Page 7 of Sweet Little Lies
I shake my head to deny, wondering why I’m wasting time arguing over this. “No, what I said was, this was the only time I had tomyselfthis week.”
“Exactly!” he confirms, pointing his finger in my direction. “Which means, you have time to have breakfast with the hottest basketball player around.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus. You’re incorrigible. Your ego is as big as-”
“My dick…I know. It’s a curse.”
I laugh so hard I can’t stop. Lance never fails to crack me up with his antics. He’s funny and always up for a good time.
While I can’t speak to the size of his dick, because I’ve never actually seen it, I may have noticed a time or two the shape of the outline through his basketball shorts. And there may have been some touching and groping during a dark, heavy ‘I’m-going-to-regret-this’ make-out session we had a few months ago. It was during a very weak moment when I gave in to his demands because his kisses made my brain the consistency of soggy grits and my resistance was at an all-time low.
But as usual, I put a stop to things before they went too far. Because getting involved and losing myself to Lance would not be good for either of us.
Lance and I, while we have sexual chemistry bigger than the stratosphere, could never work. And I’m not going to be one of his casual fuck-buddies or hoops hunnies that he can get at the drop of a hat. I have way too much self-respect to be one of his booty calls.
In fact, it still surprises me that Lance shows me any attention at all. I half expected him to lose interest in me soon after the first time I turned him down. And the second. And the third.
But he’s like the Energizer Bunny. He just keeps at it. Maybe it’s the challenge that I represent. I’m not that easy girl or the one who chases him. I think I defy his logic and he enjoys the competitive aspect of working to get something he’s never had. And honestly, it’s getting harder and harder to resist his advances. Maybe I should just do it and get it over with so I can resume my regular scheduling.
The thought of losing his friendship, though, makes me sad. And it’s the last thing I’d want to do.
But right now, there is no time for fooling around. I’ve got tons of stuff I need to do before work. To show him what I really think about his over-inflated ego, I place my thumb against his temple and push his head backwards so itthwampsagainst the couch cushion. But I’m not fast enough to evade his grasp and he yanks me down on top of his lap with a growl.
Warning bells blare in my head, alerting me to the real possibility that I’ve just been suckered into Lance’s sexy-vortex and am about to be swallowed whole.
I wiggle with all my might, hoping to squirm away from him, but his hold is strong. And the chemistry inevitable.
The fight in me is quickly diminished, replaced with my body’s desire to be ensnared by this sexy man.
“Micaela,” he murmurs into my neck, where his mouth hovers against my flesh. Not kissing me exactly, but burning me with the heat of his lips. The warmth of his breath. The inferno of his desire.
“Let me repay you for taking care of me the other night. I want to say thank you. It’s just breakfast.”
And then his mouth begins to pepper my sensitive skin with hot, wet kisses, until I’ve relaxed my neck to give him better access.Dios mio, how easily I fall into his trap, like a moth to a flame.
He sucks up all my willpower I have stashed away in reserve. I’ve wanted him for so long – since the first time I met him through my friend, Ainsley and her boyfriend, Cade - that I rarely have the strength to tell him no.
Without a doubt, if he were to flip me over on the couch and spread my legs open to make room for his body, I’d be useless against his advances. My body would bend to his will. He could have his way with me six ways to Sunday and I wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. Because he’s that potent. And I’m that hungry for him.
Luckily, even though I’ve lost all impulse control, Lance knows my reluctance and respects the line I’ve drawn between us. He’s never pushed me past the point of uncomfortable, although he sure as hell has tried to edge that line on more than one occasion. He’s the master of setting the land-speed records for turning me on and then letting me go, like a balloon he’s filled with air and then releases. I end up empty and burning with need for him to finish the job.
But I’ve carefully maintained our “friend-zone” agreement, which he’s reluctantly committed to in the past. But which he’s failing miserably at right now.
And so am I.
My moan echoes across the room, mocking my attempts at keeping that respectable personal space. “Mmm…”
He finds my earlobe and bites it, his breath hot and sensual across my ear. “Is that a yes, then?”
The hard ridge of his erection pokes up through his shorts and I can’t stop myself from grinding against him. Apparently, I’m hornier than I thought. What can I say? It’s been two years since I’ve had sex and Lance is too hot to resist.
When Lance is sober, he’s the perfect guy. He’s sweet, thoughtful, funny, brave and wildly handsome. And he makes me melt with every touch, smile or sweet-talking word he gives me.
Our groans mix together, an alchemy of flavor, desire and blind need. His appeal is enormous – like an opened box of assorted chocolates that has you salivating for just one taste. But I know if I proceed, I’ll gorge myself until I’m so full it’ll cause harm.
Because regardless of how good it feels in Lance’s arms, taking pleasure from his virility and hotness, it doesn’t erase the reservations I have over him and how it would work between us.
And while he might be sober now, that’s not always the case. When he’s drunk…he’s too much to handle. He’s a happy drunk. Fun-loving. Spirited. Crazy and over-the-top. Drunk Lance is out-of-control Lance.
