“Lavender—”
“Shut it, Kodiak. I don’t need this dadbro bullshit. You want me? Then do something proactive about it that isn’t being an asshole or pounding on your chest like some Neanderthal. You’re a damn genius. Use your brain and figure out how to manage the situation.”
I can do that. Be proactive. I take a step forward, but Lavender puts her hand up to stop me.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Being proactive.”
“By doing what, exactly?”
“Uh . . .” I scratch the edge of my jaw. “I was going to start by kissing you.”
Lavender snorts. “You think you deserve to kiss me after the hell you’ve put me through? That’s a fuck no, big boy. You want to know what my mouth tastes like, you need to earn it, and everything else.”
My erection kicks behind my basketball shorts. “Uh, right. Okay. What can I do? Should I . . . apologize again?”
She drags her tongue across her bottom lip, eyes narrowed as a slow smile forms. “You should sit the fuck down.”
I take several steps back and drop into her computer chair, which groans under my weight, since it’s made to fit her tiny body, not mine.
Lavender lifts her tank over her head and tosses it at me. Her tits are nestled in a white satin bra. There’s a lot of cleavage. Lavender has big boobs. She gets asked if they’re fake a lot, especially since the rest of her is so damn tiny. Fun size, really.
“What’re you doing?” My voice is about two octaves higher than it should be.
“You seem to think you know what happens when I’m alone up here. So I’m going to show you. And maybe it’ll give you a little motivation to figure your damn shit out.” She reaches behind her and unclasps her bra.
The straps slide down her arms, and she lets it fall to the floor, exposing her breasts. She grabs them and squeezes, tugging at her nipples. “I bet you want to do this, don’t you?”
“God, yes, I really do,” I grunt. I want them in my mouth. I want to slide my cock between those full, lush tits. I push out of the chair.
She raises a hand, giving me pause. “Sit down or the show’s over.”
I drop down and the chair rolls back, hitting her desk, causing the jar of pencils to fall over. She pops the button on her jeans and drags her zipper down. My erection strains, and I grip the arms of the chair to keep from launching myself at her, since the last thing I want her to do is stop. She shimmies the denim over her hips and down her thighs.
She gives me her back, showing off a pair of black cheekies, and bends at the waist as she removes those too. Lavender’s ass is fan-fucking-tastic. Round and full and completely biteable. And smackable. I would know, since I’ve done both of those things.
She falters for a moment, back expanding as she drags in a deep breath. Her arms hang at her sides, and she draws a figure eight on the outside of her leg, like she’s trying to calm herself.
“You’re perfect, Lavender,” I tell her, afraid she’s going to lose her nerve and stop whatever this is.
She peeks coyly over her shoulder as she runs her hands over her hips.
I nod in encouragement. “I want to touch you like that.”
“I bet you do.” She palms her ass, gives it a squeeze, and follows it with a swift slap that makes me jump and her smile.
The thought crosses my mind that she might not be a virgin.
In which case, I’m going to want to dig some graves.
She runs her fingers through her long, wavy hair, pulling it into a ponytail and fixing it with an elastic before she turns around.
I take in all of her, naked and on display. Just for me, not a room full of people who all got to stare at my half-hard cock for three hours because I was trying to get a rise out of her. Because I wanted her but couldn’t face the consequences of admitting it. Because I was being an asshole.
I exhale a shaky breath, and the arms of the chair squeak under my grip.
She’s almost bare. A thin auburn strip guides my gaze down to the sweet cleft between her thighs. “See something you want?” she taunts.
“Yes,” I groan.
“Too bad you’ve been too much of an asshole to deserve to have me.” She skims her lips with a fingertip. There’s pink paint under her nails. She drags her finger down her throat, circles her nipples and continues the descent until she dips between her legs.
“I’m sorry,” I croak.
“You’re about to be.” She drops to her knees on the floor, in the middle of the mess of sex toys I dumped out. She grabs a very sizeable, very authentically real-looking dildo, complete with balls, and slams it against the hardwood floor. It’s then that I realize it has a suction-cup base.
Without looking, she grabs a bottle sitting by her knee and flicks it open. She pours a thin stream over the head of the veiny fake cock and starts stroking.
Generally I feel pretty good about my size—better than pretty good. But this seems like a lot for someone as small as Lavender. “Baby, I don’t think—”
“Pet names? Someone’s getting desperate. And you’re exactly right; you didn’t think, at all—not about how your asshole behavior affected me, not about whether I was important too. You used your friendship with Maverick as a cop-out. I’m sick of being ignored and protected. I’m done with the bullshit, Kodiak.”
“I was protecting you from me.”
“Still finding excuses, I see. Pretty dumb for someone so smart.” She’s kneeling in front of the dildo, so I can’t see what she’s doing when her hand disappears between her thighs, but the wet sound and her soft whimper are enough to give me an idea.
Her hand reappears, and she lifts her fingers to her mouth, licking up the length of the middle one. “Mmm, tastes like not yours.”
Half of me wants to dispute that—because as far as I’m concerned, she’s always been mine—but the other half, the slightly more voyeuristic side, wants to see where she’s going with this. Will she actually go through with it, or is this Lavender trying to push me over the edge?
I should know better.
Lavender has spent years sitting in the wings, behind her brothers, behind a stage, behind a canvas or a sewing machine. Lavender is usually the quiet one, watching the action and not participating—unless she’s been drinking.
But she’s stone sober right now.
She grips the dildo and slides up the length. She rubs the head over her clit and lines it up with her entrance. Her lids flutter as she sinks down, stretching, accommodating, fucking moaning. Her thighs flex as she rises up, and the head appears before it disappears again, and this time she takes more, up and down, in and out, until all that length and girth is swallowed up inside her.
All I can think about is what it would be like if she were riding me like that, tits bouncing, my tongue in her mouth, breathing in her moans.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” Her fingers dip between her legs, pinching her clit as she slides down the length again. “Being surrounded by all of this . . . ego all the time. Everyone wants to be the best, the biggest, the most, and all I want is to be seen. Acknowledged.” She rises up. “You saw me, didn’t you, Kodiak?”
No one calls me by my full name. Ever. Not even my parents. It’s not even on my school records. Only Lavender has called me that. As soon as she could pronounce my full name, that’s what she’s always called me.