Play Me (15 page)

“And you’re
supposed to be taking care of me,” he teased.

“You’re
right.” I tried to stand, but his arm—the same one I had
been admiring—snaked around my waist and pulled me back onto
the bed. “Hey!” I tried to swat him away, but his grasp
was surprisingly strong for someone not feeling well. “I’m
supposed to be getting you soup.”

“I’ve got
other ideas for how you could take care of me.” His voice was
low and sexy.

My skin went hot and
all I wanted to do at that moment was crawl under the covers with him
and take very, very good care of him. But then Jake let out a cough
and I was reminded that while he might be strong enough to flirt, it
was doubtful he’d be, um, up for anything else.

“You talk a big
game.” I extracted myself from his grasp. “But I’m
pretty sure soup is about all you can handle.”

“Wanna bet?”
Jake managed, before flopping face-first back onto his pillows and
immediately falling asleep.

I gave his slumbering,
half-naked body a regretful sigh and went to heat up some soup.

Jake

I woke to the smell of
chicken soup. It penetrated the thick haze of sleep and sickness and
I slowly began to remember where I was. I was at home. In bed. And
Ella was there? No, this wasn’t reality. This was a dream. Ella
on the bed. Ella’s hand in mine. Ella leaning against me.
Teasing me. This was a really, really good dream. But then, along
with the smell of soup came her voice.

“Are you hungry?”

It took an enormous
amount of effort to open my eyes. I had never been so tired in my
life—my whole body ached. Fucking flu, I thought, forcing
myself to focus. Because if this wasn’t a dream, there was no
way I wasn’t going to take advantage of Ella being in my
apartment and one of us being naked. And sure, I would have liked it
if Ella was the one naked, but in my state, I was going to take what
I could get.

I finally opened my
eyes and there she was, leaning over me with a bowl of chicken soup
that smelled amazing. Thank god I had brushed my teeth and gargled a
ton of mouthwash the last time I had gone to the bathroom. Nothing
more disgusting than dealing with a sick guy with bad breath.

“You cooked?”
I asked, my sick voice sounding pretty pathetic and dumb to me, but
she smiled anyways.

“Sort of.”
She sat down on the bed. “Can you sit up?”

Well, part of me could.
Even half dead, I was still rock hard at the sight of her. Especially
with her hair all loose and sexy. She looked different, though. It
took a moment for me to figure it out.

“Are you wearing
color?” I swatted for my bedside lamp, nearly knocking it over
in my attempt to turn it on. When I finally did, the light
practically blinded me with its intensity, but once the spots cleared
from my eyes, I saw that yes, Ella was wearing color. Pale
color—green to be specific—but color nonetheless.

“Where’s
your habit?” I asked.

“I wear color.”
She lifted her chin in indignation, but she was smiling.

“Won’t
Mother Superior tattle on you?”

“Hush.” She
lifted the spoon. “Use that mouth for something useful, why
don’t you, and eat some soup?”

“There are many
other ways my mouth can be useful.” I wiggled my eyebrows at
her. “Hop under the covers and I’ll show you.” I
was only half kidding, but my cock wasn’t kidding at all. And
if I had even just an ounce more energy, I would have done it proud.
Unfortunately, it took all my strength just to sit up.

Ella just rolled her
eyes and held out the spoon. I had to admit, I liked being coddled by
her. I usually hated getting sick, but anything that got a beautiful
woman to sit at my bedside and feed me was something I had to be
thankful for.

I took a sip of the
soup. It was delicious. Salty and flavorful. Simple. Not quite like
my mom’s recipe, but in the same vein.

“Good?”
Ella asked, though it was pretty evident from how I was devouring
each bite that I liked it.

“Good,” I
managed once I had cleaned out the bowl. It was the first real meal I
had had since getting sick and it warmed me from the inside. Or maybe
that was Ella, her thigh pressed against mine, only a thin sheet and
her skirt between us. Did she suspect I was completely naked here? It
was probably hard to ignore the evidence of my attraction to her,
practically bursting through the sheet. Down boy, I ordered, but
there was no controlling my cock around her.

Unfortunately,
finishing the soup had the unwanted affect of her getting up and
going into the kitchen.

