How to Get Lucky

by Lauren Blakely

  Not once did I dream of thinking, That’ll be enough.

  But what I didn’t anticipate was how, despite feeling so satisfied, I could want her so insanely much again.

  Like, immediately.

  Maybe, say, right now.

  Well, okay, after I recover. But that’s simply a matter of time, not will.

  I hope, though, that she wants all the same things I do.

  More connection, more closeness, more of this night that feels like an escape. That feels like it exists out of the calendar, out of time.

  After I pull up my boxer briefs and zip my jeans, I run a hand along her hair. “What the hell are we going to do next?”

  It’s as much a rhetorical question as a practical one.

  She tap-dances her fingers down my chest. “I have some ideas.”

  I wiggle my brow. “I bet your ideas would like my ideas.”

  “Do your ideas involve both of us getting naked?”

  I groan. My dick is going to be showing off for her again. Soon. “Yes, they do. But the big question is, can we really do this?”

  Her expression goes serious too. “I don’t want the night to end. I heard what you said earlier. I get it. This is what it is. But I like this too much to put any brakes on.”

  “I’m afraid somebody may have cut my brakes when it comes to you,” I say, then I brush a kiss along her cheek. “And I mean that in every way. Not just the physical. You know that, right?”

  Her lips curve into a soft grin. “I think I do know that.”

  I squeeze her hand. “I mean it. I meant everything I said earlier. But I mean this too. Being with you is one of the easiest things I’ve ever done, not just in ages, but ever. Talking to you, laughing with you—everything with you. It’s kind of crazy.”

  “It’s kind of crazy good.”

  “Kind of wild that twenty minutes ago, I was telling you that things would be different if I had a different job and how I don’t want to repeat the mistakes of the past . . . and now all I want is to spend more time with you.”

  Her smile is sweet and sexy. “I guess the blow job worked, then.”

  I don’t return the joke. Instead, I tuck her hair behind her ear. “No. It’s not the blow job. Though it was spectacular. It’s you. Just you. Nothing about this feels like a mistake.”

  “I know,” she whispers softly. “I feel the same.”

  I press my forehead to hers, my hand brushing over her soft hair. I’m savoring this moment. It feels like we’re teetering on the edge. Of saying more. Of admitting hearts and feelings and all those other things.

  But the last twenty-four hours with her have simply been a bubble, and I’d do well to remember that.

  We separate, and I do up the buttons on my shirt. “I want to taste you, touch you, feel you. Slide inside you. Watch you melt. Make you come a second time and then do it again,” I say. “Which we really shouldn’t do in here.”

  She laughs, breathes out hard, then waves a hand in front of her face. “Okay, you make me laugh and you turn me on at the same time. Is that your special skill?”

  “Why, yes, it is.”

  “But the trouble is . . .”

  “Barking pumpkin dog.”

  “Nailed it,” she says a little sadly.

  “Well, if we were dating, what would you do?”

  “If we were dating?” She asks the words as if she’s tasting them. As if they’re cherries or ice cream and she likes the way they feel on her tongue.

  Hell, I like the way they sound on her tongue.

  “I think we’d go to my house,” she continues, “pick him up, and take him to yours.”

  “So that’s what we’d do if we were dating?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll do that.”

  And it feels like we are dating. This is a dating conversation. This is a few days with a woman I’m falling for. These are the type of days I’ll remember two, three, four years down the road when we talk about how the two of us started to fall for each other.

  Or maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.

  “The very puppy-friendly pooch Sir David Bowie and I extend a most humble invitation to Mr. Darcy for an evening in our home,” I say in an over-the-top British accent. “Would you like to bring Mr. Darcy to my house?”

  “Mr. Darcy accepts your invitation. However, he is a horn dog.”

  “He will be in excellent company, then.”

  A little later, London pulls up at my house in her cherry-red VW bug. She parks the car, unbuckles her dog, and steps out with Mr. Darcy in her arms.

  Little dude wags his tail when he sees me waiting with Bowie, so I scratch the small pooch’s chin, then give him a kiss on the head.

  She sets him on the ground, and the dogs greet each other.

  I waggle the dog bags in my hand. “I got the dog bags. Please try not to get too excited.”

  “Oh, that is so sexy,” she says.

  I take her hand and we walk our dogs and they do their business. It’s not romantic, yet it’s ridiculously romantic because the stars are out, the night air is cool, and we’re wandering through my neighborhood like we would if we were dating.

  If we were together.

  Everything about tonight feels like it could be repeated for the next week and the next month and the next year. Everything about this feels like this could be how we are.

  I squeeze her hand.

  She smiles in my direction. “What’s that for?”

  I shrug. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.”

  She laughs too. “I feel the same way.” She nudges my elbow as we round the corner on my street. “Hey, on a scale of one to ten, how great have the last twenty-four hours been?”

  “Five hundred,” I say.

  “C’mon. I was thinking a thousand.”

  “We haven’t even had sex yet. Let’s wait for the sex till we give it a thousand.”

