Page 2 of Yanked (Frenched 1.50)
“Fuck…oh God…” His groan of pleasure burst me wide open, and I cried out as I came, knowing how he loved to hear my abandon in that moment.
As the pulsing pleasure subsided, my breaths came in ragged gasps, and I couldn’t seem to close my mouth or open my eyes. Jesus, that was so intense. How can it be so intense when he’s not even here?
“Mia.”
I’d never get tired of the way he said my name after an orgasm, his voice flavored with awe, contentment, tenderness. “Yes.”
“I love listening to you when you come. I know just what your body does and how it feels on mine. I want it all the time.”
I smiled, even though I felt a little sad—I wanted it all the time too. But I lived in Detroit, had a business here, and he lived in New York City, taught college there. At this point, neither of us could just pack up and leave our lives, not that we’d ever really talked about it. In the eight months we’d been dating, we’d actually only seen each other six times—he’d come to Detroit three times, I’d flown to New York twice, and one magical weekend last fall, we’d met each other in Miami.
At least I think it was Miami. My memories from that trip are a bit hazy.
Five Things I DO Recall
About Vacationing With Lucas
1) The way the high thread-count sheets felt fisted in my hands. (Divine)
2) The view off our balcony as Lucas pinned me to the railing and fucked me from behind. (Stunning)
3) The way one of my high heels poked a hole in the upholstered headboard. (Oops)
4) The incredible taste of crispy room service bacon at four in the morning when you haven’t been to sleep yet. (Mmmmmm)
5) The way it felt to sit on Lucas’s lap and rest my head on his shoulder as we watched the sun rise on the balcony, and how he carried me inside afterward, closed the drapes, and held me as we fell asleep, our fingers linked against my chest. (Perfection)
“I want it all the time, too,” I murmured, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Yes, it would. Give me a minute to clean up, OK?”
“OK. Me too.”
A few minutes later, I got back in bed, dressed in cotton panties and a soft blue tee shirt of Lucas’s I liked to sleep in. Pulling the comforter up to my shoulders, I turned onto my side, the phone under my ear. The plantation shutters on my bedroom window were closed but the slats were open, and through them I saw lazy snowflakes drifting to the ground.
Lucas picked up his phone a minute after I did. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I snuggled deeper into the bedding, hugging my knees to my chest. If he were here, he’d wrap me in his arms and keep me warm. We’d watch the same snow fall and breathe the same air and rest our heads on the same pillow. “Is it snowing there?”
“Not yet. I think it’s supposed to hit us tomorrow. Snowing where you are?”
“Uh huh. We’re supposed to get another six to eight inches during the night.”
“You love getting eight inches at night.”
“Ha, ha. Only when they’re yours. The snow is pretty right now, but I’ll hate it in the morning when I’m trying to drive to work.”
“I worry about you driving on icy roads. I wish I were there to take you to work tomorrow.” The concern in his voice made me smile. “Or better yet, insist the weather is too horrible for you to leave the house and demand you play hooky.”
I laughed. “That sounds perfect. I wish you were here too. Actually, no, I wish we were both in Miami again. I’m so damn tired of this cold.”
“So let’s go. Meet me in Miami for a long weekend.”
“Ha. Right.”
“Why not? All that cold snow under your boots tomorrow morning could be warm sand under your toes tomorrow night.”
“Mmm, so tempting.”
