Little Lies
“Lavender—”
“Shut it, Kodiak. I don’t need this dadbro bullshit. You want me? Then do something proactive about it that isn’t being an asshole or pounding on your chest like some Neanderthal. You’re a damn genius. Use your brain and figure out how to manage the situation.”
I can do that. Be proactive. I take a step forward, but Lavender puts her hand up to stop me.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Being proactive.”
“By doing what, exactly?”
“Uh . . .” I scratch the edge of my jaw. “I was going to start by kissing you.”
Lavender snorts. “You think you deserve to kiss me after the hell you’ve put me through? That’s a fuck no, big boy. You want to know what my mouth tastes like, you need to earn it, and everything else.”
My erection kicks behind my basketball shorts. “Uh, right. Okay. What can I do? Should I . . . apologize again?”
She drags her tongue across her bottom lip, eyes narrowed as a slow smile forms. “You should sit the fuck down.”
I take several steps back and drop into her computer chair, which groans under my weight, since it’s made to fit her tiny body, not mine.
Lavender lifts her tank over her head and tosses it at me. Her tits are nestled in a white satin bra. There’s a lot of cleavage. Lavender has big boobs. She gets asked if they’re fake a lot, especially since the rest of her is so damn tiny. Fun size, really.
“What’re you doing?” My voice is about two octaves higher than it should be.
“You seem to think you know what happens when I’m alone up here. So I’m going to show you. And maybe it’ll give you a little motivation to figure your damn shit out.” She reaches behind her and unclasps her bra.
The straps slide down her arms, and she lets it fall to the floor, exposing her breasts. She grabs them and squeezes, tugging at her nipples. “I bet you want to do this, don’t you?”
“God, yes, I really do,” I grunt. I want them in my mouth. I want to slide my cock between those full, lush tits. I push out of the chair.
She raises a hand, giving me pause. “Sit down or the show’s over.”
I drop down and the chair rolls back, hitting her desk, causing the jar of pencils to fall over. She pops the button on her jeans and drags her zipper down. My erection strains, and I grip the arms of the chair to keep from launching myself at her, since the last thing I want her to do is stop. She shimmies the denim over her hips and down her thighs.
She gives me her back, showing off a pair of black cheekies, and bends at the waist as she removes those too. Lavender’s ass is fan-fucking-tastic. Round and full and completely biteable. And smackable. I would know, since I’ve done both of those things.
She falters for a moment, back expanding as she drags in a deep breath. Her arms hang at her sides, and she draws a figure eight on the outside of her leg, like she’s trying to calm herself.
“You’re perfect, Lavender,” I tell her, afraid she’s going to lose her nerve and stop whatever this is.
She peeks coyly over her shoulder as she runs her hands over her hips.
I nod in encouragement. “I want to touch you like that.”
“I bet you do.” She palms her ass, gives it a squeeze, and follows it with a swift slap that makes me jump and her smile.
The thought crosses my mind that she might not be a virgin.
In which case, I’m going to want to dig some graves.
She runs her fingers through her long, wavy hair, pulling it into a ponytail and fixing it with an elastic before she turns around.
I take in all of her, naked and on display. Just for me, not a room full of people who all got to stare at my half-hard cock for three hours because I was trying to get a rise out of her. Because I wanted her but couldn’t face the consequences of admitting it. Because I was being an asshole.
I exhale a shaky breath, and the arms of the chair squeak under my grip.
She’s almost bare. A thin auburn strip guides my gaze down to the sweet cleft between her thighs. “See something you want?” she taunts.
“Yes,” I groan.
“Too bad you’ve been too much of an asshole to deserve to have me.” She skims her lips with a fingertip. There’s pink paint under her nails. She drags her finger down her throat, circles her nipples and continues the descent until she dips between her legs.
“I’m sorry,” I croak.
“You’re about to be.” She drops to her knees on the floor, in the middle of the mess of sex toys I dumped out. She grabs a very sizeable, very authentically real-looking dildo, complete with balls, and slams it against the hardwood floor. It’s then that I realize it has a suction-cup base.