Taste of Lacey (3 page)

And he loved it. Loved how wild she looked and the way her liquid walls snapped to his dick. He loved how her pert breasts with their pointed centers jiggled and bounced each time he bottomed out. He couldn’t wait to run his tongue across every inch of her. How had he lived without being surrounded by so much beauty?

He thrust faster and harder, and pure ecstasy traveled up his spine. As he watched, her mouth formed a stunned O.

“Yes,” she wailed. When her release hit, her warm channel convulsed and clutched him like a vise grip. He’d made her come again, and it swelled his head as if he’d negotiated world peace.

“Shit.” Sharp zings of pleasure moved from his spine to his loins. He hooked her knees around his elbows and then pushed into her with all the force he could gather. His heart raced; the sweat on his torso dripped onto her chest. An insistent pressure began low in his sac. When his ears started tingling, he knew he was close. Being inside Lacey’s pussy was so good, but almost painful at the same time. Blessed relief came when his climax spiraled through him.

“Ah, yes,” he groaned in an unrecognizable voice as cum shot from him at high speed. Raw sensation ravaged him from the ends of his hair to the soles of his feet. It took a few minutes, but eventually his thudding heart calmed to normal. When his legs worked again, he retrieved a towel from the bathroom.

Lacey flinched at the warm, soapy towel between her legs, but then she seemed to enjoy the soothing ministration. He felt the stirrings of another hard-on, barely noticing when the towel slipped to the floor.

Anyone seeing her right now would know with just a glance she’d just been well and thoroughly fucked. And that she’d liked it. Her skin had a rosy glow, aside from the reddish marks left by his stubble. The wild hair, the heavy-lidded eyes, and the languid expression all indicated complete satisfaction. He was responsible, and it made him want to do it all over again, right fucking now.

If he thought she could take more of his dick, he’d already be between her legs. She’d probably be too sore to move at all tomorrow, let alone walk, but he had to have her again. Had to experience the rarity of a full body-and-mind orgasm many, many more times although she didn’t know it yet. Too bad he had to catch a flight in the morning; if he had a choice he wouldn’t leave.

“You’re so sexy here.” He ran his index finger along the satiny skin on the side of her breast.

“I’m glad you approve.” Sleep clouded her voice as she brushed her hand softly over his chest. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. McKay.”

“Oh, it’s
Mr
. McKay now?” He chuckled.

“What? You want me to stroke your big-ass ego? Okay. You more than delivered on your promise,” she admitted before giving him a wan smile. “What are you staring at?”

“You.” With an unlined, angular face, high cheekbones, and symmetrical nose, she was beautiful. The pretty girl no one wanted to mess with because of her protective older brother. And her brother’s best friend. The irony was her most attractive feature was her lack of vanity, which was as much of a turn-on as her looks. “How is it possible you’re the same shade from head to toe?”

“You never had a black woman pass through that revolving bedroom door of yours?”

“Nope. Never had the pleasure,” he whispered, his voice once again thick with desire. Just like his cock.

“To answer your question, besides genetics, I guess I don’t have tan lines because I don’t actively pursue the sun. I can’t believe you’re fascinated by something so ordinary to me.”

“Well, I am. You look good enough to eat.” He licked the plump, full breast he was still stroking. After a minute of sucking her citrusy skin, he raised his head. “You okay?”

“Other than not being able to walk?”

He managed a slow smile. “Yeah.”

“Yes,” she said, and then she inched to the middle of the bed. After clicking off the lamp, he pulled her into his arms just as she fell into a quiet, boneless sleep.

Mr. Bishop and Kyle were going to fucking kill him. He shifted until his body bracketed Lacey’s, and then cupped his hand over her warm sex. Hell, she was worth it. He’d sampled heaven, and no way was he giving it up.

Chapter Two

“So, Lacey, did you get tuned up this week? And by tuned up, I mean did Rye damn near put your ass in a coma again? I need all the juicy details.” Monica Broussard said with a cheeky grin as she lifted a bowl of seafood mix onto her workstation.

