Chapter 28 Play Time
TWENTY-EIGHT
PLAY TIME
JACOB
A sliver of dawn cuts through the thin curtains, casting gold over the crumpled blankets and the woman sprawled across my chest. Lyla’s warm, soft limbs and tousled hair drape over me like she belongs there. Her steady breathing soothes something deep in me.
I stare at the ceiling, replaying the night before—the confessions, the raw edges, the slow burn of something far more dangerous than attraction. Telling her about Sheila felt like slicing open a wound I hadn’t touched in years, but now the weight feels lighter.
I tighten my arm around her, pulling her closer, breathing her in, warm skin, faint vanilla. My hands roam, sliding lower—
“If you start something, you better finish it.”
A grin pulls at my lips. “Is that a challenge?”
She lifts her head, one eye open, a lazy smirk curving her mouth. “Always.”
God, this woman. I drag my fingers up her back, brush hair from her face, trace my thumb along her jaw. “Can’t back down from that, can I?”
“I’d be disappointed if you did.”
I kiss her—slow, methodical. She melts into me, her fingers grazing my jaw before cupping my cheek. She tastes warm, soft, sweet from sleep.
In one motion, I shift us, pinning her beneath me. Her back presses into the blankets, her body pliant against mine. Golden light spills over her face, highlighting the slope of her cheek, the full curve of her lips, the shy flush on her skin. I drink her in.
“Stunning.”
Without breaking eye contact, I lower my mouth to her jaw, then down her throat. Her pulse flutters under my lips. Her breath quickens as I trail lower. Her fingers tangle in my hair, holding me close as I take my time.
My hands explore, mapping every curve, every tremor.
I slide between her legs. She parts them, easy, trusting. Mine.
I press a kiss to the dip between her hip and center, then lower, just above where she wants me. Her nails dig into my shoulders, grounding us both. I hum against her thigh, kissing lightly before lifting my head.
Her eyes are closed, lips parted. I brush my thumb over her cheek. She stirs, lids heavy.
“Why’d you stop?” Playfulness laces her voice.
She tries to pull me back down, but I stand between her open thighs. Before she can protest, I hook her knees, dragging her to the edge of the bed. Her gasp—half yelp, half laughter—hits me low and hard.
Keeping my gaze locked on hers, I lick my fingers slow, deliberate. Her pupils blow wide. I trail my slick fingertips between her folds, barely touching.
“First,” I murmur, circling her clit without giving her the pressure she needs, “I want to play.”
She shudders, hips jerking toward me. I press in just enough to pull a moan from her. That sound tears through me. I slide lower, testing, making sure she’s ready.
“Yes,” she gasps, head tipping back. “Fuck, Jacob.”
A dark chuckle rumbles in my chest as I pop the lid of the lube bottle with my teeth. Her pupils blow wide with hunger at the sight, just like last night. “We’ll get to that, Trouble.”
I slick my fingers with lube and keep the rhythm, thumb circling her clit while my fingers press deeper, stretching her to take more. My free hand cups her breast, thumb rolling her nipple. She arches, greedy for everything I’ll give.
She’s perfect.
Her breathing stutters, her body writhing under my touch. Still working her with my fingers, I wrap my other hand around my cock, stroking in time with her movements, slicking myself with precum.
She props herself up, eyes locked on me, biting her lip as I work myself.
“You see what you do to me?” My voice is rough. “You see what kind of man I am when you beg me to make you come?”
She whimpers, gaze dropping to my fingers plunging into her. I speed up, adding a third. Releasing my cock, I spit into my hand, stroking it over her folds for more slickness, more heat.
“Jacob, please.” Her voice trembles, muscles tensing. “I need you inside me.”
Satisfaction rolls through me, but I press her flat, fingers unrelenting.
“Only good girls get fucked with my cock,” I murmur, dragging my lips over her thigh. “And you—” I glance up, meeting her wild eyes as she bucks against me. “You’ve never been good.”
I drive my fingers faster, each thrust slick, sinful. Her thighs quake, breasts bouncing with every movement. Her head tips back, mouth open on a strangled gasp.
I wrap my palm around her neck, light pressure as I slow my thumb over her clit, dragging a single torturous circle.
Her body locks, then bows, back arching as pleasure rips through her. Her cries fill the camper.
