The Lucky in Love Collection - Lauren Blakely Page 0,118
option is this.” I gesture to the steps. “I go upstairs, and you follow me a minute later.”
“And what happens upstairs?” She’s so damn direct it arouses me further. Because it suggests she’s done with the games too.
“Up there, the games are over. No more resistance—no more toying. We give in to this.” I gesture from her to me. “We give in to what’s been happening from the second you pulled me over. I haven’t once stopped wanting you. I want you more every day. You’re under my skin and in my head, and right now, I need to fuck you. And you need to fuck me.”
Her breath hitches. “Is that what I need?”
“Only you know. But you sure look like you want to get on my cock and ride me.”
She gasps.
I step closer. “And that’s where I want you. But you also look like you might need me to put you on your hands and knees and slide into you, fucking you so damn hard you scream.”
“That’s what you’d do?” She’s breathless, and her hand flutters over her chest.
I give myself another up-and-down tour of her body. “Or you might look like you want me to spread your legs and devour your sweet little pussy with my mouth and tongue.”
“Those are a lot of options you’ve just laid out,” she says, a little flirty, a lot dirty.
I grin. “Consider it lady’s choice tonight. You come upstairs, and you can take your pick from the No More Practice menu. I’ll be waiting.”
She hums, and it hits an octave I’ve never heard till tonight. “Is that what happens in the room above the garage?”
I lift a hand and finger a strand of her hair. She trembles as I touch her. “Come find out.”
24
Perri
There are hard decisions. There are easy decisions. And there are no-brainers.
When Derek leaves, I don’t say one, two, three. I don’t employ patented techniques of discipline. Nor do I turn and head the other way.
I simply hit replay on his last words.
Come find out.
I listen to those three words over and over, letting them ripple through my body, linger on my skin, and turn me on and on.
It’s like he’s flipped open the lid of a jeweled chest of desires, and he’s luring me with his invitation to explore the treasures inside. I want to know everything it holds. I want to head upstairs, turn the corner, and find him in bed.
I want to discover him, and to find us, because I’m dying for him.
But there’s more than mere lust at stake—that, I can manage on my own, thanks to fingers and wands and twelve-speed friends in my nightstand drawer.
This is different.
This is a longing deep in my bones. It shows no sign of leaving. Because I care for him so damn much.
I like him for more than the body, the face, and the jawline. I like what’s inside. I like what he says. I like who he is.
Maybe that makes the trek upstairs a dangerous idea. In fact, it probably is. But I don’t want to play games anymore either. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I leave the kitchen, cross the back hallway, and open the door to the stairwell.
I stop at the bottom stair, letting my eyes adjust to the dark. I know these steps. I’ve walked up them. But tonight, they seem to lead to a whole new world. An after-hours den where passion is the offering, where pleasure is the currency, where coming together is the one and only goal.
In my black heels, I take the first step.
Then the next.
With each click of my shoes, I shed my worries. I dismiss the hurdles—he’s my roommate, I need to focus on work, I’m not interested in relationships.
I kick over those roadblocks as I go.
We’re mature adults, and we’re choosing this tonight—we’re choosing the feel-good factor—and all its risks. I’m choosing what I’ve wanted from the start. I wanted all of him in the waffle truck.
I reach the top step, and it’s silent. So quiet and still. I listen for his breath, for a word, a groan.
All I hear is my own hammering heart. I keep going, turning the corner into his room—a wide-open space with a big bed and moonlight streaming through the windows.
He’s lying on top of the covers, eyes closed, hands parked behind his head.
I half expected to find him with his hand wrapped around his cock, shuttling his fist.