The Guy in the Middle (The Underdogs 3)

“René, you can’t leave me alone on Christmas.”

“I’m not.” I follow him out into the kitchen, where he plucks two cups of his Keurig coffee and shoves them into his backpack.

“Fine, go, but I’m keeping this wine.” I pick up two bottles off the kitchen counter and hold them tightly to me. “You’re leaving this.”

He smiles. “All jours. To celebrate.”

“Enough with the bullshit. What in the hell are you talking about?”

Arms full, I follow him to the front door, and he opens it before turning to me with a telling smile on his lips. “Jour about to have the bes sex of jour life. I envy ju.” He kisses my cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

I’m still gaping at the door, hugging the wine bottles to me when my phone pings in my purse from where it sits on the hall tree. Depositing the bottles in the seat, I pick it up to see René’s just sent me a real-time pic of Lance, walking toward our building.

Shit!

Scrambling to the bathroom, I clear my face of my ugly cry makeup and swish mouthwash for a good fifteen seconds. I barely have time to rinse when a knock sounds on the door. Heart pounding along with my feet, I race toward it and fling it open, breath stolen when I see the look in Lance’s eyes. Tears spill over my cheeks as he takes a step forward.

“Priss, I’m sorr—”

I launch myself at him, and he grips my face, holding me just an inch away from him, his eyes searching mine, a curse erupting from his lips right before he crushes me with his kiss. He presses in, my cries stifled by the pressure of his lips before he sweeps his tongue along the seam, and I open for him. Our kiss is endless, as he steps inside with me wrapped around him. I’m already drunk on the thrust of his tongue, so deep, so perfect as he groans into my mouth. A collective sigh escapes us both as he kisses me so intensely, I fight for more. My hands urgent, he pulls his away and pins me to the door, eyes hooded, his breaths coming out harsh. “Are we alone?”

Thank you, René.

“Yes.”

“Thank fuck,” he says roughly before he again claims my mouth, hungry. He’s already grinding against me, and I’m matching every thrust of his hips as our tongues clash violently. I’m covered in desire, drowning in need. He pulls away, kissing every inch of my face as I rip at his hair, his sweater. He’s just as eager, getting my blazer off before he begins to work on my shirt.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I murmur between kisses.

“Fuck, baby, I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Lance, please, please hurry.”

“How many shirts do you have on?”

“Rip them off!” I practically scream as one of them catches, hooking my mouth like a fish. We burst out laughing until our mouths again collide.

When we pull away, he sets me on my feet, unhooking my bra and letting it fall away before covering my naked breasts with warm hands. Goosebumps erupt over my skin as he speaks to me in a dreamlike state. “I could never hate you, Priss, never.” He scoops me into his arms and gazes down at me in a way I could only dream about. It’s his eyes that convey so much. He gently deposits me on the couch, hovering above me, his forearms next to my head.

“I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is fight with you.”

“You love fighting with me.”

His smile lights me up. “That’s true.”

I struggle to get his T-shirt off before he reaches behind him, gripping it with his fist, quickly discarding it.

“Harper,” he murmurs as he hovers above, his face the picture of restraint as I explore his chest, my palm roaming over the nuances, the indents of muscle on his torso. “Jesus, Lance, you’re so…”

He quirks a brow. “So?”

“Hot,” I grin up at him. “So…fucking hot.”

“I missed you so much,” he takes one nipple in his mouth and sucks, his eyes trained on his task while I observe the way his thick lips surround my taut skin. It’s so fucking sexy. Gripping his hair, he trails his mouth down my navel, toying with the waistband of my pants as he brings lust-filled eyes to mine. “How long do we have until we’re not alone?”

“All night.”

r /> He nods and bites his lip.