants against my ear.

  “Christ, you’re making me crazy. The things I want to do to you . . . you have no idea.”

  I meet his eyes, and touch his jaw—my palm tingling with the feel of that sexy, scraping stubble. “I don’t know about that. I have some pretty interesting ideas of my own.”

  Hello, sending signals . . . meet mixed.

  But I want him. Good or bad, smart or stupid—it just is. I’ve wanted him against me, inside me, over me and all around me since the second I laid my eyes on him, and nothing has changed that. I’m starting to suspect nothing ever will.

  “Hey now—this is a family event—keep your tongues to yourselves,” a deep, joking voice says from behind Dean’s back.

  He turns, revealing a tall, handsome, dark-haired man in a police uniform with a petite, smiling woman beside him with black curly hair and the most beautiful skin I’ve ever seen. At her side is a wide-eyed girl, about nine years old with braces, who’s the spitting image of her mother.

  Dean holds out his hand begrudgingly. “Ryan. Good to see you.”

  Ryan shakes Dean’s hand warmly. “Dean making out with a girl in the corner—this feels familiar.”

  The curly haired woman smacks him on the chest and speaks in a thick, Brooklyn accent. “Stop it, Ry, don’t embarrass her—they’re together now.” Then she waves at me. “Hi.”

  “Lainey, this is Ryan Daniels, Garrett’s brother,” Dean introduces us, “and his wife, Angela—we all grew up together.” Dean winks at the little girl. “And that’s their daughter, Frankie.”

  “It’s wonderful to meet you, Lainey,” Angela says excitedly. “My gawd, you’re so cute! It sure took you long enough to pick one, Dean, but when you did, you got a good one. I’m Italian, I can tell.”

  “It’s like they were eating each other’s faces!” Frankie exclaims, and heat rushes to my cheeks. Maybe the basement of a church during a holiday festival wasn’t the best place to jump Dean’s bones . . . and yet I have no regrets. It was a great kiss.

  “I’m never gonna let a boy chew on my face like that.”

  Ryan fist-bumps his daughter.

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  ~ ~ ~

  A while later, Callie is in the ladies’ room, and Dean lets Will drag him up onto the empty stage to the drum set that sits, unused, in the corner.

  “You’re good for him, you know.”

  I turn my head at the sound of Garrett’s voice, looking up at him as he watches his little boy sit on his best friend’s lap as he puts the sticks in his hands and shows him how to play the drums.

  “You think so?”

  Garrett nods. “Dean’s the kind of guy who was always on the move. He could never sit still, couldn’t just . . . be. Even when we were kids, especially when we were kids, he was always the one pushing for more—a bigger party, a bigger play, louder music, girls, drinking—like he was rushing around trying to find something. Trying to fill a void. I don’t think he even knew he was doing it. But since he’s met you, found out about the baby, these last few weeks, he’s been settled. Content. Happy. As his friend, it’s really good to see him like that.”

  I think about the last few weeks—about Dean throwing the football around with Jason out beside the lake. It’s not my son’s forte, but he had fun. And I think about how nice it’s been to have someone to talk to and laugh with, and how I look forward to dusk now, because that’s when Dean comes to the house every day.

  I remember my doctor’s appointment last week, when he came with me and we listened to the swish of our baby’s heartbeat, which is just the best sound in the whole world. And it felt different than when I was pregnant with Jason—even more joyful—because I had someone there to share it with.

  No, not just someone . . . him.

  “He’s good for us too.”

  I meet Dean’s eyes across the room, as little Will Daniels sits on his lap, smacking the sticks against the drums. Dean smiles at me and winks, and a deep tender warmth suffuses my chest that’s bigger than attraction and more intense than lust. It’s scary and exhilarating at the same time. It’s a piercing, intimate, cherishing kind of emotion—that doesn’t feel even a little bit fake.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dean

  The week before Christmas break, a thick, invisible haze settles over a high school that saps motivation and slows down time. Everyone feels it—I embrace it—and assign my students therapeutic coloring assignments at the end of every class. During my free period, on the way back from making copies in the office, I pass the open doors of the auditorium and see Callie working with Rockstetter—the football player who needed hardcore tutoring and an easy theater-A.

