Deep Pockets (Kings and Rivals #1)

Chapter 17 – Lance

17

IT WAS ONLY A DREAM

LANCE

I woke up to the scent of lime and coconut wrapped around me like a vice, my senses clinging to the warmth of a soft, supple body pressed against mine. Instinctively, I tightened my arms around her, my face nuzzling into the crook of her neck as I inhaled deeply. Her skin smelled like sun-drenched citrus, with a hint of something sweeter underneath. Morgan.

She shifted slightly, pressing closer, and my palm slid over the curve of her hip, tracing the warm, smooth expanse of skin beneath my fingertips. My hand found its way up to a full, soft breast, and I groaned low, the sound rumbling in my chest. Jesus. She felt exactly right—like she belonged there, like I'd been waiting for this moment my entire damn life.

I could spend a thousand mornings just like this. And the longer I stayed with her, the more I craved it. That fantasy life, where she could love someone like me.

My fingers brushed over her nipple, and she shuddered against me, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. My cock throbbed in response, already straining against the thin fabric of my boxers. God, what I wouldn't do to have her like this every single night, to wake up tangled in her, to claim every inch of her until she knew she was mine.

My palm skimmed lower, across the gentle slope of her stomach, my fingers dipping between her thighs. The heat of her nearly undid me. She was already slick, ready for me, and when I slid my fingers through her folds, she moaned, her body arching into my touch.

"Lance," she murmured, voice husky with sleep.

The sound of my name on her lips sent a primal bolt of need through me. I bit down on the tender spot where her neck met her shoulder, not gently, not like a man who worried about leaving marks, but like a man who wanted to make damn sure the world knew she belonged to him. Her sharp inhale sent my blood racing, and I soothed the bite with my tongue, licking and sucking until she trembled beneath me.

She turned in my arms, her lips finding mine to brush them softly. But her eyes stayed closed. Then she tucked in, hooking her leg over my hip, pulling me closer as she ground against me. Her satin shorts had shifted, exposing the thin barrier of her underwear. The flimsy fabric did nothing to mask the heat pooled at her core. I could feel her wetness soaking through, and my cock throbbed painfully in response.

"Morgan. Please tell me you're awake."

Guilt and desire warred within me as I gazed at her peaceful face, her lips slightly parted, her breathing deep and even. But she pulled me to her and rotated her hips again, and my resolve crumbled. My hand slid down her back, cupping her ass as she pressed closer.

"Please," she whimpered against my neck, her hips rocking insistently.

I was in pure hell. Or heaven. Depending on if I was listening to the devil or the angel on my shoulder.

I buried my face in her hair, inhaling deeply as I tried to maintain some semblance of control. My hand slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass as I pulled her closer, letting her grind against me.

"Morgan," I groaned, my voice rough with desire. "God, baby, you feel so good."

She whimpered in response, her leg tightening around my waist. I knew I should stop this. She wasn't fully conscious.

"Morgan, please for the love of God, wake up, baby."

But she didn't. Instead, she gave a frustrated little whimper and moved up a couple inches, bringing my fingers right to her soft little cunt. Her underwear had slipped, and she felt like the wettest, softest silk.

My breath caught in my throat as my fingers made contact with her slick folds. The temptation was overwhelming, my body screaming to sink into her warmth. But I couldn't. Not like this.

"Morgan," I said again, more firmly this time. "Wake up, sweetheart."

She mumbled something unintelligible, her hips still moving in slow, tantalizing circles against my hand. I gritted my teeth, torn between desire and the need to do the right thing. Gently, I extracted my hand from her shorts and cupped her face instead.

Her eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, I thought she might actually open them. But then she nuzzled closer, her lips brushing against my neck as she murmured, "Mmm, Lance. Don't stop."

But then Morgan took things into her own hands, canting her hips until the tip of my finger slid inside her pussy. Her soft "Yesss," made the base of my spine tingle.

She tilted her head back, and her gaze fluttered, her dark eyes fixing on mine. The smile she gave me was the sweetest bliss.

I sucked in a sharp breath as I felt her warm heat envelop my finger. My resolve shattered like glass.

"Christ, Morgan," I growled, pushing deeper as I added a second finger alongside the first.

My thumb found her clit, circling it slowly as I pumped my fingers in and out. Her breathing quickened, little gasps and whimpers escaping her lips with each thrust. She was so responsive, so goddamn perfect.

"Lance," she breathed, her voice desperate. "Please, I need..."

"What do you need, baby?"

She whimpered, her hips bucking against my hand. "More."

I groaned, burying my face in her neck as I increased the pace, curling my fingers to hit that spot inside her that made her cry out. Morgan's hands clutched at my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin as she arched against me. I could feel her getting closer, her inner walls fluttering around my fingers.

"That's it, baby," I murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her throat. "Let go for me. I want to feel you come."

She whimpered, her body trembling as she chased her release. I curled my fingers inside her, pressing firmly against that spot while increasing the pressure on her clit. The effect was instantaneous.

Morgan cried out, her body going rigid in my arms as her orgasm crashed over her. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around my fingers, and I worked her through it until she collapsed against me, boneless and panting.

I pulled back, wanting to watch her face. "You okay?"

But she didn't answer me. She was asleep, curling her body into mine.

Morgan

Sex dreams happened okay…

It was not a big deal. And more importantly, Lance had no idea I'd had the best sex dream of my life. So his summoning me to his office had nothing to do with that.

Except, he'd been acting weird all morning.

Or, alternatively, he's still pissed off about the whole trying to run him over with the car thing.

