“And maybe we were both standing a little too close to the fire because, I swear, when my hand closed over your wrist, when your body touched mine, I heard a sizzle.”
I can barely swallow past the heavy knot wedged deep within my throat, a tangle of want and awe. And there’s an ache in my chest and between my legs.
I need Lance to kiss me, to touch me, to soothe me. I’ve known this man for less than forty-eight hours, and I want him more than my next breath.
How is that possible?
But it is. It is.
Because I do.
Lance has awakened a part of me I didn’t know existed. A wild, wanton, reckless part of me that wants what she wants now. Not in two months. Not with a geographically convenient, socially acceptable guy whose history I know as well as my own. I want Lance. And I want him now.
To hell with my list. To hell with my rules. Where have they gotten me, after all?
Here. In a hammock. With Lance.
So, maybe I’m right where I’m supposed to be. With exactly the right person.
“Look at me, Vivienne.”
My eyelids flutter open, and I’m falling—maybe even drowning—in twin pools of melted butterscotch.
“I’m going to give you your kiss, a good night kiss, and then you’re going to fall asleep. No more talking, no more asking. Because I swear to God, my willpower is hanging by a thread and the first time I explore your body will not be in a fucking hammock that was probably installed by a drunk kid after a keg stand. Do you understand?”
Desire pelts me like rain, each drop absorbed into my bloodstream until my body is swollen with it, full to bursting. “Yes.”
One corner of Lance’s mouth quirks up, and I see the slice of his dimple for a split second before he angles his head to the side and presses his lips to mine.
That sizzle he mentioned, I feel it too. An energy so intense it burns.
Every nerve in my body erupts in a riot of stimulation. An onslaught of lust.
Lance is kissing me.
And my body is celebrating. New Year’s Eve and Fourth of July fireworks blaze against my closed eyelids, every cell and synapse exploding with color and light.
His tongue glides against the seam of my mouth, seeking entrance. I moan again as his tongue tangles with mine. He tastes so good. So, so good.
Lance’s hand fists in my hair, tugging with just the perfect amount of pressure. I relax into his hold as our breaths collide, air that we’ve created together.
Our kiss deepens, mouths opening wider, tongues rhythmically exploring.
Lance makes a sound deep in his throat. Not a groan exactly. More like a satisfied growl. It’s possessive and visceral. Sexy as hell.
His free hand rides the ladder of my spine until his fingers are curved over my ass, squeezing and manipulating my flesh as I’m brought even harder against him. My hips buck instinctively, desperate to ride the pulsing thickness pressing into my belly. There is a hollow space between my legs that needs to be filled, to be claimed.
Conquered by this Viking.
But it’s not to be. Not tonight.
Lance ends our kiss abruptly, wrenching his mouth from mine. I gasp at the suddenness of it, unable to hold back a whimper of disappointment.
His breaths are heavy, chest heaving. And when I dare to look at his face, it’s pained. “Lance,” I begin, not knowing what I should say after his name.
I have no idea how I’m going to live with him after this. What we just did, the way my body reacted to what we just did, feels like a blaze I’m not sure I can control.
Just because something is unplanned, unexpected, and more than a little unconventional, doesn’t mean it can’t work out for the best. Right?
Sure, if I examine all of the little pieces of him, of us, they’re like a cloud of little red flags. Before tonight, I was merely attracted to him. I mean, who wouldn’t be?
But now, I actually like him. And it feels like he likes me, too. If he didn’t, wouldn’t he be pushing me to have sex right now? Taking what he wants from a willing, very willing, woman?
So maybe, just maybe, Lance likes me, too.
“Good night, Vivienne.” Lance’s words ring with finality. But his stare . . . it’s a little uncertain, too.
Chapter 16
Lance
60 DAYS UNTIL LABOR DAY
Milky morning light is just beginning to seep through the trees overhead when I wake up. Vivienne is cocooned against me, her hair cascading over my shoulder and pooling against my neck. The breeze has strands swaying over my skin.
If we were in a bed, I would roll over and stare at her, study the expression on her face, the geography of her sprawled limbs, the pattern of sun and shadow on her skin that shifts with the wind.
But there is no way to extricate myself without waking Vivienne up, too. And I’m not enough of a masochist to deprive myself of the pleasure of her naked body draped over mine. I already deprived myself of enough last night.
That kiss.
That motherfucking kiss.
The simple, four-letter word isn’t enough to describe what that was. One kiss shouldn’t make me feel like I’m being pulled through a vortex, spinning and spinning with only the woman in my arms to cling to.
One kiss shouldn’t make me want to savor and devour and consume the woman in my arms.
But Vivienne makes kissing, something I’ve done thousands of times with plenty of women, feel new. Different. Deeper.
“What am I going to do with you, Vivienne?” I whisper the words softly, not intending them to actually be heard. But I feel her smile grow against my chest, and she shifts her head back to look up at me, blinking sleepily.
“For starters, you can kiss me again.”
For starters. I like that. Open-ended, plenty of room for improvisation. I slide my arm further beneath her, shifting her so that she’s lying on top of me, the ends of the hammock jutting up on either side of us. Vivienne’s lips are sweet and ripe, her tongue playful.
Her red hair falls over me in a silken curtain, swaying against my face. I know this can only go so far—I don’t have a condom. But Vivienne’s legs are straddling mine, her naked pussy just inches from my painfully swollen cock. I wanted her last night, and I want her even more now. Which makes it next to impossible not to shift my hips up and slide her body down.
My hands rove over her smooth skin, from her shoulders down her spine, along the curve of her waist and the rounded globes of her ass. Kissing Vivienne is like exploring a new world. New sights and tastes and textures. A new language to decipher: all those sighs and moans and groans, the little hitches of her breath, the myriad ways she says just one word—my name.
I don’t want to admit it, don’t even want to think it, but this is a girl I could fall for.
She might have reminded me of Missy at first, but I was entirely wrong about that. Vivienne isn’t looking for a sugar daddy to take care of her. She’s working her ass off—and what a fine ass it is—to take care of herself.
Most of my closest friends have found someone who makes their lives better, happier, more complete. Tripp has Jolie, Tristan has Reina, and Nash has Nixie.
But Bryce is still screwing every puck bunny that lands in his lap. And Holt is bouncing around all over the world, hooking up with whoever he meets while they’re vacationing at one of his family’s hotels. They both say they’re living the dream.