  Garrett said she’s been working overtime with him, one-on-one, to get him prepped for his theater debut in the February musical.

  This year, it’s The Little Mermaid.

  I walk down the aisle to where Callie is standing, directing the big lug of a kid onstage in his red, meaty clawed costume.

  A few music students in the pit begin to play, and the tinkling notes of a Jamaican steel drum, strings, and flutes, swirl together and float through the air.

  I cross my arms. “How’s it going?”

  Callie rests her hands on her baby-bulging stomach, tilting her head. “Well . . . there’s no way for it to get any worse. So there’s that.”

  “Good job looking on the bright side.”

  “The glass is always half-full.”

  I cup my hands around my mouth, and give the wide receiver the same direction I give him on the field.

  “Dig, Rockstetter, dig deep! You can do it!”

  He waves to me with one claw-covered hand.

  “Let go of your embarrassment,” Callie calls. “Feel the water around you—move with it. Think like a crab, be the crab.”

  “Wait a second.” Rockstetter shakes his head. “I thought I was a lobster.”

  “No, you’re a crab, it’s in the script. It’s in the name—Sebastian the Crab,” Callie replies.

  “Ah, shit!” Rockstetter throws his claws up in the air. “I’m so screwed.”

  Callie hangs her head. And I verbalize what every teacher will experience at some point in their career. “Yeah, you’re gonna earn your money with this one.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The next day—a Saturday—a mid-morning blizzard blows in and parks itself over the tri-state area, dumping about three inches of snow an hour on us. After I clear Gram’s driveway and make sure she’s good to stay put for the rest of the day, listening to an audiobook with Lucifer curled on her lap, I make my way over to Lainey’s.

  She’s in the kitchen, in a tank top and lacey pajama shorts, shaking her irresistible ass and ever widening stomach to Adele while mixing a bowl of dough with a wooden spoon. There are cookies cooling on metal racks all over the counter, and the air smells delicious and sweet.

  Not as delicious as Lainey Burrows—but a close second.

  “Let me guess,” I say, “Boston Market is out—chocolate chip cookies are in on the craving front?”

  She giggles, and just like most everything she does—it goes straight to my dick.

  “Snowstorms make me bakey.”

  “Bakey?”

  Too fucking cute. So fucking fuckable.

  “Yep—try one.” She takes a bite of the cookie and pops the other half in my mouth. And—yes—the fact that it touched her lips before mine actually does make it tast
e better.

  How pathetic am I?

  “The roads look pretty bad on the news,” Lainey says. “What are you doing here?”

  “The roads suck,” I confirm. “I was sliding all over the place—thanks, New Jersey. They said it’s supposed to keep snowing all day.”

  I press up behind her, my chest to her back, my crotch nice and snug against her ass, because I just can’t frigging help myself.

  “I’m here to shovel your drive, baby. Feel free to take that as the pun it’s intended to be.”

  She laughs, leaning back against me—comfortable, warm. That’s where our relationship is now. It’s a sexually frustrating—but good—place to be. I take a deep, quick sniff of her hair, like a coke addict needing a fast fix to get him through the day.

  “Jason still sleeping?” I ask.

  “Ah, no. He’s actually at my parents’ house. He needed a haircut and wanted to go to his regular barber in Bayonne. My dad picked him up early this morning before the snow started.”

  My reaction to this news is an instant, raging hard-on.

  Pretty sick, I know.

  But the idea that this is now a kid-free space, that it’s just me and Lainey in this big house all alone, that we could do anything—everything—in any room we want, is almost more than I can take.

  I swallow hard and breathe deep—and throw myself at the door.

