Chapter 9 - Kinsley
KINSLEY
True to his word, Royce acquired a pair of running shoes and came with me to the gym, exactly twice, grumbling each time like it would get him out of being there.
It hadn’t.
And that was good.
The downside was I’d gotten a handful of messages that I’d turned over to him and one email with a picture of me walking to get a coffee.
He’d cursed—sans the f-word—and poured himself into figuring out how to finally nail Scott to the wall, the time apart allowing me to pre-make content for the next two weeks for my social media accounts.
But also his dedication, while endearing, hadn’t earned me any orgasms.
And that needed to change.
“Roy!” I yell as I knock on his apartment door and wait. It takes him a minute, and it does nothing to dull the ache between my legs.
“What are you—” he asks when he sees me standing there, but I don’t give him the chance to finish his sentence before I’m pushing him back inside.
“Are you busy?” I pant as I wrap my arms around his neck and take his mouth in a bruising kiss. He grunts, his hands moving down to cup my ass.
“I could take a break.”
“A long one?” I ask hopefully.
“Depends what you—”
“I want you to take your clothes off,” I reply, as I move us through his apartment toward the bedroom. “This is purely for research purposes. Do you understand?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Off.”
“Definitely a long break,” he manages, stumbling back into the mattress.
“Shirt off, Roy.”
He clears his throat, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving as he wrestles himself out of the cotton fabric.
“Gonna need to work on that, Royce,” I tease when he tosses it to the side.
“Yeah, well, it’s a little different when there’s pressure.”
“There’s no pressure—it’s just me.”
“There’s no just you, Kins. Besides, I was neck deep in spreadsheets and now I’m tryin’ to catch up.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or if I should be offended.”
“Both,” he says, undoing the belt on his pants and pushing his jeans to the floor. It’s a lot smoother than getting his shirt off had been, but I like seeing him all riled up.
“Royce,” I croon. “Getting naked in the bedroom is a dance, see?” I grab the hem of my shirt and sway my hips side to side. “Watch.” I tease it up over my stomach before pulling it over my head, revealing a see-through black lace bra that has his eyes glued to my chest.
I shake the fabric in my hand until he looks at me and then I drop my shirt to the floor, acutely aware of his Adam’s apple bobbing and his erection tenting his boxers.
I run my hands over my breasts, down my stomach to the top of my leggings, and shimmy out of them, making sure he’s mesmerized as I tease us both.
“See?”
“Yeah,” he croaks, “but I can’t make it look like that.”
“Sure, you can,” I breathe, closing the distance between us, “but we’ll work on that later.”
“Good, because I can’t focus on anything but how sexy you are.”
“And how about when your head is between my legs? Will you be able to focus then?”
“I’ll try like hell until I get it right,” he says, his hands gripping my hips as he pulls me against him.
“There are rules.”
“Rules. Got it.”
I chuckle and rock myself against his cock, a shiver racing down my spine when he sucks in a breath.
“Do you want to know how wet I am for you?”
“Yes, but I can’t say that.”
“It can be really hot—all low and growly.” I sigh dreamily, but he shakes his head.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Fine. Since we’re back to word play,”—I grin and he rolls his eyes—“how’s cock?”
“Cock is fine.”
“Puss—”
“Nope.” He puts up his hands like he’s trying to ward me off.
“Okay, but you call my vagina lady petals or something equally ludicrous, it will be the last time you get in my pants. Are we clear?”
“Completely.”
“Now for the rules,” I say, sitting on the edge of the mattress and pushing myself back until I’m laid out in just my panties and bra. “You do not have decision-making privileges when it comes to making me come. Is that clear?”
“Umm…”
“Harder does not mean faster. Those are two separate commands.”
“Okay.”
“Also, and wait,”—I snap my fingers, and he startles, looking guilty as his gaze trails up my body to my face—“are you a tit guy?”
“I think I’m just a you guy.”
My heart stutters in my chest because that was remarkably sweet and I have no idea what to do with it. So I do nothing.
“You haven’t earned the right to dictate how and when I orgasm. That will come later.”
“No pun intended.”
I ignore him even though I want to laugh. “The biggest mistake men make is that as soon as they hear a woman is excited, they immediately start changing their rhythm—basically everything they’re doing with their hands and their mouth. It’s the worst.”
“That does sound terrible.”
“And you’d have to start over.”
His brows furrow. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Look at me, Royce.” Sitting up, I wait for him to join me and when he does, awareness has replaced the lust in his eyes.
“Sometimes it’s hard for a woman to get there.
Sometimes she wants it so bad and it takes a lot of focus on her part even though he’s doing all the things he knows will make her get there. ”
“I’m listening.”
It’s my turn to swallow hard. “It’s frustrating if it’s not a game y’all have agreed on playing. Teasing can be fun and so can prolonging the anticipation, but if that’s not what you’re doing, it can make her feel like something’s wrong with her.”
“But there’s not.”
“And a good guy will know that.”
I let the words hang in the air between us as he laces our fingers together, his eyes on our hands instead of on me.
“I’m probably gonna screw that up.”
“I know,” I say on a chuckle, “and that’s okay because this,”—I shake our joined hands—“is what we’re doing. We’re making you a stud in the sack—completely irresistible to the next woman you meet.”
“Could we not put that image in my head? Seriously, do you know how many times I run into Mrs. Crane when she’s out walking that little dog that’s older than she is?”
I laugh, falling back on the bed as I pull him down on top of me.
“Fair enough, but it’s still a worthy cause.”
“Selfless,” he deadpans.
I drag his palm up my stomach until he’s cupping my breast, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips making me desperate for any kind of friction. “You have no idea.”