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My hands travel from her thighs across her wet stomach, up onto her breasts, my eyes rapt as I cup them, massaging gently as she comes to rest on my lap, taking me all the way. I’m buried balls deep, set to go on another journey to sexual bliss. “Wait.” I take the tops of her arms and look at her. “We were in the middle of a serious discussion.” I must be mad for stopping what she started, but I need closure on this particular issue.
She huffs on a sigh, taking my hands and placing them back on her boobs, rotating her hips teasingly. “This is serious, too.”
“Lainey.” I draw her name out slowly in warning. I won’t enjoy myself until we clear this up. “Why do you think you should tell Sal?”
Shoulders dropping a fraction, she relents and holds my hands, bringing them down to my stomach. “I think it would be better coming from me. With you, he’ll probably just shout and holler on about you being a slut.”
Damn. She’s right. He’ll go off the deep end with me, not give me a chance to explain. The conversation—or argument—will be over before it’s even begun. Fists will fly, he’ll accuse me of being a manwhore, or of trying to steal his PA. With Lainey, he’s more likely to listen to what she has to say. He won’t shout at her, and he definitely won’t throw a fist at her. “And you’re prepared to do that? Face him and tell him?”
“I owe it to him, Tyler. If you tell him, it’ll be awkward between me and Sal, and I don’t want that. I love working at Christianson Walker.”
I sigh, hating how much sense she’s making. But leaving her to do it alone doesn’t feel right either. “How about we do it together?” That’s the perfect solution. Sal won’t lose the plot with me if Lainey’s there.
“No.” She’s so adamant. “I’m doing this, and you’re going to let me.” She grinds onto my lap tactically, reminding me that we’re still connected.
I yelp, grabbing her and yanking her down to my mouth. “You’re a dirty player, Lainey.”
“I love you,” she mumbles into my mouth. “Please let me do this for us.”
Well, fuck me blind. If she tells me that, I’ll do anything she asks. “Okay,” I agree, rolling us over, ensuring I don’t slip free. “Whatever you want, beautiful.” I drive deep, sending water splashing everywhere and echoes of our collective yells bouncing around the bathroom. Now, being a step closer to full disclosure, I feel the restraints holding me back loosening. Thank fuck. Finally, I believe everything is going to be how it should be.I WAKE UP TO THE sounds of banging coming from the kitchen and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. I could quite easily lie here and listen to her finding her way around my home, but the magnetic pull of her has my naked arse following my feet to find her. I lean against the doorframe when I arrive at the entrance, watching her for a long, pleasurable time while she’s preparing coffees. In her knickers. Nothing but her knickers and her hair piled high in a huge messy knot. My mind is recording every second to memory.
As she gathers the cups up, the sound of her phone forces her to place them back down so she can retrieve it from her bag. “No,” she mutters, rejecting the call. But before she puts her phone down, it rings again. “Damn.”
“Someone wants to talk to you.”
Lainey spins to face me, surprised, and her hand comes to her chest. “You scared me.”
“You could just tell him that you’re taken now. Or I can.” I give her a sarcastic smile, and she rolls her eyes.
“Very funny.” She tosses her phone on the table and gets the coffees.
I notice she doesn’t correct my instinctive reference to it being a man. “Old flame?” I ask casually as I wander over and take a mug from her hand.
“Let it go, Tyler. He’ll get the message.”
I can’t argue with that. After all, I’ve been dodging a few calls myself. “Maybe he wants his T-shirt and mixtape back.” I grin as I bring my mug to my lips, trying to make light of it. One thing I have figured out is that I can’t let all those men bother me. I’ll be a walking bag of jealousy if I do. I just hope Lainey takes the same angle, because the calls I’m avoiding will eventually lead to a few old fucks to come calling. If Lainey’s handling of my ex-wife is anything to go by, we should be good. We have to laugh, because the alternative would be bloodshed.
“You and I both know there were no T-shirts or mixtapes. Not from him or anyone.” She wanders past me, knocking my shoulder playfully. “Have there been any T-shirts and mixtapes in your history?”
