Page 112 of Lace 'em Up

I can be…myself.

I didn’t get the chance to tell her that last night, considering she worked late.

Nor this morning, when Rome and Cam and Chrissy descended on my house and the allure of the delicious delights of Molly’s had drawn us out of bed after only two orgasms for her.

And I’m going to make sure she knows she can do the same.

“Hmm,” she murmurs as she delicately sets her apple tart down, mischief in her eyes before she looks away and wipes her fingers on a napkin. She turns enough to settle her hand on my thigh, her slender fingers burning like a brand through my jeans. “Or maybe you want me on my knees,” she murmurs, hand sneaking higher.

My dick goes hard.

Just like that.

Rock fucking hard.

And I know if I don’t get her to behave herself, I’m going to take that hand of hers, peel it from my thigh, and haul that sexy ass off to the bathroom.

And make her shiver.

And moan.

I capture that misbehaving hand and lace our fingers together, lifting it so I can press a kiss to the back of it.

Then I settle it back onto my thigh and lean close again. “Behave,” I order softly.

More mischief in green eyes, along with a dash of stubbornness.

Of…prickliness.

The Cactus Queen about to make her appearance.

I grin, tap the tip of her nose, murmur, “Or do you only take orders in the bedroom, princess?”

Her nails bite into the fabric of my jeans.

And…yup. I want to be naked, want to feel that bite on my bare skin, want?—

“Kingston?”

Rory goes ramrod stiff next to me, but I’m so busy doing the same at the sound of the slightly abrasive, nasally voice I’d endured for several hours on a date my mom had set up for me a few months back that I hardly notice it.

Because—

“Oh my God, Kingston, it is you!”

A taloned hand reaches forward, gripping my shoulder with so much force that I have to release Rory or risk both of our chairs toppling backward. I squeeze her fingers, settle her hand back in her own lap, then push my chair back and stand, turning to greet?—

“Stacy,” I say, hoping I manage to keep the dread from my voice, my expression as I lean in and press a kiss to her cheek.

And nearly choke on her perfume.

Jesus.

I lean back, even though she seems to want to linger close, those long, fake nails digging into my shoulders.

Thankfully, I’m stronger—albeit not by much, considering the force it takes to break this woman’s grip.

“How are you?” I say when I’m clear of the cloud of her perfume.

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