  “That’s my point. It’s amazing with you even if we don’t sleep together.”

  I groan—a groan of happiness. I stop in my tracks, my dog by my side, her dog by her side, and I cup her cheek. “You’re right. It’s a thousand already.” I press a kiss to her lips. When we separate, I say, “I like hanging out with you. I liked it last night, and I liked it today. I like working together. I like all the things.”

  “What do you know? I like all the things too. It’s all pretty damn good.” Her tone goes wistful again. There’s a note of sadness that makes me feel like a jackass. What the hell am I doing? I know this can’t go anywhere. Not anywhere I want it to.

  But I’m doing it anyway.

  I sidestep the us and focus on something that I can say with absolute certainty. “By the way, I think your dance is going to be incredible. You’re going to nail that portfolio, and you’re going to do great things at the club.”

  “Thanks. I’m pretty happy with it. I think we created a cool thing together. I’m going to put the finishing touches on it tomorrow. Also, you’re a pretty good deejay. I’m sure your new business will boom.”

  “I’m nowhere near ready yet to go out on my own. But someday.”

  I tell myself the same could apply to her and me. Maybe someday.

  Maybe someday when things change at the job.

  Maybe someday when I sort out what I’m doing.

  Maybe someday when I get a better handle on things and figure out my life. Maybe then I’ll be able to have that maybe-someday with her.

  But for now, I’m going to relish tonight for all that it is.

  As we return to my building and head upstairs, I adopt a TV informercial voice. “Have you ever considered how amazing the hedgie toy is?”

  “As in the greatest dog toy ever invented?”

  “It is indeed the best toy in the history of dog toys. Whoever invented it deserves an award.”

  “All the awards,” she says as I open the door to my condo, and we unsnap our dogs’ leashes.

  I toss a hedgie to Bowie and anoth
er to Mr. Darcy. They take them to opposite ends of the living room. As they focus on the utter amazingness of their toys, I take London to my bedroom, she removes her glasses, and we undress each other.

  None of this feels like we’re messing around. None of it feels like we’re hooking up. None of this feels like it’s going to end soon.

  All of it feels like we’re just starting.

  27

  Here we are.

  In my bedroom.

  Stripped bare.

  Ready.

  Her eyes glimmer with desire as we lunge at each other. I tug her onto the bed, on top of me. Our bodies crash together, and the feel of skin on skin makes my head hazy.

  She moans, low and throaty. I thread my hands in her hair, bringing her mouth to mine.

  We kiss, needy and hungry—the kind of kiss that’s both desperate and a prelude. A kiss that won’t last long, because we both need more.

  More than kissing. More than mouths.

  We need connection.

  Hell, I crave it.

  We kiss recklessly, unchained. Our mouths saying words that extend beyond maybe someday.

  I grab a handful of her hair, pulling her head back roughly, and slam my lips to hers. I’m kissing her everywhere, devouring her, consuming her. Her lips, her cheeks, her chin, neck, and ear.

  She tastes like heaven as her tongue tangos with mine. My hands glide down her smooth back, clasping her ass—her gorgeous, fantastic ass that I want to spank, bite, kiss. I squeeze her flesh, letting her know with my touch how much I want her.

  With a soft but sexy laugh, she pulls away from my mouth. “You trying to tell me you like my ass?”

  I give her a salacious grin. “Love. I love your ass. It’s spectacular.”

  She slides her hand around to mine, kneading it too. “Back at you,” she says, then returns to my lips.

  The press of her body against mine is incredible, but I want her under me. I flip her onto her back, then admire the view. Her lithe, lovely body. Her soft stomach. Her perky tits.

  Right here for me to adore.

  I bury my face between her breasts, sucking and licking feverishly while she cries out.

  “Yes. Mmm. Love that.”

  I love her mouth, her words, the way she talks back.

  It’s fucking fantastic to be with a woman who tells you what she likes. Who’s unafraid to voice her desires, to ask for what she wants.

  Her body’s damn good at communicating too. She’s rocking her hips, arching her back, making it clear she wants more.

  After I worship at the altar of her breasts, I pull back, rise up, and take her in.

  This is all I want. To be naked with London. To be here with her.

  She runs her fingers along my chest, then trails them down my arms with wild arousal in her eyes. Her fingernails dig gently into my flesh, sending shivers of pure bliss coursing through my body.

  When she reaches the tattoo on my left arm, her breath hitches and her eyes glaze.

  “I finally get to see the tattoo,” she purrs playfully.

  “I knew you could convince me.”

  “What does it mean to you? Why did you have it done?”

  “It’s a Celtic trinity knot. Body, mind, spirit,” I say, guiding her hand over each point. “A reminder to stay in balance. Though the ‘body’ part is kinda dominating right now.”

  “That is—” she begins, but I don’t let her finish. I kiss her again, hard, taking her lower lip between my teeth.

  My cock throbs, my chest heats, and I’ve never known arousal like this before.

