Deep Pockets (Kings and Rivals #1)

Chapter 11 – Lance

11

I HAD YET TO COMMIT MURDER…

LANCE

A week in, and so far, neither one of us was dead.

Though, neither of us was getting much sleep. She still refused to give up the bed. And I wasn't giving it up either. It was my bed.

But it wasn't our standoff keeping me awake—it was her scent on my sheets, and wondering if she lay there thinking about me too.

Not to mention, every night, she draped her warm body over mine like my own personal Morgan blanket.

I was a man teetering on the edge.

And now, I had to survive a meeting with her.

The conference room was all glass and steel, meant to impress clients. The Hudson River stretched beyond the windows. These meetings weren't usually my domain. Onboarding and marketing weren't my problem.

Normally, Gwen or Atticus handled these sessions. But since they were out, I was sitting in.

Morgan sat across the table, tablet in hand, stylus poised between her fingers as she took notes. The angle of her neck, the way she held the stylus, the slight furrow of her brow—I noticed it all.

Worse, I caught myself noticing.

Ian Caldwell, our onboarding specialist, clicked through his presentation, droning on about client intake details.

"Since they're a smaller operation, we'll move them through our usual process," Caldwell continued. "Standard marketing package, full onboarding into our sales app suite. That'll keep things streamlined and efficient."

From my seat, I caught Morgan's expression shift. A flicker of something. The smallest wrinkle of her nose.

Darren, her boss, nodded. "That makes sense. We've done it a hundred times before. It's a proven model."

But Morgan wasn't convinced.

I should've ignored it. Let Caldwell run his meeting. Let Darren call the shots. But instead, I leaned forward and said, "Morgan."

Her head jerked up, eyes wide as if she hadn't expected to be addressed. That moment of surprise. Cute.

"You clearly have an opinion," I said. "Let's hear it."

She glanced around, like she was waiting for someone to object, then squared her shoulders. "I—It's just…" She pressed her lips together, then exhaled. That dimple flashed when she bit her lip.

Morgan met my gaze. "It might be helpful to actually find out what they need. They're a smaller company, right? Our products are built as modules, so instead of lumping them into the standard package, we could customize a solution—give them only the parts they want while keeping the cost the same. That way, they get a more tailored experience without feeling like they're being upsold on things they don't need."

The room went silent.

Caldwell blinked, half-offended like no one had ever questioned his perfect system. Darren frowned, glancing at me like he wasn't sure if he should shut this down.

But I sat back, considering.

She wasn't wrong.

Morgan wasn't just saying something to fill space. She had paid attention, analyzed the process, and identified a better way forward. I was impressed.

"It's not a bad idea. Let's use this as a test case."

Caldwell stammered. "B-but that will change the timeline."

"Fine, get new projections and email them to me. I'll review." I turned to him. "Dismissed."

His jaw tightened, but he nodded and gathered his papers. Darren hesitated but said nothing, following him out.

Morgan, still clutching her tablet, looked like she might stop breathing.

I kept my voice even and low in case anyone was lingering by the door. "That was good."

She blinked. "You—you're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

She gnawed on her lip. "Because I just challenged your entire onboarding strategy."

I smirked. "You challenged Caldwell's onboarding strategy. He's just lucky I didn't have to be the one to do it."

Her lips parted slightly, like she was processing what had happened.

And fuck.

I was watching her mouth. I was watching her posture, how tightly she held herself.

I forced myself to look away, shifting in my chair. "Just so we're clear, never let me catch you holding back because you're afraid of repercussions. You're smart, and have a different perspective. Make sure you share it."

Her brows furrowed, but she nodded. "Okay. Noted."

She wasn't just a girl I wanted.

She was a woman I respected.

And that was dangerous. Because lust I could control—but respect would drag me under until I drowned in everything she was.

I pushed my chair back and stood. "Don't let it go to your head," I said, straightening my tie. "Get those notes to me before the end of the day. I know you'll be the one that ends up doing the work."

I turned and walked out before I could look at her again.

She'd made it clear we were forgetting everything. Clean slate. I wasn't supposed to notice the way her dimples flashed when she smiled.

But I did.

And that was a problem.

