A hot-as-hell stranger who wants to fuck.
And wants to be on top.
You know, there are some moments in life where you have to just sit back, be grateful, and thank God that he put you on Earth and gave you life and a cock so you can enjoy moments like these.
Lacy wants to do the work? Yes motherfucking please.
“You’ve got that look,” she shakes her head as she grinds the outside of her pussy against my cock. “What devious thoughts are you thinking?”
I shrug, as much as you can shrug lying down. “Nothing much.”
She rolls her eyes. “Goddamn it, that’s like my all time least favorite reply for a guy to give.”
Smiling, she leans closer to me. She raises her ass, grabs my cock and guides it into her. “This time, you don’t come till I say.”
“Oh no?”
She smiles, “No. You think you can do it?”
I grin back. “I’ll take you up on this challenge. But honestly, with you, I never know what I’m going to do.”
Our dialogue stops, fading into action.
Planting her hands on my chest for balance, she rides up and down the full length of my cock, slowly at first.
For the first few minutes, I just lean back, grin, and shake my head ever so slightly.
Here’s a girl who can’t even classify herself as ‘hot.’ Pleasure floats through me, and I can’t help but wonder why she holds onto this belief.
I do my damnedest to search for her imperfections.
Well, at fifty percent brainpower, I do.
Is it the little sequence of birthmarks close to her belly button?
Because those are the hottest fucking things ever. Cindy Crawford wishes she had birthmarks like that.
The scar on her hip? Wait, how the hell did she get that?
Before I can think more, my thoughts drift away to the sweet winds of fucking. She leans back, and I’m about to come. The way she looks arched backwards. The way her swollen pussy grips my cock. How her supple breasts bounce every time she lands deep on my cock.
I grab onto her hips. She may be on top. She may want to be in charge. But her flesh calls to me, aching for me to grab it, to dig my fingers into her ass.
We find our rhythm. She bounces in tune with my strokes and now we’re fucking like animals.
I feel her tense and shake, her pussy tightening around my cock.
Spurred on, I reach up and grab her neck and a clump of hair. I pull her face into me for a messy kiss.
“You came, didn’t you?” I growl into her ear.
“Mm-hm,” she purrs.
“Well that’s the one time I’ll allow that. Now it’s my turn.”
“But I didn’t say you could yet,” she whispers.
Oh. This woman doesn’t know how this shit works.
Time to show her.
With a roar, and not pulling out of her, I flip her around onto her back.
Her eyes widen a little, and I lift her legs to my shoulders, then plunge inside her.
“Fuck, Carter!”
“Yeah? You like it when I go deep, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she swallows, furrowing her brow. “That hurts. . . almost.”
I grip her legs as I pound into her. Her screams get louder and louder.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
I open my eyes again. Hers are lit up.
“Harder, Carter, deeper!”
Holy fuck.
Dirty Lacy has arrived.
And I fucking love this side of her.
Her pleasure is so intense, she seems as though she might cry.
I grab a bunch of her hair and fuck her so hard it’s a wonder the headboard doesn’t fall off.
She pushes her hips against me and holds onto my neck as I come, bolts of pleasure blowing through me as I orgasm.
I rest my head on the pillow close to her shoulder when we’re done.
“Dear God, Carter. You’re going to ruin me.”
Sliding out of her, I can’t hold back a grin. “I tend to do that.”
She bites her lip. “You know. I could get used to this. Maybe I don’t hate you as much as I once thought.”
Before I can respond to that, her phone buzzes.
“Oh, my phone is on the floor.”
She picks it up, and her expression shifts one-hundred-eighty degrees.
“What. The fuck. Did you text Norton? You fucking asshole!”
She rakes a hand through her hair and waves her phone at me.
“He wasn’t getting the picture, so I thought a visual would help. Anyways,” I say, getting up. “I’m hungry as hell from all this fucking. I’m going to make some steaks. You want in?”
Her jaw is wide open. She palms her forehead.
