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When I open my eyes, the first thing I see are Lucy Hawkins’s green eyes staring down at me, wide and impatient.
Never at my best in the morning, I put a palm over her face and push it away. “Quit it, weirdo.”
She tries to bite my hand, and though her face is ferocious and maybe a little scary, my body’s still on hyper awareness after last night and I feel my morning wood twitch to life.
Then the last of my sleep fog fades, and I register that
a) she’s no longer naked, a silky tank top covering up her perfect tits
b) I’m most definitely naked, still in her bed
c) she’s got that expression on her face that all men know and fear: We need to talk.
I roll over onto my side, intending to go back to sleep. Maybe next time I wake up my dirty dreams will be a reality and I’ll be deep inside her, and she’ll be making those desperate moaning noises that seem to reach right to my soul just as sure as they do my cock.
This time her teeth dig into my shoulder, sharp enough to get my attention.
Giving up on sleep, I roll back toward her. “What is wrong with you? Who bites people?”
“Women who’ve been waiting the better part of a half hour for a lazy-ass to wake up.”
“Oh no, not a whole half hour,” I mutter, pulling myself into a sitting position against the headboard, tugging the sheet up around my waist before dragging my hands over my face.
The room’s even grosser in the morning.
She gives a satisfied smile at having gotten her way, and apparently decides I deserve a reward. Not a sexy one, unfortunately, but she hops out of bed and, wearing only the tank top and panties, walks across the tiny room to one of those cheap-ass coffeemakers.
Lucy impatiently shifts from side to side, putting one bare foot on top of the other, and then switching as she waits for the little coffeepot to spit out a full cup. The sight of her tight little ass cheeks does wonders for my mood, even as I’m tensing for The Talk.
Not that I’m all that surprised. Over the years, I’ve gotten damn good at keeping sex carefree and uncomplicated, but with Lucy? There was never any chance.
Damn, but it was good though. Every bit as sweet as I remember, but even hotter without the pressure of her virginity absorbing my every thought.
Last night had just been about me and Lucy and need.
She hands me the coffee and climbs onto the bed, sitting cross-legged and watching me take my first sip.
I pause with the flimsy paper cup halfway to my mouth. “Would you spit it out already? All your staring is creeping me out.”
She folds her hands and rests them on the mattress in front of her. “I was waiting for you to get caffeinated, before…”
I lift my eyebrows when she trails off, and she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, clearly dreading what she needs to say.
“I’m confused,” she blurts out, just as I’m braced for her to say the words I’m expecting: It was a mistake.
I take a sip of coffee. “About?”
She chews her lip harder. “What just happened. How I feel. How you feel.”
I smile slightly because she looks adorably frustrated. Lucy Hawkins has always been that girl who knows exactly what she wants.
I doubt that confused has ever been in her vocabulary, and I’m oddly pleased to know that I’ve caught her off-balance. Because I’ve spent most of my life being put off balance by her. Fair is fair.
And yet confused isn’t enough. I want more.
Not that it matters.
I’m not the guy for her. Even if I wanted to be, there’s not a damn thing I could do to keep her. Lucy’s still got her big dreams and expensive taste, and I’m always going to be the man in jeans and a dirty T-shirt, not the guy in the custom-made suit who schmoozes with Napa’s elite.