Lacey cursed the poor judgment that ever made her tell Monica a single word about Rye’s dynamic bedroom skills. Of course her cousin loved putting Lacey on the spot, particularly if the topic was s-e-x. In a weak moment, she’d set a stupid precedent, and now Monica was stalking her for more information just like she had over the last three months. That long since her one-night stand had turned into weeks of a sexual haze.

“Oh, La-cey? I know you hear me.”

“Look, we have at least a thousand more shells to fill and a short time to get them done.” Lacey used the sternest voice she could muster, never looking up from her task. “We don’t have time for idle chitchat.”

“I was just wondering because I haven’t heard you mention Mr. Ryder McKay in a few days. I’ve never had vanilla, but hell, in his case, even I would give him a lick. Try. I mean try.”

“Plus, I figured you could use some new freaky bedroom tips by now,” Monica continued.

“I don’t need any help entertaining Rye’s dick, thank you very much. He is well taken care of,” Lacey muttered as she loaded another finished tray of food onto the cart. Troy, her head chef, was off today, so she was helping Monica prepare appetizers. The better decision probably would have been tackling paperwork in the office.

“Damn. Using big-girl words and everything. You must have already taken my advice and turned straight hood in the bed.”

Rarely did Lacey allow her thoughts to dwell on Rye while she was working; it made her miss and want him too much. With him, her pussy was ready on demand, which was a bit alarming. She didn’t quite understand her new over-the-top libido herself, so no way was she going to indulge Monica’s voyeuristic fantasies. “It’s all Rye. He just does something to me.”

Monica’s eyes grew as big as saucers. “What do you mean, ‘does something’ to you? Does he want you to do some kinky shit like bondage or something? I knew it. I knew being with a white man was more of a difference than you could handle!”

“No, Monica. Hell no. Our families have been friends for more than twenty years; why would race be an issue with us? I’m just saying he makes it easy to do anything and everything with him.”

Monica calmed and gave a wide, sly smile. “He sexes you that good?”

Lacey flushed and was probably beet red, a hard feat with her brown complexion. “Yes.”

“Ah, so it’s true.”

She stopped in her tracks. “What’s true?”

“What they say about white men,” Monica said with a devilish grin.

Knowing she shouldn’t ask, Lacey did anyway. “What do they say?”

Monica gave a dramatic pause before answering. “They have…white parents.”

Lacey sputtered with laughter. “Monica!”

“I’m just playing. I always thought Rye’s sexy behind had a little roughneck in him. He looks like he could eat you alive. Does he?”

“Does he what?” Lacey asked without thinking.

“When he eats your puss—”

“Monica!”

“You are such a prude. No wonder you don’t need a whole hand to count the men you’ve been with,” Monica said through her laughter.

“I’m not a prude. I just don’t broadcast every little thing I do like some people I know,” she said with a pointed look.

“Okay, okay. I’m trying to make sure you can beat any competition for Rye’s attention hands down. I don’t want some hoochie to accidentally fall on his dick and him like it because you’re not up to snuff.”

Lacey frowned. Although she knew her cousin was pulling her chain, the very thought of Rye with another woman gave her pause. “I’m not worried about competition. Rye and I are having a good time.”

“You sure?” Monica’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline.

No, she wasn’t sure Rye didn’t have other women, and the thought was making her nauseous. “We have to prepare for one of the biggest jobs we’ve ever had. Let’s focus on getting finished.”

“I’m trying to help you out. Rye stays gone for a while sometimes, and I’m sure such a virile man has to have a woman on a regular basis. Have you ever thought about what you’d do if you found out he was with someone else?”

Lacey’s heart sped up, and she found it difficult to suck in enough air without alerting Monica to her distress. Could he be with someone else even as he kept knocking on her door all hours of the day and night? Whispering how he loved making her wet and how hard she made him come?

“Lacey?” Monica called after the long silence.

Lacey started moving again, this time filling the shells in curt, jerky motions. “I haven’t thought about Rye being with anyone else. I just want to complete this batch on time.”

“You should think about it. And you should make sure your brown sugar produces all the sweetness he needs. If you want to keep him, you have to make it so good he can’t even see another woman. Come to think of it, you don’t already let him go raw in you, do you?”