I was neck-deep in acquisition reports when I glanced up and spotted her—Morgan, leaning against the copier, laughing at something one of the junior sales guys was saying. My eyes narrowed. He was standing too close, his arm braced against the copier, his gaze drifting to places it had no business going.

A sharp, possessive surge twisted in my gut. He didn't know better, but he should have. Morgan wasn't some cute intern here for him to flirt with.

Before I knew it, I was striding across the office, footsteps hard and deliberate. I planted my hand on the copier, blocking his view of her. "Find somewhere else to be," I said, my voice flat, leaving no room for argument.

The guy blanched, muttering something about a meeting, and scurried off, glancing back once before disappearing.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Morgan's voice snapped through the air.

She didn't wait for an answer—she grabbed my wrist, her grip tight, and dragged me toward the stairwell, her steps quick and furious.

The door slammed shut behind us, cutting off the office noise, and she turned to face me, arms crossed.

"Seriously, Lance? What the hell?" she demanded, rounding on me, eyes like fire. "What is wrong with you? I work here. You can't run around glowering at anyone who talks to me."

She was mad? "The kid was all over you."

She threw her hands up. "The whole roommate thing isn't working out. My dad lives on the Upper East Side. And newsflash, you're missing a few melanin cells. First, you track me down at dinner."

"Like I said, I was grabbing food."

"Uh huh. Now you want to dictate who I can be friends with?"

Calmly, I said, "It's for your own good, Morgan. He's a player."

She laughed sharply. "My own good? Are you kidding me? This isn't about me. This is about you. Ever since we painted the penthouse, you've been…hovering!"

I crossed my arms, leaning back against the wall. "You're overreacting. I'm just looking out for you."

"Overreacting?" she repeated, voice rising. "You're interfering! You could mess up my internship, and for what? To soothe your damn ego?"

"It's not about my ego," I shot back, temper flaring. "It's about keeping you out of trouble."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "All I know is that you seem hell-bent on keeping me under your thumb. I told you to forget everything. Why can't you do that?"

I couldn't do that because I couldn't forget. "I'm trying to look out for you."

She shoved me again, harder. "This is you being a goddamn control freak."

I grabbed her wrist, pulling her close, my voice dropping to a growl. "You don't know what you're talking about, Morgan."

"You're smothering me." Her eyes bored into mine, anger and something deeper sparking in her gaze. "I needed your help. Fine. But you don't get to make those decisions for me," she said, voice raw. "You don't get to fuck with my life because you think it's what's best."

"Maybe not," I said, voice dropping lower. "But I'm doing it anyway."

Her breath hitched, and I could see the conflict in her eyes—anger, fear, desire all tangled together. She shoved her finger into my chest, her touch hot. "You don't get to play God with my life, Lance."

Her eyes were spitting fire. Her finger jabbed me in the chest. Her breasts pressed against me. Something inside me snapped. "That's not what I'm—" Christ.

Her lips parted with every heavy breath. I knew all the reasons this was a bad idea. "Fuck it." I yanked her against me, my hands tangling in her braids as I kissed her.

She held still at first, hands against my chest. Not pushing away, not pulling in, but I didn't let go. I kissed her fiercely, my lips demanding, my body burning with an edge I couldn't control.

And then… she kissed me back.

Her hands moved to my shoulders, gripping tight, then into my hair, pulling me closer. I pressed her back against the wall, my mouth devouring hers like she was the only thing keeping me alive. She tasted like coffee and fury, making me want more.

She moaned, arching against me, and my control slipped. My hand slid to her waist, pulling her flush against me. She was fire under my hands, a perfect storm of anger and desire I couldn't resist.

Her fingers dug into my shoulders, nails biting through my shirt. I deepened the kiss, my tongue claiming her mouth. She met me with equal intensity, no gentleness, no hesitation—just raw, unfiltered need.

"Lance," she breathed against my lips, voice trembling with anger and something darker. She tugged my hair, forcing me to look at her, eyes wild. "This doesn't change anything."

"Doesn't it?" I murmured, breath hot against her skin as I dragged my lips down her jaw to her neck, feeling her pulse race. "Because it sure as hell feels like it does." My control was slipping, every wall crumbling under her touch.

