Page 55 of Rope Me In

I snort. “That was more like a crescent moon.” Presley huffs and sits back down, crossing her arms over her chest.

“It was a stupid dare.”

“Okay, smarty pants. I pick dare. Give me your best one.”

She squints her pretty blue eyes in thought and strokes her upper lip like an evil scientist with a mustache. Her eyes open comically wide as if she’s had a lightbulb moment, then she flushes bright red.

“What’s the dare?” I urge, now more curious.

Her gaze darts to my lips and then to my eyes again. My heart rate picks up. She’s not going to ask for a kiss, is she?

When she doesn’t say anything, a smile spills across my features. “What’s your dare, Presley?” My voice is testing. Teasing.

She licks her lips and shifts, recrossing her legs under her. It’s a sign that she’s turned on. I’ve been with enough partners to know the tells a woman gives when she wants me to do something to her body. And while Presley is normally guarded, the alcohol is opening her up like a book, making it easier to read the pages. If she wants me to kiss her, I’m not going to question it.

“Why did you stop calling me Lemon?” she asks.

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. Okay, maybe I was wrong about the kissing.

“That’s not a dare,” I say.

“Can you just tell me?”

Her voice is so full of pleading that I relent. “When I looked at your texts earlier, Derek, whoever he is, called you ‘Sweetheart.’ I don’t know, I just—I didn’t want to hurt you more than you were already hurting.”

Her body jolts like I’ve shocked her with my words. I shift, moving closer to her when she doesn’t say anything, my mind analyzing why she asked the question in the first place. Wanting to test a theory, I lower my voice and say “Lemon” in a hushed tone.

Presley’s arms break out in goosebumps, and her breathing picks up. My hunch confirmed, I dare to move even closer to her until our crossed legs are only inches apart. “Do you like it when I call you Lemon?”

She doesn’t speak, but she nods ever so slightly.

“Tell me why you like it.”

She exhales a tense breath. “It’s your turn.”

I shake my head. “You asked me something; now I’m asking you.”

“That’s not—”

“Tell me, Lemon.” I lean the top half of my body closer. “Why do you like it?”

Her eyes track to my lips then back up to my eyes again. “It feels special,” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “I know it was meant as a joke, but—nobody has ever given me a nickname that means something only for me.”

My heart aches at her words, but what she’s saying makes sense. Everyone likes to feel special, to feel as if they mean something. To feel as if they mean something tosomeone—even if it’s as simple as being called by a nickname.

“You deserve special, Lemon,” I voice, not missing the way her eyes get glassy when I say it. “And the nickname isn’t a joke—or at least, it’s not to me, not anymore. Understand?”

She nods, blinking away the wetness in her eyes.

“Now, tell me your dare.”

Her chest rises and falls underneath her shirt at a more rapid pace, and I find myself placing my finger under her chin so those beautiful pools of blue are looking straight into my eyes.

“Tell me your dare. Don’t make me spank it out of you.”

Her pupils expand, her nostrils getting wider, and the sudden heat in her gaze causes my blood to rush south and the front of my jeans to become uncomfortably tight. That comment aroused her just as much as it did me.

“Do it,” she says, her words rushing out like a waterfall.

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