“I thought you
didn’t cook,” I called to her, bunching the sheets over
my crotch in an attempt to hide my unwavering boner.

“I don’t.”
She peered over the counter, a playful grin on her face. “That
was canned soup.”

My mouth dropped open.
“You lie!” I accused, not willing to believe it.

“I would never
lie about soup.” She came back towards the bed with another
full bowl. “You ate canned soup and you liked it.”

“I’m sick,”
I objected. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m
out of my mind with fever.”

“Admit it.”
She held out another full spoon. “You liked it.”

“Never!”
But a hungry growl from my stomach revealed the truth. Dammit.

Ella lifted an eyebrow.
“So you won’t mind if I eat this, then?”

“Well, maybe I
just like you feeding me,” I offered, still not willing to
accept defeat on canned soup. Canned soup!

“Mmhmm.”
Ella lifted the spoon to her lips, her gorgeous luscious lips, and
took a sip. Dammit again.

“You tricky
minx,” I muttered. “Give me that soup.”

She grinned as she
handed it over and barely gloated at all as I devoured my second
bowl.

“So what’s
the deal with this soup?” I asked after I had eaten my fill.
“You seem to have a rather intense relationship with it.”

Ella blushed a
little—damn, how I loved it when she blushed.

“It just makes me
feel safe, I guess,” she admitted. “I get really anxious
before performances. And it was really bad when I was younger. I
couldn’t eat anything days before a recital. So my parents, who
don’t really cook that much, would always give it to me
afterwards, because usually my stomach was still so upset that I
really couldn’t handle anything else. And I guess I found it
really comforting because after a while, I just began to associate it
with being calm, with it being over. Helps me feel a little less
lost.”

“You’re not
lost,” I reached for her hand. “You’re here with
me.”

She smiled at that.
“There’s just something about the soup that I can’t
really explain. I can’t be stressed if I smell it. If I could
wear it as a perfume, I would, but that would probably be weird.”

“I don’t
know about weird.” I winked at her. “But you’d
probably have a lot of hungry strangers following you around. Me
included.”

“You’re not
a stranger,” she corrected. “Strange, but not a
stranger.”

I placed a hand to my
chest. “I’m touched.”

She placed one on my
head. “Indeed you are.”

“Ouch.” I
pretended to wince. “Are you this nice to all the guys you
date?”

“No.” Her
voice went quiet. “Just the ones I like.”

That would have been
the perfect moment to kiss her. To pull her towards me and roll her
underneath my naked, aching body, reaching my hand between her legs,
touching her exactly where I knew she wanted to be touched and
stroking her until she screamed before thrusting deep inside of her.

That would have been
the moment, if I wasn’t halfway dead with the flu and if my
cell phone hadn’t rang.

“I’ll get
it.” Ella jolted up, clearly embarrassed by her admission, the
same admission that had both thrilled and aroused such an intense
fantasy in me. Even though my phone was just on the other bedside
table, she still went around the bed to pick it up. Good thing, or
she would have had to lean over me, and even being sick, that
wouldn’t have stopped me from grabbing her and kissing her
until we both lost our minds.

“Hello?”
she answered the phone. “Oh, hi, Mr. Matson.”

Great. My dad.

“Jake is sick so
I’m just here helping him out.” There was a pause and she
cast a sideways glance at me. “I’m a . . . friend.”

My dad was always good
at muddling situations, even when he wasn’t physically present.
Tonight was clearly not the exception to that rule.

“Uh-huh. Of
course. Yes, it was very nice to meet you as well.”

Ella lowered the phone.

“Your dad,”
she told me and handed over the phone. I watched the sway of her
perfect ass in her slinky skirt as she walked away from the bed and
back into the kitchen, and I tried to banish all the fantasies that
sprang up.

I lifted the phone to
my ear.

“Hi, Dad,”
I said, trying to sound as sick as possible, even though I knew the
record for the longest conversation between the two of us was around
five minutes.

“You sound
terrible,” he told me gruffly.

“Yep.” I
coughed loudly, trying to ignore Ella’s unimpressed glance from
the kitchen. “I have the flu.”