  I move off her, wedge myself next to her, and slide a hand between her legs as I seek out her heat. My fingers glide over her pussy, and she gasps, bows her back, and whispers, “Will you fuck me with your fingers first?”

  Will I?

  More like Can I please do everything filthy and beautiful to you all night long?

  But words aren’t easy to form with desire pulsing hard and fast in my body, taking over my mind.

  I don’t need many though.

  Just one.

  “Yes.”

  I run my fingers over her wetness, centering on her clit, seeking her pleasure. Her body responds to my touch but seems to beg for more too.

  I give it to her as I slide a finger inside her, and she lets out the most delicious moan I’ve ever heard.

  I add another finger, and she rocks into my hand as I press my palm to her swollen clit. She shakes, moaning words that urge me on as I touch her.

  So good.

  Yes.

  God, yes.

  She’s close, so damn close. I massage and rub as she grinds against my hand, my fingers, my palm.

  Her legs tighten, and she cries out.

  She doesn’t stop.

  Her moans and groans echo through the air. I stroke her through her climax, slowing down as her noises ebb.

  Then, gently I remove my hand, reach for a condom from the nightstand, and suit up. Her eyes are glossy, brimming with satisfaction as she watches me roll it on.

  “I want you so much,” she murmurs.

  “You have no idea how much I want you,” I whisper.

  “I think I might,” she says, and I lower myself on top of her, rubbing the head of my cock over her glistening pussy.

  She reaches a hand down, grabs the base of my cock, and guides me into her.

  My eyes fall shut at the first intoxicating feel of her heat gripping me. I sink deeper, shuddering as her body takes me.

  When I sink deeper still, we both tremble then groan at the same time.

  This feels so fucking good.

  “You,” I rasp.

  But I don’t say anything more.

  Because I am consumed with the electric intensity of being inside the woman I want.

  “Yes,” she moans as I rock in and out to the rhythm of her moans and the pressure of her hands on my ass.

  We’re fast at first, going hard and deep and desperate.

  But soon, we slow. We take our time, enjoying each other, exploring the limits of our pleasure. I grind deep inside her, wanting to prolong the moment, the night. I lower myself to my forearms, getting closer, my chest against hers. She wraps her legs tighter around me, bringing me deeper too.

  Burying my face in her neck, I inhale oranges, getting high off it. Her scent drives me wild, makes me thrust harder.

  She moans, arching her back, liking this new speed.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispers.

  “No plans to.”

  Her legs begin to quake. She’s close again. I am too, but I continue to savor each thrust.

  With her fingernails digging into my back, she grips me harder, a plea for me to pick up the pace even more. I’m only too happy to oblige. I pump faster and harder, listening to the sounds of her moans, learning the language of her body.

  One more drive into her, and she shakes and clenches, calling out a delirious oh God, yes, oh my fucking God.

  Once her thighs lock and an orgasm overtakes her, my body follows hers into oblivion as I push impossibly deeper into her and explode.

  For a moment, there is only stillness.

  My body is taut, my mind calm, and I am bliss.

  We inhale each other, and I relax against her tight body.

  Slowly, I roll off of her, and she lets out a soft whimper.

  Quickly, I take off the condom, toss it in a trash can in the bathroom, and return to her with a warm washcloth.

  She’s still lying there, content, melting into the bed.

  Already missing her contact, I join her. She takes the washcloth from me as I trail my hand across her sweat-glistened body to her inner thigh. Reluctantly, we come back to earth together, and I toss the washcloth into the hamper.

  She sighs contentedly as my fingers trail along the goose bumps that dot her flesh. “Not gonna lie,” she moans, “I feel pretty damn lucky right now.”

  “And I feel like we both won the good-guy challenge,” I say.
>
  She smiles, soft and sex-drunk. “We both did. In multiple categories.”

  I’m buzzing from the high of knowing I brought her pleasure—hell, from the sensation of my own pleasure.

  So that’s great sex.

  I finally found it.

  Only, what made it so great is that I’m pretty sure I’m falling harder than I ever expected for London Hollis.

  28

  Early the next morning

  * * *

  From the Woman Power Trio, aka the text messages of London and her two besties, Olive and Emery

  * * *

  Olive: Soooooooooooooo . . .

  * * *

  Emery: *taps foot*

  * * *

  Olive: *waits, waits, waits*

  * * *

  Emery: *prepares to show up at Teddy’s place and demand details*

  * * *

  London: Oh, hi! It’s me! Waking up next to this guy I like.

  * * *

  Olive: I WANT ALL THE DETAILS.

  * * *

  Emery: AND NOW.

  * * *

  London: He has a tattoo.

  * * *

  Olive: Hot. Go on.

  * * *

  London: I spent the night. So did my dog. The sex was intense, the conversation incredible, and . . . I’m falling for him, and I’m pretty sure he’s falling for me too.

  * * *

  Olive: So basically all that stuff about him not wanting more because of your brother and blah, blah, blah is out the window?

  * * *

  London: Ummmmm, maybe?

  * * *

  Emery: Whoa. This is huge.

  * * *