She shuddered, a soft sound escaping her lips, but her defiance remained. "No," she whispered, though the word lacked conviction. "You can't just?—"

I cut her off with another kiss, more forceful, claiming her mouth until her resistance melted. Her hands slid down my chest, fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer even as she pushed back. The confusion in her eyes, the way her breath hitched—it drove me crazy.

I moved my hand from her hip up her back, feeling her heat through the thin fabric of her blouse. She arched into me, her breath hitching as I kissed her harder, deeper, my tongue tangling with hers. She tasted like everything I wanted, everything I was afraid to lose.

She pulled back slightly, lips red and swollen, breathing ragged. "Lance," she whispered, voice breaking. "I can't?—"

But her hands were still clutching me, her eyes wide and filled with longing.

"Tell me to stop again," I challenged, voice rough, thumb brushing her lips. "But this time, mean it."

She opened her mouth, but the words didn't come. Instead, she surged forward, kissing me with a fervor that left us breathless. Raw, unrestrained, everything we'd been holding back. She bit my lip, nails dragging down my chest, and I groaned, pressing her harder against the wall.

"Morgan," I murmured against her lips, breath hot. "You’re drive me fucking crazy."

"Good," she whispered back, breathless and defiant. "Because you make me want to kill you."

"Fair enough," I muttered, claiming her mouth again.

Her hips pressed against mine, and I could feel her heating up, every part responding to me, like gasoline on fire. With one swift motion, I pressed her back against the cold concrete wall. She gasped, but it quickly became a whimper as I hitched her leg around my hip, my hard length pressing against her core.

"Do you feel that, Morgan?" I growled against her ear. "Do you feel what you do to me?"

She shuddered, nails digging into my shoulders. "Yes," she breathed. "God, yes."

I slid my hand up her thigh, pushing her skirt up. Her skin was silk beneath my fingers. At the apex of her thighs, I groaned at the damp lace. "Fuck, you're soaked," I rasped, rubbing her through her panties.

She bucked against my hand, a needy whine escaping.

"Is this all for me, Spitfire? Are you this wet just from fighting with me?"

"Shut up," she hissed, but there was no real venom. Her hips rolled against my hand.

I smirked against her neck, pressing harder. "Make me."

She yanked my head back by the hair, crushing her lips to mine. My fingers slipped beneath her panties, gliding through her slick folds. I circled her swollen clit, and she bucked, breaking the kiss with a sharp gasp.

"Oh my God..." she panted, head falling back against the wall.

I latched onto her neck, sucking hard as I slipped a finger inside her. She clenched around me instantly. I added a second finger, pumping slowly, savoring every response.

"Lance," she whispered, no longer a protest but a plea.

I curled my fingers, stroking that sensitive spot that made her walls flutter. My thumb kept pressure on her clit as I thrust deeper. "That's it, Spitfire. Take what you need."

She whimpered, hips rocking shamelessly. I could feel her getting closer, her body tensing.

"Lance, oh God..." Her voice was high and tight.

"Come on, Morgan," I growled. "Come for me?—"

Somewhere above us, someone started talking. We froze. It sounded like a phone call rather than footsteps, but I pulled my fingers out, bringing them to my mouth.

Her gaze narrowed as she watched me taste her.

"I'm sorry, Spitfire. I'll have to take care of that ache later, but you are delicious," I whispered.

"Over my dead body," she cut in, barely audible. She shook her head, but her resolve was wavering.

She stared at me, searching for something. For a moment, I thought she might relent, that we'd finally cross that line with no turning back. But then she shoved me away, voice breaking. "This isn't—this can't happen."

The sting of rejection cut through the desire, but I didn't show it. I straightened, adrenaline still pumping. "If you say so," I said, voice colder than intended. "It's better that way anyway."

The words tasted like ash. I'd had reasons for walking away, for not pursuing this thing between us. But the way she'd surrendered to my touch, trusted me with that raw need—maybe I'd been wrong.

If anyone could keep her safe, I could. Afterall, I was the thing that went bump in the night. I could have both.

Oh yeah, try telling her that.

Because given her trembling hands and wild eyes, she still planned to run.

And if I was a better man, I might let her. But I wasn't.