Page 65 of Manhattan Secret

Sighing, his wicked mouth brings me back to the here and now and I stop thinking about the future again for the rest of the day.

My shriek can be heard clear across every borough in lower Manhattan and some on the Upper East side. “Would you quit ripping my panties!”

He shrugs, uncaring like all teen boys are, because he’s sneaked his hand up the leg of my shorts while I’m putting a grocery delivery away in the fridge. Stroking my pussy from behind. Before palming my nape, he hooks a thumb under my chin and holds me in his magnetism. “They’re in my way. I’ll buy you more.”

I give him a withering, yet turned on glance, shivering from the way his hands have stroked over every inch of me.

I’m basically Lachlan’s sex slave.

Two days and we haven’t left the house once.

“Do you know, in romance novels, the horny hero always says that, but you never, not once, see him buying the replacement panties. Those chicks are going around bare assed because he’s too impatient to slide them off normally.”

He chuckles, dropping his hand to my behind again and he traces where my leg meets the ample meat of my ass, and after a good fondle he moves inside my shorts again. Now with torn panties he’s able to get the access he wants, and those wicked fingers bring arousal tears to my eyes and what was I saying again?

I know this slice of unrealistic paradise we’re living needs to end soon, if only to send him home before his family put him on the news as a missing person.

Not that he doesn’t speak to them, I heard him on a video chat with his dad last night while I hid out in the living room.

His family scare the bejesus out of me, and I hold my breath every time he speaks to them around me for fear he puts me on the phone.

On what I assume is going to be a fast trip out of the house for food that night, I look at the mall curiously when Lachlan pulls up outside of a famous underwear store. “Why are we here?”

“Buying you fucking panties.”

I laugh. “Lachlan…I was joking.”

He grabs my hand and leads me inside the brightly lit store. “Just get the panties, baby.”

“How many?”

“However many you want.”

“What if I want 200?”

“Then get 200.”

“What if I want 300 pairs?”

He sighs and drives one of his eyebrows so far up his forehead it kisses his hair, making him look so much older than the man-boy wearing cargo pants and a muscle shirt with his sneakers. I hold my giggle. “Laney, pick whatever fucking panties you want so we can go home, you model them for me, and I can rip them off you.”

“Oh, my god.” A feminine voice exclaims behind me. I turn to see a woman in her fifties. She looks Lachlan up and down and smiles brightly at me. “Get the panties, love. Get them all.”

I choose ten in rainbow colors and we go home.

I’m already down to nine new pairs by the time Lachie is finished using me that night.

C H A P T E R 19

Delaney

There was a time my senior year of high school, when Cali went all Captain Marvel on a girl for flirting with Cali’s now husband. I asked her at the time why it bothered her because her boyfriend never reciprocated.

I didn’t understand that kind of irrational, unprovoked, territorial possessiveness … until I walked intoGinger Girlto meet a couple of work people and saw Lachlan with his friends up on the mezzanine, surrounded by girls.

Just like Cali’s boyfriend, he isn’t touching them in any way that would deserve my eyes firing off laser beams ofback off bitches. He’s laughing carefree at the conversation but other than that, there’s no reason for my blood to reach volcanic levels inside my straining veins.

Dragging my eyes away, I head for the bar and only have to wait a few minutes before the girls show up. It takes all my efforts not to look one floor up to see what he’s doing. To the point I even suggest going to another bar, but they nix that idea in favor of staying for food.

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