I don’t stop until her shudders fade. Only then do I ease out, dragging my wet fingers up her stomach, watching her chest heave.
I climb over her and settle between her legs, my cock pressed to her soaked heat. I nuzzle her neck, drag my lips to her ear, nip before whispering, “You okay?”
A chuckle spills from her. “I’m more than okay, you devil.”
I roll my hips, her gasp spilling against my lips—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Hey, lovebirds!” Trish’s voice cuts through the walls, smug. “We need to head out soon, so finish up! You’ve got five minutes before I send Barbara in, and you know she’ll kill the mood.”
Lyla bursts into laughter. “She’s got impeccable timing.”
“Dammit,” I groan, dropping my head to her shoulder, trying to will away the frustration, and the hard-on.
Lyla’s fingers thread through my hair.
“Trish,” I call, voice muffled against her skin, “you’re officially my least favorite person.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she calls back. “You’ll survive.”
Lyla tilts her head, mischief gleaming in her eyes. “Five minutes, huh?”
I raise a brow. “What are you thinking?”
She doesn’t answer at first. She pushes me onto my back, straddling my hips. Her hands glide down my chest, nails dragging enough to make my abs tighten. “I’m thinking that’s plenty of time.”
Fuck.
Before I can speak, she slides off the bed to her knees between my legs. My pulse spikes as she settles, eyes locked on mine—dark, dangerous, full of intent.
Then her tongue is on me.
A hiss escapes as she drags one slow lick up my length, stopping just over the tip. Her hand wraps around me, stroking, eyes never leaving mine. Her lips part, breath warm, tongue flicking until my hips twitch.
“Gorgeous,” she whispers.
Then she takes me into her mouth in one smooth motion.
My head drops back, a growl tearing from my throat as the wet heat surrounds me. I fist her hair, guiding her as my hips roll up, pushing deeper.
“Just like that,” I rasp. “Fuck, Lyla—just like that.”
Four and a half minutes later . . .
We peel ourselves apart, breathless and flushed. The camper, already too small, becomes a mess of tangled limbs, half-dressed bodies, and scattered clothes.
Lyla reaches for her dress, but I catch her wrist, bring her hand to my lips, press a kiss to her palm. Heat flashes in her eyes.
“You’re distracting,” she mutters.
“You’re welcome.” I grin, pulling my shirt over my head.
She huffs, rolls her eyes, but the smile curling at her mouth betrays her.
“I need to get to Lucy and change before we set off,” she says, pulling her hair up. “Not walking around with my skin on display for the undead to chomp on.”
She grabs my green Henley and tugs it over her head like it’s hers. Maybe it is now. She lifts the collar to her nose—breathing me in.
My chest tightens. I want her in that shirt forever.
As I lace my boots, I catch her watching me, something sparking in her look.
“What?”
She hesitates, then shakes her head with a quiet laugh. “Nothing. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this—” Her gaze flicks away.
“Normal?”
Her lips part, then she nods. “Yeah. Normal.”
I press my palm to hers, calluses meeting calluses. “We’ll hold on to it as long as we can.”
She squeezes my fingers. “Good.”
Before she can turn away, I pull her back into my chest, brush my lips over hers. “Thank you for a wonderful night.”
A flush rises in her cheeks. “Anytime.” She leans in, her lips finding mine again, slower, sweeter.
Something in my chest stumbles. The softness cuts through every rough edge I carry.
“Thank you for a lovely date,” she whispers, voice warm enough to steal my words.
And then she looks at me—blue eyes bright, unguarded.
Damn.
I’m ruined for anyone else.
We step into the crisp morning air. Rain still clings to the earth, the camp buzzing with movement—gear packed, supplies loaded, weapons checked.
We don’t make it three steps before Trish zeroes in on us, arms crossed, grin in place like a wolf catching prey.
“About time!” she calls, and heads turn.
One hell of a walk of shame.
Lyla groans. “Morning to you too, Trish.”
Trish taps her bare wrist. “Morning? Feels like afternoon, considering how long you two were holed up.”
Her gaze rakes Lyla—my shirt, messy hair, swollen lips—before landing on the hickey blooming on her neck. Bold as hell. I wonder how long before Lyla notices.
“Nice outfit.” Trish grins.
Lyla flushes, tugs at my shirt hem like it’ll help.
