“Because he uses pastrami instead of corned beef, Russian dressing instead of Thousand Island, and muenster instead of Swiss.”
“Is that it?” Intrigued, I eat another piece of pastrami.
“Yup.” The oven beeps.
“Ten minutes and lunch is served.” Laney picks up the sandwiches she constructed on a baking sheet and pops them in the oven. She washes her hands and then comes to lean against the counter next to me, staring at the oven.Now what?
There’s some heavy-duty silence as the seconds tick by. I watch her as she watches the oven.
“What are you looking at?” she asks with an uncomfortable smirk.
“Nothing. You . . . I guess.”
“Why?” She glances over at me.
I can’t help it. I have to ask. “Were you wearing anything besides panties under my jersey last night?”
“It’smyjersey,” she corrects me. “And why do you care?”
“Because I’m curious.” I smile. “Do you wear it often?”
Laney fights not to look at me again. “I wear it often enough.”
I turn toward her. Our bodies an inch away from each other. “Do you think about me when you wear it?” I probe.
“Think about you how?” She turns her head and wets her lips. My blood simmers.
“You tell me?” I lean in closer; her sweet scent and seductive mouth have a magnetic effect.
It takes Laney an eternity to answer, trapping us in this oppressive stare.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” she admits, timidly. The one thing I have always loved about Laney is her self-confidence. She’s tenacious, and independent, and assertive, but what never fails to make me crumble is her honest vulnerability. I’ve only seen her expose that side to one other person—her father. So, I feel privileged when she’s brave enough to open up to me.
“I never stopped thinking about you, either,” I more than willingly divulge. I don’t even give her a chance to process my response as I grab her by the neck and smother her with a hot, hungry kiss. A kiss I have been suppressing since the moment I laid eyes on her at the beginning of the semester.
In true Laney fashion, she doesn’t back down or try to break the connection. Instead, she opens up to me almost like a flower waking up to the sun.
She moans as I grope her body, putting my hands wherever I damn well please. Wherever they are yearning to touch. A blast of possessiveness shoots through me as we tear at each other’s clothes. There’s no rhyme or reason at the moment, just blinding passion and insatiable want. I rip her T-shirt as I yank it off her, exposing her perky little breasts and silky skin. Like I’ve never touched a woman before, I attack her neck and fondle her over her bra. It’s a little, black, lacy thing I’m positive she wore just to drive me crazy. Speaking of teasing, I skim my fingers along the lace, yanking it down to free one nipple. I twist and roll it relentlessly until Laney is clawing at my back, begging for more.
I assail her mouth, trapping her face with my hands until neither of us can breathe.
“Kam, Jesus.” She pants, grinding against me.
“I need you, Laney. I need you so bad.” I am beyond desperate.
She nods frantically with her eyes closed and cheeks flushed. It’s all the agreement I warrant. I lift her right off the floor and plant her on the countertop. Crushing my lips against hers, I struggle with one hand to remove her shorts. Once off, she moves to unbutton my fly—rip it open is more like it. I barely have time to grab my wallet out of my back pocket before she is yanking my jeans and underwear all the way down my thighs. I’m tingling from head to toe with need as I hastily remove a condom and sheath myself with it. There’s one lingering moment before I take her that resonates through the whole house. One heated heartbeat of yearning that passes between us before I grab her and sink into the most euphoric tightness I have ever known.
Pure. Ecstasy.
“Kam,” Laney sighs with a firm grip on the back of my neck.
That one word sends me soaring. My name spilling irrepressibly from her lips.
“God . . .”I grind out, unable to control the urges streaming through my system. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been apart or how many other women I’ve been with; no one makes me feel the way Laney does. Nothing compares to her scent, or her skin, or her sighs.
“I want you to come.” I grip her hair and let loose. “I’m dying to feel it. It’s been too long.”
“Kam—” She rolls her hips and draws me closer as I thrust as deep as I possibly can, over and over until it happens, until her muscles spasm and she lets out a strangled moan, delivering exactly what I demanded. Her uninhibited pleasure. Her climax slingshots me straight to the edge, the buildup almost catastrophic. I lift her off the counter and pin her against the refrigerator, sprinting after my own abandoned pleasure.
