Page 150 of Bad Run

“Mom. And Juju. They want to meet for lunch.”

Nodding, he steps closer and glides his hands up my legs, under my shirt, and over my ass, bringing us chest to chest. Water soaks my shirt as I wrap my arms around his shoulders.

He pecks me on the lips, and I melt. “You should go.”

I rear back. “You misunderstood. They want you there too. Juju’s exact words were, ‘Don’t forget to bring that fine-ass man of yours,’ so you, yeah. What do you think?”

Lance smirks. “I think I have a date with three ladies for lunch.”

“Save the charm for Juju. You’re going to need it,” I half joke, making Lance throw his head back and laugh.

“Duly noted. So what would you like to do before lunch?” His big blue eyes find mine, and a zip of lust rushes through my system. The swollen ache between my legs is long forgotten as my core turns hungry.

Fuck it.

If I can’t walk later, it will be worth it.

“You. I want to do you.”

With a devilish smile, Lance slides his hands under my ass and lifts me up. “Good answer.”

“I thought so.” I lock my legs around his waist and my arms behind his neck, and hold on as he carries me out of the pool and into the shower, where he gives me exactly what I asked for.

Him.

On his knees.

Worshipping my body.

And when he’s done, I happily fall to mine and return the pleasure he showered on me.

Fist raised to knock, I pause and stare at the whalebone-gray painted door of my parents’ home.

When I agreed to meet Mom and Juju for lunch, I thought it would be at a restaurant, not here. Being here at my childhood home feels like an ambush.

“Hey.” Lance grabs my wrist, turns me to face him, and then pulls me in for a tight hug. “What’s going on?”

“What if my dad’s in there?” My voice sounds weak and scared … and I hate it.

I have every right to be angry with my father. Not just because he said terrible things about Lance, but for the years of blatant favoritism he’s given my brothers. For the way he doesn’t see my value or worth at the organization, or in life. How he treats me as though I’m a little girl and not the grown woman I’ve become.

And yet, here I am, nervous as all get-out and ready to tuck tail and run just to avoid him.

Lance shrugs. “Then he’s inside and you’ll talk to him.”

“What if I don’t want to talk to him?”

“Then we leave,” Lance says plainly.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He pushes a curl off my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. “But can you promise me something?”

“Depends.”

“If your dad is in there, just hear him out.”

“Seriously?” I rear back as if slapped. He heard what my father said. Why would I want to sit and listen to another round of “what did Gwen do to disappoint the family” again?