“I cannot believe you. You’re unbelievable! Just when I was thinking. . .”
Her sentence drifts off as I towel the bodily juices off me, and throw a towel at her for the same purpose.
I shrug. “Tell me something I don’t know. Like how you prefer your steaks. Trying to be a nice guy here.”
She shakes her head. “You—nice?! You know, screw you. For a lot of reasons. Screw you for texting my ex a dick pic. And also fuck you for besting the best screw ever. And for being nice sometimes.”
Scrubbing my hand over my face, I nod blankly. I swallow the lump in my throat and the pang in my stomach telling me that this is something much, much deeper than a roommate with benefits situation.
“So. . . medium rare?”
23
Lacy
I lay in Carter’s bed, staring up at the ceiling. Still naked. Exhausted from the sex and from the battle with this man.
I feel exhilarated from our burgeoning romance, but nonetheless I bite the inside of my cheek, running through the entire text conversation he had with Lance pretending to be me.
Why can’t he just be a normal guy for two minutes?
No, instead he’s got to send a picture of his johnson to Lance and Norton.
My chest tightens as I reread Norton’s response. Lance will get over it—quick. He’ll probably just think it’s funny.
Tossing my phone on the nightstand, I tilt my head in thought. How the hell did he know the code to my phone?
I throw on my pink shorts and a tank top, the smell of steaks wafting into the room. My stomach grumbles. I haven’t had a solid meal all day. And I’ve definitely been taking part in an array of physical activities.
I swallow a lump in my throat. Why does he have to be the one who turns me on the most? I shake my head. Sometimes, I have doubts about our creator. Is God just playing some sick joke on us?
My phone buzzes and Norton’s name pops up on the screen again. I feel my empty stomach curdle a little as I go to grab it. The truth is, since I arrived to Chicago a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been completely ignoring Norton.
After he got cold feet initially about me moving in with him and broke up with me, he started texting me every couple of nights. The texts would come in at night, when I assumed he’d been drinking and was horny. It’s so ridiculous what that one appendage between their legs has the ability to do to a man. I swear, Norton seemed like the greatest guy in the world the week I met him. But when he was drunk, horny, and lonely?
What a weirdo.
I exhale a hard breath, and unlock my phone to see what he was texting me. When I press on Norton’s message thread, the dick pic Carter had sent is at the top, followed by a string of texts from Norton.
I pull the picture up again and just stare.
Pinching the bridge of my nose with my forefinger and thumb, I look over the text thread.
Norton: Lacy. What the fuck.
Norton: Real fucking mature. And you want to say I’m the immature one? You’re such a damn hypocrite. Screensnapping videos of porn to get back at me? Real classy
Norton: Are you going to respond? You always were such a bitch
Norton: That cock wouldn’t even fit inside you anyway, you
’re such a tightly wound cunt
Norton: I’ll take that as a ‘yes, I like screenshotting random porn video I see online and sending them to my ex
“Fuck, Carter. You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, staying strong with my policy of not sending him a message.
I have to admit, seeing Norton so pissed off is a touch satisfying.
Because forget him and his cold feet.
Counting to ten, I face my palms up, and take a deep yogic breath. I feel a little better, and pull up Lance’s text message.
I look at the picture Carter sent again, shaking my head. The man has absolutely no shame. I’m almost surprised he didn’t snapchat it to all of my contacts.
A brick forms in my stomach and I check my Snapchat app.
No, he didn’t send it to anyone else. Thank God.
I smile just a tinge reading what Lance has to say.
Lance: GIRL, YOU DONE LOST YOUR MIND!! (EGGPLANT EMOJI)
Lance: ok sorry about the caps. Is that. . . Carter?? For real?? Is that your ass? Wow, you look good girl, no lie. You sexy thang
Lance: So. . . can I show this picture to Joseph? He’s asking me. But I assume this was. . . for me? Wait, WHY ARE YOU SENDING ME DICK PICS OF CARTER?