Either way, he was cagey. This morning, he'd watched me like a hawk. His gaze hadn't left me once. And he'd seemed smug. More smug than usual. But then he'd seemed worried and kept asking me if I was okay.

I'd played it off. At least I hoped I had.

That was bullshit. I felt like I'd been prancing around naked all morning. Like he could tell I'd had the filthiest dream about him. To be fair, it wasn't even that filthy.

It was a variation of a teenage fantasy I'd had for years. That somehow Lance was actually my age and just a boy genius who'd gone to school early. And I was the sister he was obsessed with.

The variations were all steamier from that base point. Sometimes, it was him sneaking into my bed and making sweet love to me. Sometimes, he'd pull me into one of the classrooms at Dalton when I was getting things ready for homecoming.

I'd had no idea of the specific details of sex. I knew logistics, but how it felt, I had zero reference for. I hadn't even had a boyfriend until my senior year at Dalton. Gwen had warned me not to put too much stock in the Dalton boys.

She'd been trying to warn me that trying to date as a black girl in a sea of blondes would be hard. But I hadn't really been paying attention.

Once I got the boyfriend, I assumed all those intense Lance feelings would transfer…but they didn't. And I hadn't really been into doing anything beyond kissing with him.

Anyway, the older I got, the more I could fill in the 'sweet love' portion of the fantasies.

But last night, God. That had felt so damn real. I'd been praying desperately not to wake up before the good part. But, it had kept going, and I swear I had come in my sleep.

Shit. What if you were talking? What if he heard you?

I halted mid-step on my way to his office. Freezing in the hallway from the sheer embarrassment.

I was so screwed.

You wish.

I'd brought him a coffee and muffin from downstairs, but maybe that was too much? How else did one say 'Sorry, I had a sex dream about you?'

Don't be a ballsack. Get this over with.

His door was ajar when I knocked. When he saw me, he abruptly shut his laptop, watching me warily. "Morgan?"

"Am I interrupting?"

"No," His voice was soft as he put his laptop in his top drawer and locked it.

Weird. "You wanted to see me?" I dropped off my apology coffee and muffin.

He studied them dubiously. "So about…everything. Are you okay?"

My body went loose. Damn. He knew. He had to know.

"Okay about what?" I asked, my voice coming out a touch too squeaky.

He squinted at me like I had lost my mind. "The car thing? You were pretty shaken up last night and I wanted to make sure you weren't still shaken." His brows knitted as he watched me expectantly. "What did you think I was talking about?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." I caught myself, holding up my hand. "You know what? I did hit you. But it was an accident. But I feel fine. I slept surprisingly well."

His brow lifted. "Surprisingly well you say."

I would swear someone was spraying molten lava in my face at that moment. "Yep. All good."

A flash of something crossed his face, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"You have your jacket? I think there might be drizzle later."

My eyebrows shot up at the abrupt change of subject. "We're going outside?"

"Yeah. Come with me. We're going to the roof."

I blinked. "The roof?"

"Yes, the roof. Come on, Morgan."

I followed him, trying to keep up despite my heels clicking rapidly against the floor. He slowed his pace for me, which only made the flutter in my chest worse. Since when did Lance consider anyone else's comfort?

When he opened the door to the roof, I stopped short. "A helicopter?"

I stared at the sleek black aircraft on the helipad, my stomach twisting with apprehension.

Lance grunted. "Yeah. We have a 1:30 appointment, and where we're going is about fifteen minutes away by helicopter."

I crossed my arms. "Dare I ask where you're taking me? Is there a place nearby to bury a body? Asking for a friend. It's me. I'm the friend."

He rolled his eyes. "Get your ass on the helicopter."

As I climbed in, I caught an exchange out of the corner of my eye.

Lance reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a white envelope, handing it to the pilot—a woman in her mid-forties with sharp eyes and a blonde braid tucked under her headset.

She took it, tucking it away with a nod before meeting his gaze.

"Thanks for the lift," Lance said casually. "How's your daughter doing?"

The woman's face softened. "Much better. Thank you so much for getting her in to see that doctor."

Lance gave a curt nod. "No problem."

I frowned, my stomach twisting again—not with discomfort but with… something else.

I looked between them before curiosity got the better of me. "What was that about?"

Lance adjusted his headset, his expression unreadable. "Her daughter had leukemia. Difficult to treat. I got her in to see a doctor. A friend from college."

A slow, strange warmth spread through my chest.

"You paid for her treatment, didn't you?"

He adjusted his cuffs. Shrugged lightly. "Not as far as she knows. She thinks it's an anonymous donor." His voice softened slightly. "I'd like to keep it that way."

I stared at him.

The heat from the dream had long since faded, replaced by something far more dangerous.

Admiration.

Fifteen minutes later, the helicopter touched down at Rally Roadway in Queens.

I unbuckled my harness, stepping onto the tarmac and glancing at the track ahead. It took me a second to process where we were.

Then, slowly, I turned to face him, chest tight, voice uneven.

"Are you fucking serious?"

Lance's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

I gestured toward the track, heart pounding. "You're taking me driving?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. You pick up a client in a few days. You were worried about it."

I blinked rapidly, clearing my throat against the sudden tightness.

"You're not entirely terrible."

Before I could overthink it, I wrapped my arms around him in a quick hug.

He went completely still.

Solid. Warm. And for those few seconds… everything felt right.

I pulled away abruptly, cheeks hot. Needed to lighten the mood.

"Right," I muttered. "Today, I absolutely promise not to run you over with a car."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

And just like that, I was in so much trouble.