Page 8 of Sweet Little Lies
And someday he’s bound to hurt himself – or possibly me – with his reckless ways. And it scares me.
Coming to my senses, I push against his rock-hard chest. It doesn’t take much of a struggle for him to get the picture. He lets out a mewl of displeasure, his breathing choppy and erratic, but stops knowing I need him to.
I clumsily detach myself from his hold and regain my footing, looking everywhere but at him. The heat of his mouth still lingers on my neck and my fingers trace the gentle slope of flesh where his lips just tasted.
“Lance…” I start but he waves his hand in the air apologetically.
“No, I’m sorry, Mica. I always make a mess of things with you. Fuck, I just can’t help myself,” he laments as he stands and moves forward a few steps, turning his back to gain some distance from me.
There’s a part of me that just wants to leap right back into his arms and let him devour me. Screw the consequences and let him take me as hard and fast as he wants. Fill me with all that pent-up desire and need that’s been brewing between us for a year.
Would it be good?
Hell yes. It’d be the best thing I’ve ever had. I have no doubts.
But the aftermath would break my heart.
Once the deed was done, he’d come to his senses and realize I was just another one of his conquests and once he got what he wanted, he’d lose interest. And that would rip my heart and soul to shreds.
The air between us is heavy and we’re both panting hard. I want to say something, but don’t know what. I’m still a little woozy from the affects his body has on me. I watch with worried eyes as he slowly turns back to face me, the expression on his face hard to decipher.
“I’m always apologizing to you, Mica. I do stuff that I always have to say I’m sorry for.I just…I just lose my self-control with you.”
I know the feeling.
“Maybe we shouldn’t-”
He’s quick to respond, grabbing my wrists in a gentle vice to hold me in front of him. Fear seems etched in his dark gray eyes.
“No, please. I promise I’ll be good. I need you, Mica. Plus, I have a favor to ask you.”
His sudden desperation is like an arrow to my heart. I bleed for him. And it’s very uncharacteristic for him to ask anybody for anything. Even with his friends he’s reluctant to ever ask for help. As if it would ruin his image or make him less of a man. Or show his weaknesses.
When I don’t respond, he pulls me into his arms in the sweetest embrace. I close my eyes when the sound of his heartbeat vibrates through his chest.Ba dump. Ba dump. Ba dump.
He’s so warm and solid, filling me with a sensation like I’m up on top of a mountain ready to jump.
It’s exhilarating. Liberating. Freeing.
But it’s also so terrifying that sometimes I forget to breathe.
“What is it? Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
The weight of his hand combs through my loose hair down my back, the other hand at the curve above my butt, his thumb gently stroking the patch of skin under my t-shirt and panties. Goosebumps flitter down my legs.
He inhales deeply. “Go get dressed and I’ll tell you over breakfast.”
Just like that, he releases me and swats my ass in the direction of my bedroom, as he heads into my kitchen to wait.
My head spins and I feel discombobulated as I change into some shorts and a shirt. Lance is like that wild summer thunderstorm. It comes on slowly, rolling in and changing the atmosphere around you until the sky lights up in a frenzy of flashes and fury.
And like any good storm chaser, I’m enthralled by the inner workings of the chaos, always searching for any way I can get closer to the action; hoping to find out what makes the storm tick before it changes direction and leaves you with a mess to clean up.