Lance: This is Joseph. I wrestled the phone away from Lance.
Lance: All I can say is, WOW.
Lance: So. . . you’re not responding. I’m assuming you’re a little busy? I’ll let you and Carter do whatever you’re doing. I mean I know what you’re doing. More or less. I understand how sex works.
Lance: Have you and Carter tried anal? #Askingforafriend
Lance: Sorry boo. Just realized I might have gotten a liiiitle personal with that last text. Joseph and I may or may not have been day drinking to get rid of our hangovers from last night.
Lance: It’s Joseph again. I’m sorry, too. We’re inappropriate sometimes. But I’m still curious. And it’s fun. Trust me. Oh and we have definitely been day drinking. There is no may or may not. Okay we’re going to stop texting and start interacting like human beings again. We’re becoming “those people” who just sit at dinner and text on their phones. But we made an exception for you
Lance: Also, you want to get brunch tomorrow? We should talk about our variation this week
Lance: LMK you sexy bitch <3
Lance: Tell Carter we say hi, too
By the time I’m done reading Lance and Joseph’s string of ridiculous texts, I can’t help but smile a little. Those two are keeping me sane in a city where everyone seems to be plotting against me.
Feeling a little better, I head out of Carter’s room, following the delicious smell of the steaks. I hear heavy metal coming from the balcony, and my jaw drops at what I see. I actually close both of my eyes, really hard, and open them again.
Carter stands out on the balcony facing the grill, and he’s totally naked except for his apron. He’s got his sunglasses on and he’s singing along to the song.
I pause for a brief moment before joining him. In spite of how much of an asshole Carter can be, this is what I admire about him. He’s so unencumbered. Sure, maybe he rubs a lot of people the wrong way, but I don’t think he acts for one second how he thinks people want him to act. His will is totally his own. He does what he wants. When he wants.
A chill runs through my body as another thought crosses into my consciousness, involuntarily. I don’t want to think the words, but I do.
Carter does WHO he wants.
So what does he want with little old me?
He turns and sees me.
“Hey Laces, can you grab the wine bottle and a glass and bring them out here? We can eat out here on the balcony. It’s a gorgeous night.”
I feel my stomach tighten.
He definitely saw me staring at him. I should have known. He is a professional basketball player, after all. Aren’t basketball players known for having spectacular peripheral vision?
“Oh, you already have a glass?” I say, trying to divert attention from my staring.
“Yeah,” he turns around, holding tongs in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. I almost roll my eyes at the text of his apron, which says ‘kiss cook here’ with a down arrow pointing right to his dick. I giggle a little, thinking back to the breakfast when Lance wore the same thing.
I grab the bottle of wine, a glass, and slide the screen door open to head out onto his patio.
“I picked these up from this Spanish meat market this week. They are going to be amazing. And I’ve got fresh grilled local asparagus.”
“Sounds healthy.”
“And delicious.”
“You need a refill?” I ask. He nods. I fill up his glass, then glance out at Lake Michigan. The sun sets on the other side of the building, but the sky still fills with a beautiful orange-red glow.
“You’re not worried that people are like, staring at you out here?”
He winks. “Mrs. Englewood always stares. I don’t mind giving her a show, though.”
He waves up to a woman who is on a kitty corner balcony. I can barely make out her grey-blonde hair. She waves back.
“Full frontal is extra!” he shouts up to her. “You knew that though, Mrs. Englewood!”
I laugh. “I want to tell you that you’re being ridiculous, but I’m realizing there’s no changing you.”
He pinches his forehead into an accusatory look as he takes the steaks off the grill. “Her husband just died a few months ago. She could use a little pick-me-up.”
I shake my head, tensing up.
My mind shoots to the two-piece of naughty lingerie I brought here, wanting to surprise Norton. It’s in the bottom of my suitcase still. I haven’t touched it.
I should probably burn it.
“I don’t think so. Can you please put some shorts on?”
Carter sighs. “You’re such a buzzkill. Please get the table ready. I’ll be right back.”
