Page 71 of Playboy’s Purgatory

“He’s going to be braggin’ about his for a long time,” his voice is filled with warmth.

“What do you mean?”

“Amongst the last generation’s leadership, he’s the first to have a grandbaby.”

I suck in a breath so sharp that I cough. Playboy smirks and steps closer to me. As if I wasn’t already having problems breathing? He just has to step closer?

His smokey scent wraps around me and my knees go a little weak.

Now that he’s on this whole tour to earn my forgiveness, and maybe more, I’m drawn to him even more. That doesn’t mean I’m not wary. I am, but I can’t deny how he’s changed.

It should count for something. Even a small something.

Just because it matters doesn’t mean I owe him absolution.

His voice drops an octave and becomes rougher, “I’ll come up; I’ll always come up. I’ll always come home. I’ll show up where, and when, you need me.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I’ll believe you and put you first. I just want to make sure you know this matters to me.”

A lump forms in my throat and I have to swallow hard past it. “I’m not sure I can trust all of that.” I whisper, “All I can offer is an invitation to come up and stay this time.”

His fingers tighten on my hip and he nods once. “I’ll take what I can get,” his words are husky and laced with need.

When I turn and head inside, he’s right on my heels. I swear the man is panting.

The moment we’re inside my apartment; he kicks the door closed while grabbing me by the waist. He turns and presses me against the door and uses his hard body presses to hold me in place. When he lifts me, I wrap my legs around his waist and use the door as leverage to arch my back and grind down against him.

I can already feel how hard he is for me. I’m incredibly curious about what this man is packing. I’d never admit it to anyone, but I know I’m curious as hell.

He presses me harder against the door, his hips moving in time with mine. The friction between us is fucking delicious and I rotate my hips in search of more.

Playboy’s lips find my neck. He kisses, licks, and nips up and down the column of my throat.

“The door at the end of the hall,” I moan the words while vaguely gesturing in that direction.

He pulls me away from the door and, with his long strides, gets us to my room quickly. I’m in awe when he carries me like I weigh nothing.

With his face buried in the crook of my neck, his voice breaks slightly when he asks, “Are you sure, Cupcake?”

“Stop talking and fuck me already,” my voice is filled with a challenge he won’t be able to turn down.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls.

He sets me back on my feet long enough to strip me, which he does with shaking hands and jerky movements. My pussy is fucking soaked by the time he gently lays me out on the bed.

I lock my eyes on him as he stands at the edge of the bed and reaches back to pull his shirt off. The way his arms flex with the movement has me clenching my thighs together.

As he reaches for his belt, I’m damn near close to drooling. Playboy’s torso is sexy as hell, all cut lines and swirling ink. The clinking of the buckle of his belt is loud in the quiet of the room.

In one swift movement, he pushes his jeans and whatever undergarment he prefers down over his hips. He keeps pushing them down his thighs and kicks them aside after toeing off his boots. When he stands up, his cock bobs and my mouth falls open.

Talk about proportional to the man itself. Fucking, thankfully. That would have been a crime against nature if it weren’t the case.

But that’s not what has me staring at Playboy’s cock like it’s an endangered species and needs to be on a registry somewhere.

It’s the piercings.

Multiple piercings.

He has one that goes straight through the crown of his cock vertically. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m sure there’s a name for it, but I have no fucking idea what it is. He also has a few barbells down his shaft.