“Well, drink lots
of liquids and get some rest.” That was about as fatherly as my
dad got. I was sure things had been different when my mom was still
around, but those memories seemed to get further and further away
from me, replaced by the guy who really didn’t know how to
connect with me. And vice versa, I supposed.

“Yeah, I’m
on it,” I told him.

“That Ella
sounded nice.”

Something we could both
agree on.

“She is.” I
gave her a smile and she smiled back.

“Things still
good with the restaurant?” Dad asked.

“Yep.”
Years of experience told me he didn’t really want to know the
details. I was pretty sure he didn’t even know which restaurant
I worked for, even though I had been there for four years. He hadn’t
come to eat there once. I stopped asking a while ago.

“That’s
good.”

“Yep.”
There was a long pause and I heard him clear his throat.

“Well, I hope you
feel better, son.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Talk to you
later.”

“Okay.”

After he hung up, I
leaned back on my pillow. Well, if I had been looking for a boner
killer, I had gotten one. I suddenly was exhausted.

“Why don’t
I let you rest?” Ella appeared at the foot of my bed, looking
concerned but thankfully not prying. Tonight was not the night to
talk about my folks. And even though I wanted her to stay, I knew
that sleeping was probably the thing I needed right now.

“Are you sure you
don’t want to stay here and watch me sleep?” I teased.
“I’ve heard I’m quite the handsome sleeper.”

“While I’m
sure you’re much more attractive when you’re sleeping—”
Ella shot back.

“Ouch,” I
said, but I was loving this no-holds-barred side of her.

“—I think
it’s better that I sit this round out,” she finished.

“Alright.”
I stretched my arms up, not missing how her eyes darted down to the
sheets riding low on my hips. “But once I’m back in
fighting form, there will be no excuses. Deal?”

Her gaze met mine and
didn’t waver. It was all heat.

“Deal,” she
said.

Ella

“Wear something
you don’t mind getting dirty,” Jake told me when he
called to set up our next date.

My mind flashed through
a million different possibilities—most of them involving food,
especially whipped cream that I would lick off his chest and arms and
stomach and . . . 

I heard a chuckle on
the other line of the phone and I realized I had let out a soft moan.

“Clearly your
mind is already dirty enough,” Jake murmured, his voice
rumbling through me and giving me chills. “Careful, baby, or I
might not be able to wait until tomorrow night.”

“Anticipation is
a good thing,” I told him, not fully believing it myself.

“Yeah, but
satisfaction is much, much better,” he growled, and I thought
about throwing down the phone and rushing upstairs to where I
imagined him sprawled out on his bed. But before I could act on that,
Jake coughed. Clearly he was still a little sick.

“Sounds like you
need some more rest before anyone can be satisfied,” I teased
him.

“Oh, don’t
worry about that,” he informed me. “I guarantee
satisfaction. No matter what.”

I shivered again. Most
men promised that—and thought they could deliver—but Jake
was the first guy I actually believed would be able to fulfill that
guarantee. And I couldn’t wait.

“Where are we
going?” I asked Jake when he picked me up the next day. Just
looking at him, you couldn’t tell that he had been bedridden
for several days. Same devastatingly handsome guy, clean-shaven, but
wearing another one of his seen-better-days shirts and a pair of
jeans that molded to his thighs like a second skin. Although I had
liked Jake in his slacks and button-up shirt, this was the one I
preferred. I even missed the stubble a little.

“Have I ever seen
you in jeans before?” Jake neatly sidestepped my question. When
I had opened the door he had let out a whistle. It wasn’t a
form of greeting I often got, but I loved it.

“I haven’t
owned a pair in a while.” I smoothed my hand down them. I was
so used to skirts that it felt a little strange wearing jeans, but I
liked the way Jake looked at me in them.

“You should own a
few,” he told me, taking my hand and spinning me around.
“Mmmhmm.” He stopped me so I was facing away. “Yep.
I think I’ll buy you a few more pairs.”

I looked over my
shoulder to find that he was staring at my butt. I yanked my hand out
of his and spun around, trying to be bothered, which was really hard
because I was mostly flattered. And a whole lot turned on. Who knew
that having a guy openly gawk at you was such a turn-on? I supposed
it had a lot to do with who the guy was.