I line up the knives and forks, and put some asparagus onto both of our plates along with mashed potatoes from a bowl on the table.
When he comes back, he’s got basketball shorts on. “Alright, let’s eat some steaks! You hungry?”
“I think my stomach is literally trying to eat itself right now. So yes.”
A soft grin tugs at Carter’s face. He touches my shoulder and massages it slightly. “Thanks for setting the table, Laces.”
“No problem,” I say, and a strange warmth spreads through my chest. The moment is over as quickly as it passes.
Carter sits down. “Shall we say grace?”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t say grace.”
“True. I don’t know why I even said that, to be honest. I haven’t eaten dinner up here with a girl yet.”
Snorting, I cut into my steak. “Yeah, okay, Mr. ‘All I do is hook up with girls.’”
He shrugs, not looking at me. “First of all, why would I lie to you about that? What a silly, white lie. Second, I don’t have to make dinner for girls to get laid. That’s ridiculous.”
I roll my eyes. “So I’m the first girl you’ve ever cooked for?”
“I don’t know about ever. It’s been a while though.”
I bite into my steak. “Mmmm. This is so good. The Spanish Market, you said?”
“Yeah, some old guy with grey hair and a thick Spanish accent. Grew up in Spain, lived most of his life in Argentina. He always gets the best, thickest cuts. Glad you like it.”
A warm summer breeze rolls across my face. Carter seems fixated on his steak and nothing else.
“So how does it feel?” he asks.
“Um. What do you mean?”
“Being twenty-six.”
“Oh. That.” I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I always looked at twenty-six as the the wrong side of twenty-five. I guess I feel like I haven’t done enough. In life as a whole.”
Carter sips his wine. “Elaborate.”
“Well, like I’m doing this whole modern dance thing this summer. This is really my la
st shot to do this. I’m old in dance years. Most modern dancers get their break earlier. . . shit. They break in at like age eighteen or nineteen. If I don’t get the spot this time, I don’t know what I’ll do. Move back to Blackwell and work in the studio again, I guess? Stay out in Chicago and get a waitressing job? I don’t know. I just feel. . .”
I trail off, and stress rolls through me. My throat clamps up.
“Tell me,” Carter booms, as if reading my mind.
“When I was eighteen, I thought I’d have a family by now. I thought twenty-six was old. That I’d be settled down. Have a couple of kids and live on a farm, maybe. Teach some dance during the day, have a garden. I thought I’d be satisfied with my life. Instead, I feel like a total hack. I’m ranked like thirty-nine out of forty at camp and I’m probably just wasting my time here. My ex-boyfriend dumped me as soon as I decided I would actually live anywhere near him. Ugh, why am I telling you this?”
Carter leans in, his eyes intense. “You’re not a hack. Don’t ever think that.”
My chest hitches, a heavy feeling coming on in my stomach. “How do you know?”
“Because I know.”
“I’m too old to get it though.”
He shakes his head. “Lacy, you know how old you’re going to be next year if you don’t make it onto Blue Illusion?”
I furrow my brow. “Twenty-seven. What’s your point?”
“Okay. And how old are you going to be if you do make it onto that team?”
“Twenty-seven. I still don’t see your point.”
He finishes a bite of asparagus, then locks his eyes on mine with a seriousness I don’t think I’ve seen in him yet. “The past is done. You weren’t like some of these girls who lived in the city when they were sixteen and could practice with the best dancers all the time. But you’re here now. And next year, you’re going to be older whether you like it or not. So you damn well better do what makes you happy. Don’t let the ghosts of the pasts kill your dreams of the future.”
I swallow down a healthy gulp of wine as I process Carter’s rather poignant advice. I’m not used to such wise words coming from the man. “More wine, please,” I say. “And why are you you being so nice to me?”
The ebbing sun reflects off a building onto his face, giving him golden-brown skin. “I’m not being nice. I’m just telling you the truth.”
The Lying Game Page 14