  “Sounds good. I’ll be outside.”

  It takes me about an hour and a half to clear the main portion of the driveway, the porch steps and front path. The icy wind whips at my face and the wet snow soaks through my gloves. And despite it being colder than a snowman’s cock, I’m every bit as hot for Lainey when I step back in the kitchen as when I left.

  She’s talking on her cell phone near the sink as I pull off my boots and hat and hang my coat on the hook at the back door.

  “No, Dad—it’s fine. Stay off the roads, keep Jay with you for the weekend. I’m good. Dean is here.”

  I don’t know what her father says, but she does this cute little eye roll that makes me want to kiss the ever-loving shit out of her.

  “Yes, Dad, Dean is the guy. You’ll meet him soon. Okay, bye.”

  Lainey sets her phone on the counter and slides the last batch of cookies onto the rack.

  “Jay’s staying in Bayonne for the weekend?” I try to sound casual—to mask the hurricane of pent-up lust swirling inside me.

  “Yeah, until tomorrow night.” Her eyes slowly drag over me, from my shoulders to my feet and everywhere in between. “Your shirt is wet. You should take it off.”

  Take my clothes off? Such a great goddamn idea. She should join me.

  I reach back between my shoulder blades, tugging the Henley over my head and dropping it on the floor.

  And then, we’re drifting toward each other—two trains on the same track, who can’t wait to crash. We stand just a few inches apart, and Lainey reaches out like she’s hypnotized, infatuated, trailing her fingers across my shoulder and down my arm.

  The look on her face nearly wrecks me. It’s naked heat and hungry fascination as she watches her palm slide across my pec and down the center of my chest.

  My heart slams against my ribs and I don’t want to say anything that may break the spell—I just want her to keep touching me. But when her hand travels down my abs, resting just above my waistband, so torturously close to where my cock is already so hard it hurts, I groan. “Lainey.”

  Her eyes dart up to mine and her chest rises and falls in these quick little pants.

  For a few seconds we stay just like that, burning each other up with our eyes. Then there’s a small shift in her features—her lips part and her chin lifts—like she’s on a diving board ready to jump.

  “Dean?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Supercalifragalist—”

  I’m on her before she finishes the word. My lips on her lips, my tongue spearing and stroking, my hands on her hips pulling her close—then lifting her up onto the counter. And Lainey matches me move for move—it’s almost violent the way we attack each other. Her nails dig into my back and she wraps those long legs around my waist, pulling me in tight, trapping me between her thighs.

  Our kiss is all rough desperation—pure need—a pulling, tugging, pleading devouring of each other’s mouths. And it’s the best fucking kiss I will ever have in my life. I know that, right here right now.

  I lick down to her neck and suck on her pulse point—hard enough to leave a bruise. She angles her head to give me better access, even as she gasps out a question.

  “Dean, should we be doing this? It could confuse things.”

  I groan against her neck. “I’m already so fucking confused I don’t know if I’m coming or going.”

  Lainey pulls back just slightly, laughing. And I stare at her swollen pink lips, stroking the velvet softness of the bottom one.

  “No, that’s not true. I’m not confused at all about this. About how much I want you, Lainey. It’s constant and relentless.” I press my forehead to hers, panting like I just sprinted sixty yards. “Say yes. I need to hear you say yes. Christ, Lainey, please say yes.”

  I’m begging and I don’t even care. I need to feel her, fuck her, throw her legs over my shoulders and eat her. I want to drown in her, lose myself in her, make her come so many times we lose count and she loses her mind.

  And I want to do it all now.

  Her fingers trace my jaw and she looks into my eyes.

  And she nods.

  “Yes.”

  I’m not a praying kind of guy, but—hallelujah.

  I dive back for her mouth, kissing her greedily until she’s breathless, until words aren’t possible, and it’s all needy, high-pitched little whimpers purring from her throat.

