the prize, a snore reverberated from his chest. My head shot up. What the…?
Lucas’s eyes were closed, mouth open, head slumped to the side against the back of the couch. More snores followed up that first one. I blinked, trying to poke him sharply in the chest a few times to jostle him awake but there was no response.
Well… shit.
My shoulders slumped in defeat and I conceded, carefully zipping up his pants. Then I pulled off his shoes and gently eased him onto his side. There was no way in hell that I was getting him into his bed. He had to weigh almost twice as much as me.
After having fetched a pillow and throw off his bed and setting a glass of water on the coffee table, I made him about as comfy as I possibly could. Then I retrieved my heels from underneath his piano and headed back to my solitary room to collapse.
Frustrating? Yes. But I’d definitely ended up on the better end of that bargain so… I wouldn’t fret too much. Tomorrow was always another day to get square with him, or maybe even… horizontal.
A hot image of Lucas and I tangling up the sheets of his fancy wooden bed. What a nice image to entertain as I slipped off into lala land hoping for another fun sex dream.
Chapter 11
Lucas
Some obscure Scotsman once said that if love makes the world go round, Scotch makes it go round twice as fast. I had to say this morning that I agreed. While it had been fun in the moment, that Scotch was causing a lot of regret on a Monday, of all days.
My eyes cracked open and my lips were caked with dried drool from where I’d been mouth breathing all night. My face was probably going to bear the waffle imprint from the couch material for the rest of the day.
And we wouldn’t even talk about the marimba concert currently taking place between my throbbing temples. Under normal circumstances, I’d curse the fact that I’d ever done this to myself as I coughed and rubbed the grit from my eyes. But the memory of the incredible finish to a shitty night was making that all too difficult.
I sucked in a sharp breath at the memory of Kat’s smooth, soft skin. Her pale legs as they dangled down the front of my piano. The feel of her silky thighs against my cheeks, the taste of her. The way she’d responded to me. Fuck. She’d come so hard, so fast it had bowled me over—pretty much literally. I must have passed out minutes after that. But what a way to go…
Shit. Now my head wasn’t the only body part that was throbbing.
I rubbed at my forehead, trying to ease the dull ache while pondering what the hell had led to that amazing punctuation mark at the end of the day. I should be chastising myself for crossing a boundary I’d worked so hard for months to set and keep in place. I just couldn’t find it in me to do it.
I’d been wanting to taste her since pretty much the moment I’d first seen her almost two years ago. That gorgeous burnished hair, those amazing, intelligent blue eyes. That wit, the gregarious tough-girl charm. Yeah she drove me insane on a daily basis with her teasing and button-pushing. But I enjoyed giving it back to her just as hard—or harder.
All that had proved to be a months-long, protracted and frustrating exercise in daily unfulfilled foreplay.
And finally, last night, drunk off my ass, I’d gotten the chance to hear her moan. To say my name and to watch her while she came and know that I was the one doing it to her. Damn it. I was hard and already plotting ways in which we could pick up where we’d left that To Be Continued caption.
My all too pleasant thoughts were suddenly cut by an unfamiliar yet persistent chime and even more annoying buzz against the wood of my coffee table.
What the—?
It was the alarm app on a phone. Diving for my device, I saw nothing. Then I turned with a groan—and the world turned with me. As the alarm persisted, I felt around on the coffee table for the other phone sitting there. For some accursed reason, Kat must have set an alarm for this morning. I frantically pressed every button available to me to turn off the goddamn thing. Jesus, Kat. Wasn’t this what alarm clocks were for?