One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,57
my nose not suffer, my eyes don’t either.
Lola strides into my apartment, tossing a glance at me as she goes. She drops her purse on the floor, nibbling on her lip while she kicks off her shoes.
Holy fuck.
She wastes no time.
She walks through my living room, paying no heed to the books on my coffee table, the artwork on the wall. Turning to me, she tugs at the hem of her T-shirt, slides it up an inch, another inch, then a few more.
Revealing a supremely lickable sliver of her belly.
My bones vibrate with lust. “Is that your clubbing look? Something to show off a little midriff?”
“Maybe it is.” She shimmies the shirt higher as she heads for the hallway, on a beeline for the bathroom. “Maybe this is how I dress for a hot date.”
Yes. That’s exactly what I want to hear.
A rumble works its way up my chest.
Yanking off my shirt, I toss it on the floor. “Are you going on a hot date, Lola?”
She continues down the hall, looking back at me, lifting the shirt the rest of the way, only to let it fall to the floor, giving me a sneak peek at—fuck me now—her cranberry-red bra.
“Yes, I have a ridiculously hot date in about one minute, and I need to make sure I’m in just the right outfit for it,” she says with a little sashay of her hips.
Her hands move to the front of her jeans, and I groan at the sound of her zipper. When she reaches the bathroom door, she spins around, slides the denim down her hips, then sheds them.
I swallow roughly. My throat is dry. My chest is a furnace.
She’s nearly naked, and I can barely stand how stunning she is.
I need her. Now.
Bending, I unlace my boots, watching her the whole time as I pull off one, then the other.
She reaches her hand behind her back, continuing to taunt me.
To tempt me.
To reveal herself to me.
Unhooking the bra, she drops it in the hall.
I scrub a hand across my jaw. “Your outfit isn’t finished,” I warn as she steps into the bathroom and heads for the shower.
“Don’t worry,” she purrs. “I’m not quite done putting it on. Almost there.”
I unbutton my jeans, pushing them down, kicking them off.
Stretching a hand into the shower, she cranks on the faucet then turns, stopping in front of me. She hooks her thumbs into the lace of her panties.
I’m. Dead.
Just. Fucking. Dead.
This woman is killing me with her striptease.
“One more little thing,” she says, “and my outfit will be all set.”
I’m stone, hard as a statue, hotter than a sidewalk in the summer, as Lola glides her panties down her legs, steps out of them, and then tosses them at me. I grab the scrap of lace in one hand, my eyes never leaving the goddess as she steps into the steamy shower.
I bring the panties to my nose, inhaling her sexy, erotic scent.
I’ve never been this aroused.
Never wanted anyone so damn much.
“Your outfit is perfect,” I growl.
“Thanks. But you’re not in your hot-date clothes, Lucas,” she taunts as the water streams down her lush body.
I rectify that in seconds, stripping out of my boxer briefs, stepping into the shower, and shutting the door behind me.
“So it is a group shower,” she says.
I don’t answer. Instead, I shut her up with my mouth, kissing her hard and passionately.
Kissing her like she’s mine.
Like she belongs to me.
That’s how it feels after this surreal twenty-four hours with the woman I thought I couldn’t stand.
But now I can’t stand not touching her, not tasting her, not having her.
I seal my mouth to hers and kiss her like a starving man. Her lips are spectacular, and her body is heaven, all silky soft and sliding against mine as the hot water beats down, the steam wrapping around us, enrobing us in this private cocoon of lust and desire and something more.
Of second chances perhaps.
I cup her cheek, slide my hand into her hair, and kiss her like I don’t want to stop a damn thing.
I don’t want to stop falling into her.
But there is something I desperately need to start.
Something she wants.
Something I’ve fantasized about.
I break the kiss. “Sit down. Spread your legs. You’re going to get what you asked for this morning.”
22
Lola
If there are guidelines for how to rekindle a friendship as extinct as the dodo bird—and there probably are, if I had looked—they might not include tit for tat in the oral department.