“Monica!” Lacey bellowed. “Why are you so worried about Rye and me? You need to be concerned about your own drought. And for the record, I do not want to discuss this right now.”

“My drought is of my own making, and this isn’t about me. It’s about you. Have you guys even talked about where your relationship is going?”

Lacey sighed and plopped down on a stool beside the stainless-steel worktable. Apparently they were going to discuss it now. “Why does it have to ‘go’ anywhere? As much as you and my mother try to hook me up, you should be happy I’m with someone.”

“If you’re happy, I’m happy. And Rye is cool, but I want him to do right by you.”

“Have you morphed into my father?”

“No, and I’m not just being nosy either. I really am concerned.”

“I know, but what we have is enough for now.”

Monica’s hazel eyes grew large and round. “I never thought I’d see Lacey Bishop
settle
for anything. The same person who put the ‘Lacey’ in ‘stubborn’? When Uncle John and Auntie Lena wanted you to go to Clark Atlanta so you could be close to home, you said nothing but Ivy League for you. So you got a full scholarship to Columbia. You didn’t have to ask them for a dime when you headed to New York. They had no choice but let you go.”

“I know that.”

“Then you got your MBA so you’d know how to run your own business.”

“Monica…”

She kept going as if Lacey hadn’t said a word. “How many black women do you know who’ve been educated at Le Cordon Bleu and in Paris, no less? And all because you didn’t just slink down the path someone else chose for you. Not only do you own your own business, you own this building and the two on each side of it. You have all this going on because you didn’t settle then, and I don’t think you should start now. Have you and Rye ever been out on a real date?”

Wow
. Monica really knew how to go for the jugular, but Lacey didn’t care. She was a grown woman; it was her prerogative to sleep with a man who’d never taken her to dinner. “No, we have not.”

“Do your parents or Kyle even know you’re together?”

“Again, no.”

“And you’re satisfied with
that
?”

Lacey hated to admit it, but Monica had a point. Rye was getting the proverbial milk for free with no pressure or questions. Ever. They hadn’t verbalized that their relationship was exclusive, but it was for her, and she didn’t want to think about what he did when he was away. It would hurt too much.

A talented industrial engineer, Rye roamed the country troubleshooting outages at plants located in remote areas. Sometimes he went alone, and other times with a crew of engineers as the operation commander. Plant managers specifically requested him because he had the expertise to quickly assess a situation, fix it, and then get out. There was no set schedule, and time was of the essence. Because he was in high demand, he was sometimes gone for days or weeks at a time.

So if he knocked at six, ten, or midnight, she just opened the door and her legs all at the same time. There was no further discussion of what they both wanted, and she accommodated him—no questions asked.

Until Monica’s cavernous mouth planted the flourishing seed of doubt. The possibility of him being with someone else had already crossed Lacey’s mind anyway.

Yes, he was away a lot. And she knew firsthand how much he loved pussy. Usually on his first day home, he exhausted himself trying to get enough of her, which she considered a good sign. If he already had what he needed while on the road, he wouldn’t be so hungry to get it when he was with her, right?

Any bit of solace she had from her reasoning flew out the window. Her angst was the price of agreeing to—no, insisting on—a “no strings, no rings” agreement.

Plus, if it wasn’t the thought of him being with someone else, the constant distance and uncertainty would weigh her down. She thrived in the familiar. Even if Rye wanted to take their relationship to another level, was she ready? The demands of a regular relationship would disrupt her life, which for the most part was one predictable series of events. Without fail, every Monday through Friday, she awoke at six, jogged three miles, went to work, and stayed until everything was done. On Wednesdays she volunteered at the women’s shelter in the morning before going to the salon and then running any personal errands. Most of their catering events took place between Thursday and Saturday, and every Sunday was spent with her family.

Right now, her set up with Rye worked because he normally appeared in the middle of the night, leaving her daily routine intact. For all intents and purposes, she was a booty call.

After years of preparation and sacrifice, she was getting her company on solid footing, but it was still in its infancy. Did she have the time or energy to devote to a relationship? Since the whole situation was foreign to her, she didn’t know. Most things had to be on her list and fit into a neat little box before she tackled them. Rye hadn’t been anywhere on her list, and there was nothing square or little about him.