extinguishers in the world to douse these flames. My nipples inch out of my costume and ache to look at him themselves while my stomach ignites in a ball of fire just imagining the things he can do to me with those oversized hands, that long, serpentine tongue, his soft-as-air lips. Ryder looks impeccable tonight in his inky black suit, his silver tie—luscious enough to bind my wrists with. Every part of me screams for him to touch me, and all the while our gaze is immovable as concrete.
Crap.
I’ve broken my sacred rule, and now, here I am, openly lusting for the entire world to see—his mother—Meg.
Damn it all to hell.
Ryder Capwell still very much holds my heart.
Ryder
She’s looking at me.
Holy shit if Laney Sawyer didn’t just land those sweet sky blue eyes right over my person, twice in one evening. I take her in with those sugared lips, that black hair that makes her eyes glow like a pair of swimming pools.
The trace of a smile plays on my lips, but I won’t give it.
The audience breaks into applause as the performance comes to a close, but I don’t move or breathe or think one lewd thought of her in that carnal catastrophe of a costume. Instead, for one fleeting moment, I pretend we’re still Laney and Ryder, and that later I’ll be mapping out every inch of her lily-white skin with my mouth. An image of her beneath me with her dress hiked above her hips takes over, and there goes the ridiculous idea of not thinking one lewd thought about her tonight.
The truth is, I’ve had nothing but a stream of insanely indecent thoughts about Laney for the past twelve months. It’s been one long porn flick starring the two of us, and just when I think they can’t get any lewder or cruder, I surprise the hell out of myself. There have been clowns, and monkeys, and, hell, I’ve even thrown in a bottle of crazy glue a time or two because without Laney around to keep me reasonably sane I tend to go off the rails a little both in and out of my fucked up imagination.
I can’t help it. I gave her my heart—buried it deep inside her, and I never want it back. There’s no one out there for me but Laney Sawyer, and I couldn’t care less if I was making a scene or much to mother’s embarrassment, a fool of myself by holding Laney’s beautiful eyes hostage with mine.
To hell with the world, I’m about half a second away from getting down on my knees and begging her to take me back.
The MC claps his way to the mike, and it sputters and pops as his hands get too close to the receiver. He waves over at the cast, and that’s when Laney takes a bow and the spell is forcibly broken—our magic moment gone too soon, just as swift and unexpected as our relationship was revoked.
My eyes land on the numbered paddles on the table because I know what’s coming next. All night I’ve watched as my mother and her socialite cohorts have bid on item after item to help raise funds for the drama department, and now, the unthinkable is about to go down. Laney, herself, is about to be put on the block in the name of Whitney Briggs.
The MC barters away half the cast before he finally gets to beautiful, sweet Laney, and my gut cinches as she parades around the stage in full character. She’s sassing it up to a room full of catcalls, mostly from the Les Mis ensemble, but, still, she’ll always be my girl, and deep down I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her, let alone ogling her body for retail purposes.
Laney pauses with her back to me, sending a clear message that this is one business opportunity both me and my dick are welcome to sit out. Laney would rather cover herself with honey and roll in a pile of fire ants than have anything to do with my dick or my dollars.
The auction starts, and, much to my relief, the only people bidding for Laney’s company are a handful of women. A boulder rolls right off my chest because for a second there I envisioned some preppy prince
Crap.
I’ve broken my sacred rule, and now, here I am, openly lusting for the entire world to see—his mother—Meg.
Damn it all to hell.
Ryder Capwell still very much holds my heart.
Ryder
She’s looking at me.
Holy shit if Laney Sawyer didn’t just land those sweet sky blue eyes right over my person, twice in one evening. I take her in with those sugared lips, that black hair that makes her eyes glow like a pair of swimming pools.
The trace of a smile plays on my lips, but I won’t give it.
The audience breaks into applause as the performance comes to a close, but I don’t move or breathe or think one lewd thought of her in that carnal catastrophe of a costume. Instead, for one fleeting moment, I pretend we’re still Laney and Ryder, and that later I’ll be mapping out every inch of her lily-white skin with my mouth. An image of her beneath me with her dress hiked above her hips takes over, and there goes the ridiculous idea of not thinking one lewd thought about her tonight.
The truth is, I’ve had nothing but a stream of insanely indecent thoughts about Laney for the past twelve months. It’s been one long porn flick starring the two of us, and just when I think they can’t get any lewder or cruder, I surprise the hell out of myself. There have been clowns, and monkeys, and, hell, I’ve even thrown in a bottle of crazy glue a time or two because without Laney around to keep me reasonably sane I tend to go off the rails a little both in and out of my fucked up imagination.
I can’t help it. I gave her my heart—buried it deep inside her, and I never want it back. There’s no one out there for me but Laney Sawyer, and I couldn’t care less if I was making a scene or much to mother’s embarrassment, a fool of myself by holding Laney’s beautiful eyes hostage with mine.
To hell with the world, I’m about half a second away from getting down on my knees and begging her to take me back.
The MC claps his way to the mike, and it sputters and pops as his hands get too close to the receiver. He waves over at the cast, and that’s when Laney takes a bow and the spell is forcibly broken—our magic moment gone too soon, just as swift and unexpected as our relationship was revoked.
My eyes land on the numbered paddles on the table because I know what’s coming next. All night I’ve watched as my mother and her socialite cohorts have bid on item after item to help raise funds for the drama department, and now, the unthinkable is about to go down. Laney, herself, is about to be put on the block in the name of Whitney Briggs.
The MC barters away half the cast before he finally gets to beautiful, sweet Laney, and my gut cinches as she parades around the stage in full character. She’s sassing it up to a room full of catcalls, mostly from the Les Mis ensemble, but, still, she’ll always be my girl, and deep down I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her, let alone ogling her body for retail purposes.
Laney pauses with her back to me, sending a clear message that this is one business opportunity both me and my dick are welcome to sit out. Laney would rather cover herself with honey and roll in a pile of fire ants than have anything to do with my dick or my dollars.
The auction starts, and, much to my relief, the only people bidding for Laney’s company are a handful of women. A boulder rolls right off my chest because for a second there I envisioned some preppy prince
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