One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,37
real answer.”
I roll my eyes, even though I like his jealous streak a helluva lot. “No, you caveman. I buy lingerie for me. Because I like it. Like the pink bra and panties I had on tonight. I bought them for me.”
His dick twitches. “But I liked them too. So did my dick.”
“Glad to hear it. Anyway, that’s where they took classes. That’s where the iPad has to be.” I’m ready to grab some clothes and catch a cab right now.
“Great. How about you finish what you started while I google Takes Two to Tango and find out their business hours.”
“Are you serious?” I say with an incredulous laugh.
He glances at his erection. “Do I look like I’m joking? Me before tango, please.”
I smile, delighted by his voracious sexual appetite. It matches mine. Because even though I do want to finish the list, I also want to finish him.
He grabs his phone and speaks into it. “Google, tell me the hours for Takes Two to Tango while Lola sucks my cock.”
And I crack up so hard. So hard and so deep that it’s clear I can’t leave this man bereft of a blow job. Because I don’t want to stop either.
I lean down and kiss the tip of his fantastic dick.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he murmurs.
“Now talk me through it, Lucas. You’ll get your reward as you figure out the details,” I say, drawing him into my mouth again.
He groans a fantastically filthy yes as he slides his thumb across the screen. “It’s open,” he says, breathing out hard as I take him deep. “Fuck . . .”
He hits the back of my throat, filling my mouth.
“Open at . . .” He tries again, but he can’t speak as I wrap my fist around the base, gripping him as I suck.
“In the morning . . .” He thrusts up into my mouth, and we find a rhythm.
I take him deep, and he rocks into me, his thumb fumbling away at the screen.
“At eleven. We’ll go . . .” He grunts, panting roughly, finally tossing the phone onto the pillow. “Fuck, Lo.”
I grin wickedly, moving faster, driving him wild, giving him his reward.
“At eleven. Holy fuck. At eleven. Okay?” He bites off a string of curses, the last one ending with Coming now.
And as he fills my mouth, I’m wickedly delighted that we solved another clue and racked up another O.
But I’m more thrilled that he likes this so much. That he craves my body, my mouth, my skin as much as I do his. It’s like a vindication of everything I feared years ago.
That he’d rejected not only the friendship, but this part of me too.
I didn’t simply lose him.
I lost a little sliver of confidence.
I found it again on my own, but it’s sure as hell good to know he responds to me the same way I do to him.
But when he leaves a little later, guitars and T-shirts in hand, I’m sadder than I thought I’d be to say goodbye.
“See you tomorrow,” I say at the door. I’m in a T-shirt and yoga pants. He’s in his clothes again, hair mussed, lips full. Post-sex Lucas. It’s a good look on him, the lover look. It suits his olive skin, his dark-brown eyes.
“Technically, I’ll see you today.” He looks at his watch. “After all, a certain someone kept me up way past midnight.”
I affect a huge yawn. “That certain someone needs her sleep.”
“Same here,” he says, rocking on his heels.
The silence of the late hour wraps around us, and for a few seconds, the air is heavy, thick with unsaid things.
I could ask him to spend the night.
But . . . I don’t think I want to.
I don’t think he wants to either.
Because I don’t know what waking up together would do to this strange, unexpected state of our relationship. It’s as if we’re living in a time warp. A day, maybe two, that exists outside the boundaries of the calendar.
If we rise and shine in the harsh light of day together, what would that do to this bizarre truce? Would it break it? Would we fall apart again?
Right now, the cocoon of nostalgia and night, of friendship and desire, enrobes us.
I don’t want to face him, or us, or myself in the unforgiving light of the morning.
I don’t want to think too much about what just happened.