Page 68 of Over the Limit

Knock. Knock.

Christ. I hang my head and roll my shoulders.

The doorman didn’t say anyone was coming up so that only leaves one person—my elderly neighbor who’s prone to asking for chores to be done at odd times at night.

I scrub a towel through my freshly showered hair, and then head to the door to see what she needs help with this time. I’m not exactly in the best mood to deal with her right now, but I can never say no to her.

But when I swing the door open, I’m met with the best fucking surprise.

“Blair.”

“If you’re going to pretend in public that you’re with her, then you’re going to prove to me in private that you’re with me,” she says with a defiance that has my jaw dropping and libido fucking sparking.

And if her confidence didn’t make me hard instantly when she strutted past me, her presence in my place in heels and a yellow sundress with tiny buttons on its front sure as fuck does.

“Well, hello to you too,” I murmur.

“We have unfinished business,” she states as I fight the urge to haul her against me and take until I can’t take any more.

But I’ll play the game.

“I thought we had seven days. I thought there were rules.” I grin as the ache in my lower belly spreads and my balls tighten.

“You can break your rules for me. For this.” She starts to undo the tiny buttons on the top of her dress. I can’t look away.

I groan and drag a hand through my hair. She’s not playing fair. “How do you know where I live?”

“I have my ways,” she says coyly, repeating my line back to me from when I knew what hotel room she was in. When I force my eyes off her dexterous fingers and the scrap of white lace that’s becoming apparent beneath the dress, I meet her eyes again. My swallow is forced. My chest constricts. She angles her head to the side and smirks. “What? Are you going to say no to me, Lachlan?”

“You’re making it really fucking hard to.”

“Good.” Her eyes glance down to where my cock is begging to be free of my sweats. “Hard is just how I like it.”

My laugh is strained and desperate. So is my need to touch her again. My hands on her hips earlier were the biggest cocktease ever . . . and now she’s here. Within reach. Looking like that. Like a 1950s pinup girl full of curves and sass and exuding sex appeal that could wake a man from the dead.

“Blair.” Her name is a groan as her dress falls open.

White lace. A ton of cleavage. The hint of a garter belt. And an expanse of tanned skin just beneath.

Christ almighty.

“You think I don’t want you, Lachlan Evans? You think that twenty-one days is going to stop me from wanting that? You’re all I think about. What you taste like. What you feel like. What you’d feel like inside me. How fucking good we’d be together.” She hums. “I’ve played along with your self-imposed time frame. Your twenty-one days to form a habit. I call bullshit because all it took me was thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes?” I ask, finding it difficult to focus on her words when her body is right there.

“Thirty minutes outside of a sponsorship party for me to want to know you more.”

“That’s not enough,” I taunt and take a step closer as she slides the dress off her shoulders so it falls to the floor and pools at her feet.

She’s breathtaking.

Simply fucking breathtaking.

All I can think about is mapping every line and dent and curve of her body with my hands. With my mouth. With my tongue.

“All it took was one night in a bar, to know there was something there between us. Something indescribable. Something I’ve never felt before.”

I slide my hand beneath my waistband and wrap my hand around my cock. The sight of her like this is fucking unbearable. I’ve jacked off with less of a vision of her—now this one? I’m ruined for life.