  The feel of her hands on me—scraping my chest, my back, skimming down my stomach, yanking on the clasp of my pants like they offend her . . .

  “So good,” I groan. “It’s so good.”

  I tear at her tank top—pulling it over her head and make quick work of her bra.

  I’m the motherfucking Houdini of bra clasps.

  When it’s gone, when she’s bare from the waist up, I force myself to take a moment to just look at her. Take her all in. Appreciate the trembling, stunning view of her. And there’s so much to appreciate.

  The pale globes of her breasts are larger than they were this past summer, the dusty pink, quarter-size nipples a shade darker. I cup her in my hand, almost reverently, and I groan from the bottom of my throat. She watches with heavy-lidded eyes as I bend my knees to take her in my mouth—slowly clasping my lips around her nipple and sucking until she whimpers. I flick the pointy, tasty little nub with my tongue and scrape her soft flesh with my teeth.

  And it’s beautiful. So fucking hot it’s almost too much to take.

  “Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean…” Lainey chants, pulling at my shoulders.

  “That’s me, baby. I’m right here.” I knead her breasts in my palm, blowing on the pointed peak. “I’ve got you.”

  “Please,” she keens. Her hips lift off the counter, rubbing against my thigh that’s wedged between her legs—reaching for sweet friction where she needs it most. “Please, Dean, I need . . . so much.”

  Hell, yes.

  She incoherent, but I know—I understand—because I need too.

  I grip the waist of her shorts and yank at the same time Lainey lifts up, leaving her totally bare. So much beautiful skin to touch and lick, and I’m going to worship every inch of her.

  I straighten up and step back, opening my pants and stepping out of them—leaving them in a puddle on the floor. Lainey consumes me with her eyes, then she wraps her pretty hand around my cock, pumping the shaft with firm, confident strokes.

  “I’ve missed you,” she sighs.

  I pull back enough to chuckle.

  “Are you talking to me or my dick?”

  Her hazel eyes are darker with heat—a gorgeous golden green. She looks up at me innoc
ently and I want to tear her apart.

  “Both of you.”

  Yep, works for me.

  She sighs into my mouth when I press my lips against hers, stroking the hot cavern of her mouth with my tongue. And there’s a blissful relief in having her in my arms again—after all this time—feeling her against me. Good and right and mine. It’s a perfect space of bliss and pleasure carved out for just the two of us that I never ever want to leave.

  She slides closer to the edge of the counter and spreads her legs wider as my hips nudge back in between them. It’s the hottest thing—her openness, confidence, shamelessness and trust.

  I give my cock a long stroke, then tease her slick seam, up and down, with the weeping, broad head. She’s so wet, she coats me, and her heat makes me lose my fucking mind. I slide the tip inside her, biting my lip hard to keep from just ramming all the way home.

  Lainey’s rolls back as I push slowly all the way in—her sweet pussy gripping me snug and beautiful.

  “Oh, yeah,” I moan into her hair.

  I grip her upper thighs, holding tight, pulling my hips back—just to push back in.

  “Yes, oh, yes,” she keens.

  I hold her waist, pumping deep inside her. My hips withdraw, circle and plunge over and over, until she’s quivering against me—clawing at my back and chanting my name.

  I thrust faster, harder, as the pleasure rises and builds, our breaths mingling, our hearts pounding in the same rhythm, cresting to a frenzied peak.

  Christ, I feel it when she comes. When she shatters in my arms, and her wet heat grips and spasms around my cock. And I follow her there, thrusting one last time—jerking inside her, filling her, groaning her name—as the heated carnal joy spikes through me, like my orgasm is torn from my goddamn soul.

  We don’t move for a while. We stay just like that—trading lingering kisses and tender touches—wrapped close and snug around each other. And then, when I can feel my knees again, I pull out of her, lift Lainey up and carry her into the living room.

  Because we have a lot of time to make up for, and I’m just getting started.