Leon leans on his truck, thermos in hand, watching with too much enjoyment. He takes a slow sip, signs, “Good night?”
I smirk. “Piss off.”
His mouth twitches before he signs, “She and I will need to talk. I want to know her intentions.”
A laugh escapes.
Lyla elbows me. “What’d he say?”
“He wants a chat. Wants to know your intentions with me. He’s very protective.”
She lifts a brow but pales slightly as we near Lucy. No one survives a Leon Q&A unscathed.
Lyla yanks the door open, dives for her clothes. I turn, shielding her from curious eyes. Denim rustles, a stomp or two, a muttered curse.
A tap on my shoulder. She’s dressed—jeans, my Henley, hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail.
I pull her close, kiss her long and slow. She leans into it, reluctant to let go.
“Thank you for a wonderful evening again,” I murmur.
She grins. “I’ll gladly have date night in Ol’ Bessy anytime.”
“You did not just name my camper.”
“Of course. She’s family.” Her gaze drops to my crotch. “And I’ve got dibs on naming something else now too.”
Oh. Hell. No. “Leave my body parts out of your weird naming hobby.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”
Why do I not believe her?
She hops into the driver’s seat, slams the door. Engines idle in the background.
I lean into the open window, kiss her deep and lingering. Her fingers grip my collar, holding me there. When we break, her eyes are lazy, heavy-lidded, full of heat.
“So,” she drawls, “when can we pick up where we left off?”
My pulse spikes with anticipation. “First chance we get.”
She fires the engine, lips curling. “Good.”
Joanie slides into the passenger seat with a CD in hand. My eyes snap to both of them. “No Spice Girls.”
Lyla arches a brow, all mock innocence. “But they really set the tone for apocalypse road trips, don’t you think?”
Joanie snorts. “You just don’t know how to process the joy of nineties pop perfection.”
I should be given an award for the effort it’s taking me to not grin in this moment. “Just keep it down. Last time you two cranked it, we almost summoned an undead mosh pit,” I say, pushing off the doorframe.
Lyla tosses me a salute as I head for the ER van.
I turn—then freeze. Jessica stands by her car across the clearing. Hurt, anger, betrayal—all written plain.
Shit.
Fuck.
Dammit.
I meant to talk to her, end things clean. I kept dodging it. Now I’ve blown any chance at calm conversation.
I’ve got to deal with it.
Just . . . not yet.
I’m not ready to pop the bubble still floating around me from last night. The guilt’s already scratching at the edges, and I know it’s going to get worse before it gets better.
Jessica slams her door, hard enough to rattle the frame.
“Are you getting in, or are you gonna stand there brooding all day?”
Trish sits in the passenger seat of the van, brow arched, fingers drumming her thigh.
“Just appreciating my morning,” I say, tossing my bag in and sliding behind the wheel.
Trish snorts. “Yeah, I bet.”
I grip the wheel as engines rumble around us. Earl’s truck pulls alongside, his arm draped out the window.
“You want to bring up the rear today?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Before I can turn forward, Edith leans across him. “Jacob, sweetie?”
“Yeah, E?”
“Next time you and Lyla want a sex-filled night, maybe give us a heads-up? So we can unlatch the camper?”
I freeze.
“Oh, don’t worry. I kept your mother distracted all night—which, let me tell you, was not easy. But I’d prefer not to hear your name screamed multiple times.”
Dear Lord, please shoot me now.
Trish wheezes with laughter.
I scrub my hand over my face. “I— We— Just—”
“No need to explain,” Edith says, breezy as ever, like she isn’t actively destroying my will to live. “I love a good romance. From the sound of it, you two had a wonderful time. Makes me proud.”
The air leaves my lungs.
Pretty sure Trish just ascended to another plane.
Earl, the smug bastard, just winks and tips an imaginary hat before rolling up his window and pulling ahead, leaving me alone with my suffering.
Trish finally calms down enough to breathe, still grinning like a damn hyena. “Damn. Edith is officially my favorite person.”
I glare. “Say one word, and you’re walking.”
She leans back, lacing her fingers behind her head. “Whatever you say, Gorgeous.”
The convoy falls into line. Lyla’s rig pulls close, “Wannabe” blasting like a battle cry. She swings in front of me, arm out the window, middle finger pumping to the beat.
My Grinch heart? Just grew a size.