For the next ten minutes, she takes me through her plans for the pool deck, plus a dining area, gazebo, and firepit surrounded by chairs. I’m paying attention, but I’m mostly breathing in Vivienne’s scent, savoring her husky voice, and sneaking glances at her mouth. Color has risen on her cheeks, and she’s speaking with both passion and authority.
“So,” she finishes, “what do you think? It’s a lot, I know, and I don’t expect you to agree to everything. I can definitely scale it down, take out the—”
“Don’t take out a thing,” I say, covering her hand with mine. “It’s perfect. Well, almost perfect.”
She looks from my face to the graph paper, scrutinizing her plan with a frown for several minutes before looking back up at me.
“There’s no hammock.”
Confusion gives way to amusement. “I didn’t think you’d want a hammock after nearly breaking your back.”
I pluck the sunglasses from Vivienne’s head and slide my hands around her waist, interlocking my fingers at the base of her spine. “Oh, I want a hammock. But this time, I’ll install the damn thing myself.”
She stiffens, uncertainty dimming the brightness of her expression as hesitation flickers in her eyes. But her internal struggle is resolved before I can ask about it, and Vivienne relaxes into my arms. “Please tell me you have a tool belt around somewhere. And that you’re not opposed to working shirtless.”
“I will, if you tell me you’ve reconsidered that rule about not sleeping with anyone in the house.”
“I have.” She grins. “It was a stupid rule.”
A growl crawls up my throat, and I capture Vivienne’s lips in a fierce kiss. Looks like a trip to Home Depot is in my future.
Chapter 20
Vivienne
The desire thrumming through my veins is greedy and impatient as Lance climbs the stairs, taking them two at a time with me in his arms. Pressed up against his torso, every pulse of his heart taps against my breast like a primal drumbeat.
Savannah was spot-on. I was still making choices based on my relationship with Richard, still giving him power over me that he never earned and certainly doesn’t deserve. This is the summer of me, and if I want to see where things with Lance lead, then that’s what I’ll do.
Lance is like a gift that shows up out of the blue.
Completely unexpected and utterly irresistible.
I want this. I want him.
My instinct in the hammock was right—I should just go for it.
When we get to the master bedroom, he kicks the door behind him and leans back against it, capturing my mouth in a heated kiss. He tastes like the peach he ate in the kitchen. Sweet and tart and delicious. Everything about him is strong and hard and solid. But this kiss . . . there’s a ferocity to the way Lance’s mouth explores mine, the way he nips at my lips and sucks on my tongue.
My hands slip into his hair, gripping and pulling at the strands I gather inside my fists. And there’s a low growl that vibrates inside his chest as it climbs up his throat. I swallow every husky, hungry decibel like a glutton, pulling Lance’s audible lust deep into my lungs. It fills me, soothing and stimulating, in equal measure.
Slowly, his hands lower to palm my ass, kneading the flesh as he allows me to slide down the hard plane of his body. Once the soles of my feet touch the ground, Lance pulls my shirt over my head, then his own, walking me backward until my calves hit the mattress.
He drags in a deep breath, his hands settling on my shoulders as his eyes scan my face like searchlights. “Are we good?”
Good doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling right now. I want Lance. I need his mouth and hands and, dear God, finally, finally—his cock. “Yeah,” I manage to rasp, “we’re good.”
The scrutiny of his gaze fades, replaced by a swirling mix of desire and tenderness. I dissolve in the face of it, my body turning liquid. I fall onto the bed, pulled downward by the gravity of my desire, and brace myself with my palms as I stare up at the hulk of a man before me. The lines of Lance’s body are boldly drawn, every ridge and muscle brought to life on a grand scale by an artisan with swagger in every stroke.
A moan escapes my throat as Lance pushes a knee between my thighs into the mattress. Because the bed frame is low to the ground and Lance is definitely not, the bulge inside his trousers is directly at eye level. I reach for his waistband, working the button and zipper with clumsy, frantic fingers. They fall to the floor, followed by his boxer briefs.
I’ve seen Lance’s dick before. Several times. And I’ve felt the hard bulge of it against me. Also, several times. But right now, I am desperate for a taste of it, of him. Reverently, I cup his balls in my hands, my mouth already open as I bend down to him. There’s already a drop of pre-cum at the center of his thick, swollen crown. I lick that first, a salty, viscous pearl that tastes like three decades of distilled testosterone. The essence of Lance himself.
And then I lick every inch of his shaft, from root to tip, my lips stretched over him, my tongue swirling over all that smooth, hot, sensitive skin.
A low groan rumbles from deep inside Lance’s chest, his fingers pushing through my hair, loosening the rubber band holding it captive and grasping mounds of it within his fists. Just as I begin to take him deep inside my mouth, Lance jerks away from my touch and pulls me up. In no time at all, he’s stretched out on the bed, flat on his back, and I am lifted, turned, and positioned over him. Literally.
My thighs are spread wide on either side of Lance’s head, my pussy directly over his mouth. His cock is pointed at my lips, an arrow of lust I’m only too happy to devour.
I swear my eyes roll back in their sockets, overcome by the double whammy of Lance’s tongue parting my folds, exploring the part of me that’s been weeping for him, and his thick crown hitting the back of my throat, then delving deeper.
I’ve never done this. Never had a man go down on me while I’m doing the same to him. Pure, sensual pleasure spikes through my nerve endings, acting as a shut-off switch inside my brain. There is no thinking in this position. Everything I’m doing is pure instinct.
Stroking his cock while pulling his balls into my mouth. Sucking each one individually until I manage to accommodate both. Releasing them to feast on Lance’s cock again. Taking it so deep that I can’t breathe, I can’t see. I’m drowning in pleasure, my pussy convulsing, my throat muscles spasming.
My hips grind into Lance’s face. His tongue, his teeth. His fingers searching out the most sensitive parts of my body.
As his dick begins to jerk inside my mouth, sending streams of liquid heat sliding down the back of my tongue and into my throat, I feel something pressing against my ass. Firmly, insistently. I cleave open for him, my ass clutching at Lance’s thick finger. First one, then two.
I explode. It’s too much. There is no orifice in my body that Lance hasn’t breached. No inch of skin he hasn’t licked or sucked or bitten.
Just when I think I want to curl beside him and sleep for the next decade, he lifts me up, as easily and securely as he did before. Like I am a small pet to be played with. To be picked up and stroked and adored.
I taste myself on Lance’s mouth as he kisses me. A muskiness that’s not at all unpleasant, mixed with the lingering sweetness of peach.