“I’ll get it,” Lucas insists, grabbing for his wallet on the kitchen counter.
I choose to ignore him and when we open the door, Micky Childress is standing on Lucas’ doorstep holding one large pizza. When he sees me tucked behind Lucas in my glorified lingerie, his eyes go round as the pizza he’s toting.
“Daisy Bell?! Lucas Thatcher?!”
Micky is the younger brother of Bobby Childress, a classmate of ours back at Hamilton High. I haven’t seen either of them in years, but Micky clearly remembers us.
“Is he holding you prisoner here?” Micky asks, half-kidding as he hands Lucas the pizza. “I can call the police if you need me to.”
Lucas shoves a twenty against Micky’s chest and pushes him out of the doorway. “Thanks Mick. That’ll be all.”
“Just blink twice, Daisy! I’ll send the SWAT team!”
Lucas shuts the door in his face.
“Nice kid,” I say, yanking the pizza box out of Lucas’ hands and carrying it over to the island.
“He only wanted to rescue you because you’re wearing that.”
“They’re called pajamas.”
“That’s a pretty liberal way to describe clothes that could fit on my mom’s toy poodle.”
The box is opened and suddenly, everything is right in the world. The pizza is still warm from the oven. We each extract a piece and don’t bother with plates. Instead, we face each other, leaning against the counter, and dig in.
“So anyway, you were saying you’re sexually attracted to poodles?”
Lucas shakes his head, concealing his small smile.
“Or was it that you’re attracted to me?”
“Eat your pizza.”
I laugh and Lucas is fed up. He takes the slice out of my hand and holds it up to my mouth. He’s feeding me to shut me up and I’m 100% okay with that. I bite off a big chunk and chew with a confident smirk.
Then I let my gaze fall below his neck, which is a critical mistake in the quest to retain the upper hand. Lucas is shirtless, and whatever exercises he did at the gym must’ve worked. Really well. He’s in great shape with that sort of broad-shouldered, tapered-waist combo that completely kills the female brain. I’ve never cared about abs until I look down and see the set Lucas has—abs that lead down to flannel pants that have settled low on his hips.
“This counts as dinner, right?”
The look he finally gives me with those dark eyes is the only answer I need.
Holy shit.
In a matter of seconds, there is chaos in his kitchen. Our pizza slices are tossed, forgotten. The box is pushed aside and tips off the island, but we don’t care. Lucas picks me up and drops me on the cold granite. It bites the backs of my thighs and I hiss just before his mouth comes down on mine.
My hand wraps around his bare shoulder and tugs him closer, between my spreading thighs. His hands slip up beneath my silky shorts, sliding past my ass and gripping my waist, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter. I’d fall forward if he wasn’t holding me up and suddenly we’re right back where we were this morning, only now Lucas is yanking my tank top over my head and dropping his mouth to my bare breast. All of it is happening so fast, as if he’s choreographed his movements for weeks. I try to play catch-up, slipping my good hand past the waistband of his flannel pants and wrapping around his length.
Beds and candles and stripteases are for people with time and boredom. What we have is hunger. We’re frantic, and it shows.
I work him with my hand, pumping up and down as he takes one of my nipples between his lips. I cry out and he gently bites. I retaliate by tightening my grip around him.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Hey Lucas! I had to go to the car to get your cha—”
Micky Childress is back and Lucas politely tells him to fuck off and keep the change.
“Hey! Thanks!”
I laugh and Lucas takes the opportunity to wrestle my shorts and panties off of me. He tugs and there’s a slight rip; I don’t know if it’s the material or my sanity. For a few seconds, I’m naked on that cold granite, bared entirely for Lucas. He assesses me from top to bottom, taking his time consuming the sight of me. My skin prickles under his appraisal then I reach out for him and he obliges, wrapping me up in his warmth.
He asks if we should move somewhere else—the couch, the bed, the floor?—but it’s clear that the island is the perfect height. It comes right up to Lucas’ hips and when I spread my legs and let them fall open, he gets his answer. Here. Right now. Pony up, big boy.
I expect him to get naked, to match me in my au naturale state, but he only tugs his flannel pants down enough so that my hand is exposed, still wrapped around his length. My eyes widen. I mean, I’ve seen him before—I tasted him—but from this angle, it feels all too real.
“You realize what we’re about to do right?” I ask.
“I have a pretty good guess.”
“My chest is tight. I feel woozy.”
“I should have had you sign a consent form.”
“That’s probably a good idea. Can I borrow a pen?”