The Lucky in Love Collection - Lauren Blakely Page 0,116

reaches me, meets my lips, and kisses me so softly and sweetly, it blows my mind. My dick would like to be blown too, and he’s announcing his desires loud and proud.

Perri slinks closer, deepening the kiss. She swipes her tongue against mine and ratchets this moment to a whole other level. She’s fierce and fiery, and she kisses me with an intensity that makes my cock swell and my desire shoot through the roof.

I want to take her right now. Have her right here. Fuck her on the floor, on the couch, anywhere, everywhere.

She’s insistent and in control, even on all fours, kissing me. She rises to her knees, and my desire shoots to the sky. Touch me now, I want to growl, and maybe my wish is going to come true, since her hands are on a fast track for my crotch.

But they land on my thighs.

And you know what? That feels pretty fucking good too. She presses her palms hard on my legs, inching close to my cock as she kisses me.

“The other night,” she whispers, breaking the kiss.

“Yeah?”

“After the forehead kiss. When you went upstairs and you had nothing on . . .”

“What about it?”

“Did you get yourself off?”

I groan. “Damn straight I did.”

She murmurs. “You, in bed, jacking off. Hot.”

“You can come help me tonight,” I rasp, shuddering as lust surges through me. As I picture her finding me, joining me, wrapping her hand around my dick.

I’m burning up with a wild longing for her. I grab her wrists, drag her even closer. Her eyes drift down to my hard-on, tenting my shorts.

She licks her lips. “Will you be jerking this perfect dick in your bed in a little while?”

Holy hell, she is the vixen of my dreams with her filthy little mouth. “I’d much rather you do it for me.”

Her lips curve up. “I bet you would.”

“You want to, kitten?” Fuck resistance. Fuck ground rules. I need to fuck her.

“I’d love to . . .”

I’m ready to pull her up, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her upstairs. “Now. Let’s go now.”

She smiles like that’s all she wants in the world. Then the smile transforms. Naughtier, more mischievous. She lets go of me, sighs contentedly, stands, and brushes her hands down her thighs. “That was great practice.”

What the hell? Is she high? Is she tripping on something? Because there’s no way she said that.

I rub a finger against my ear. “That was practice?”

She blows me a kiss. “Of course. Just like the times you teased me. No mercy, remember?”

I burn with frustration. I’m amped up to the moon. I’m a lethal combination of aroused to the ends of the Earth and annoyed to the center of it. I point at her. “Don’t forget the no sympathy part. That means you, woman. You want to play this game? Then you are on.”

She lifts her defiant chin. Nibbles on the corner of her lip. Arches an eyebrow. “Bring it.” She winks, sways her hips, and saunters down the hall. When she reaches her door, she turns around, slides her hand down her chest on a fast track to her waist, then lower. She teases her fingertips against the waistband of her shorts.

My dick tries to chase after her, the rest of me army-crawling behind it if need be.

“By the way, I’ll be in my room, naked and thinking of you as I replay that.” She dips her finger inside her waistband before she spins around.

A second later, her door clicks shut.

Payback isn’t a bitch. Payback is a hard-as-stone dick that’s desperate for attention and not getting it.

Screw silver-screen imitation.

Forget my own attempts at air smooches, old-fashioned lip-locks, and any other kind of kiss.

It’s time to throw out the playbook.

That’s what I intend to do, before I detonate from lust.

23

Derek

I’ve applied pressure on wounds. I’ve felt pressure to pay bills. But I’m learning a whole new meaning of the word as I imagine Perri while I ride to work, as I picture her between calls, as I see images of her lush body flash before my eyes no matter what I do.

During a break, I hit up Merriam-Webster to make sure I’m clear on it. There are a handful of definitions for “pressure”: “the action of a force against an opposing force,” “the stress or urgency of matters demanding attention,” and “a sensation aroused by moderate compression of a body part or surface.”

That all sounds about right. But there’s one missing—the stress of wanting your roommate