Page 64 of Blocked Score

“Well, obviously I’m not making you sleep on the floor.” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and toy with it. This is probably going to drive me literally insane with horniness, but what other choice do I have? “We can share your bed. You said it’s big, right?”

“Oh, it’s big.” The boyish twinkle in Lane’s eye makes me shake my head, but it also makes heat coil high between my legs, because I’m about to be under the covers with something whose size I very vividly remember.

“Come on, roomie,” Lane says, a grin sliding across his face. “Let’s go to bed.”

32

LANE

The most heavenly scent fills my nose.

That’s the first thing that makes me realize I’m awake. As my brain tunes into consciousness, I sense that the house is perfectly, utterly still. There’s no noise, no movement, not even the faint rumble of a car passing by outside. It must be the middle of the night.

I thought it was going to take forever to get to sleep tonight, with Scarlett in my bed. Hell, I doubted I was even going to be able to. I envisioned a sleepless night as my body tortured me with unfulfillable desire, keeping me in a constant state of restlessness until day broke.

But miraculously, I went out like a light soon after Scarlett slid into my bed and pulled the covers over her body. Being in bed with her just felt so damnrightthat I quickly dozed off into an untroubled, blissful sleep.

The sleep might have come quick and been restful, but it hasn’t lasted the whole night.

With a flash of awareness, I realize how close to Scarlett I am.

No, not just close. She’s tucked against my chest, my arm looped over her waist, my legs curled to spoon her.

Fuck, that’s what that smell is. I’m breathing in the scent of her hair, my nose pressed against the soft tuft of it.

It took a little while, but now my body’s fully aware of the position it’s in, and a sudden rush of life throttles through me.

I sense the warmth of Scarlett’s body radiating against mine. More than warmth—heat that scorches against my chest and my stomach even through the fabric of our shirts.

Sheer, raw need slices through me, a painful desire to feel her bare skin against mine. I have to suck the inside of my cheeks between my teeth and bite down to tame the feeling.

Then I realized where my hand is.

With my arm curled over her, the back of my right hand grazes lightly against the swell of her breast. I feel its shape, its weight, its gloriously perfect softness. I want so fucking bad to turn my hand around so that I’m palming it, finally once again feeling its firm heft in my hand. I want to squeeze it, fondle it, brush the pad of my thumb over Scarlett’s taut nipple and feel the shudder through her body.

My throat constricts as I become aware of how painfully hard I am. My cock is a throbbing rod between my legs. Hot, sharp pangs of arousal beat a staccato rhythm at its base, reverberating through my achingly tight balls and groin.

I’m so fucking hard, and every damn inch of Scarlett that I’m touching feels so soft that the urge to plunge inside her is maddening.

She tilts her hips, and my teeth clench. The motion presses and slants her ass against my hardness. Fire crackles through my bloodstream. Sparks prick all over my skin.

I slowly pull in a breath to control myself.

I should move away from her. Roll out of this bed and sleep on the floor, like I offered. But peeling myself away from her body is so far beyond my capabilities right now, I might as well be talking about sculpting the wind.

Then she does it again. Her hips roll. This time firmer, harder, her backside pressing flush against my pelvis and grinding. Sparks blast up and down my spine, and it feels like a bolt of lightning strikes right at the base of my cock.

“Scarlett,” I can’t help but moan her name, a plea and a lamentation all at once.

“Lane.” My name comes back, carried on her voice, and it steals the breath from my chest.

Is she asleep? Is she dreaming?

Her hand curls around my wrist, the one that’s resting against her boob. Disappointment hardens in my chest when she pushes it away, but it melts as heat bursts behind my sternum when she keeps pushing, directing my hand between her legs.

“Fuck,” I groan, voice thick with gravel. She must be eighty percent asleep, totally unsure of what she’s doing. “Scarlett, stop.”

“Lane,” her voice is a needy squeak, “I want it. Need it.”

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