Page 61 of Lucky Laces
She stares at me, as though trying to process that.Then her expression softens and she murmurs, “The fantasies.”
My stomach clenches.“What?”
“In my office, you said”—a flicker of heat in her gaze—“that you’d had fantasies about me.”
I had?
Jesus fucking Christ.
I close my eyes, stifling my groan.
Her hand lifts and she runs her fingers through my hair.My eyes fly open, my heart squeezing tight.“After you saved me from the ceiling collapsing, just when you were about to pass out”—apology in her eyes—“you said you’d had fantasies about me.”
Fuck.Kill me now.
“I don’t remember that part,” I mutter.
“Is it…” Something creeping into her expression that I don’t like.Because it reminds me of the hurt that had clung to the emerald depths of her eyes when she told me about her dirtbag of an ex.“Did you not mean it?Or”—teeth pressing into her bottom lip—“maybe I misheard?”
Giving me an out.
“Sweetheart”—I smooth my hand down her spine—“we’re naked and cuddled up on my couch after you just gave me the best sex of my life.”I tangle my fingers in the ends of her long brown hair.“What do you think?”
She’s quiet for a long moment.
Then her face goes soft and she strokes a hand over my jaw, running her fingertips through the stubble there.“I thinkyouwere the one giving me the best sex of my life.”
My dick get harder.
Something she also feels because her lips curve and she gives my jaw another stroke.And seriously, if she likes my beard that’s grown in over the last couple of days this much then I will definitely be keeping it.
Anything that gets her to keep touching me.
Anything that keeps her interested.
Anything that means I’ll get a little more time with her.
Because maybe then I’ll figure out a way to keep her.
“And just goes to say,” she murmurs, hand sliding from my jaw down to my chest, “that you’re not actually naked—oh my God!”She jerks back so quickly she nearly topples off the couch.
I lurch forward and catch her before she cracks her head against the coffee table, but I’m not fast enough to stop my papers and tablet, the beer I’d opened earlier and the TV remotes from scattering in all directions.
“Shit,” I mutter, tucking her next to me as I sit up and reaching for the bottle that’s tipped over, spilling beer onto my hardwood.
“No!”she exclaims, hands coming to my chest and pushing me back.
“What the fuck, sweetheart?”I ask, gently dislodging her and reaching for the bottle again.
“No,” she repeats, shoving me back once more, but because she pairs it with, “Your leg!”I still, my gaze going down to my thigh.
I curse softly.
What a fucking mess.
She jumps to her feet and the way she seems at a loss for a second, her gaze going from side to side, hands flapping, clearly at a loss as to what to do is cute.
But I’m bleeding.
