As I got dressed for a night out, my thoughts drifted back to Lacey.
• • •
West’s Watering Hole wasn’t a swanky joint. It was the kind of casual place you came when you wanted a stiff drink and to relax among the local twenty-somethings. No frills. No fuss. Metal bar stools and wood floors, and low lighting to keep the mood relaxed.
I nodded at my friend and former teammate, West, who was playing barback tonight. He blended in so seamlessly with the bar staff, you’d never guess he owned the place.
West tipped his head, acknowledging me with a grunt. He was a grumpy ass, but I was guessing that a woman—or two—could help take that scowl off his face. That was something West would have to figure out on his own, though. No sense getting my boxers in a twist over another man’s problems.
From the quiet corner where I’d grabbed a table for two, I ventured a glance to the door. Lacey was standing there, her eyes wide as her gaze wandered the room. When I rose to my feet, she spotted me and darted over. I took a moment to appreciate the view as she approached. Soft porcelain skin, shiny dark hair, a tight little body I wanted to hold down and fuck.
She looked up at that moment, and I was thankful the pornographic images playing through my brain weren’t being broadcast through the bar. Every guy in here had noticed her, which was evidenced by the sudden hush when she passed the pool tables, and the heads turning as she walked by. Lacey was a bombshell, but in a quiet, girl-next-door sort of way.
Grinning stupidly, I accepted her hand when she neared and pulled her in for a hug. She smelled incredible.
“Thanks for meeting me tonight,” she murmured, her voice soft, her gaze resting at my feet.
Damn, she was gorgeous. “’Course, sweetheart.”
Her eyes found mine as she slid into her seat. It was a good thing I’d already ordered us drinks, remembering her preferences from the first time we’d met, because her smile left me speechless.
There was something captivating about the woman.
It wasn’t just her petite hourglass build, or the way her gaze drifted away from mine when she spoke of her past, or the curious way she watched me over the rim of her margarita glass. No, it wasn’t something I could put my finger on, which made me all the more interested. She was a walking contradiction. A bright smile and sweet personality, but with a secret darkness lingering in her eyes. Sharp and inquisitive, yet naive. Kind, yet guarded.
Even her name suited her in a weird way. Lacey. Something delicate and intricate, pure white, beautiful because of the skill and patience it demanded. Something that could be damaged or destroyed if you weren’t careful.
We’d covered all the basics the first time we met. She was twenty-three, originally from Oklahoma. I was twenty-seven, a Texas boy born and bred. She had one younger sister, while I was an only child. My SEAL teammates were the only brothers I needed.
“What did you do today?” she asked.
I filled her in on my volunteer work with the troubled-teen camp about an hour and a half outside of Dallas.
“This kid Martinez is so close, you know? If he pushed himself, if he really believed, he’d have the chance at an athletic scholarship. He’d do damn fine in the military too. And he doesn’t see it.”
“Your work there sounds very gratifying.”
I smirked at her. “It is. When I can get the little pencil-dicks to listen.”
She laughed and took another sip of her icy drink, her eyes lingering on mine over the rim of the glass. It seemed she liked what she saw—and not just the outside package, like most women. She admired me, my work. It felt . . . nice.
If I were smarter, I might have been on high alert about why she was suddenly here in this small town, batting those fuck-me eyes at me. My cock, however, didn’t give a flying fuck about such things. I wanted to be buried six ways from Sunday inside this gorgeous new woman. And with any luck, I would be.
But my situation required a little more finesse than most men’s. I had absolutely no plans to change my arrangement with Daniella, and Lacey didn’t seem like the type for one-night stands or booty calls.
The contrast between them made my cock ache. Daniella was tall and elegant and tranquil—at least, until bondage unleashed her wild side. Lacey was little and restless and curvy under her unassuming clothes. I imagined picking her up like a toy and fucking her against a wall. I’d traded grueling SEAL workouts for a more reasonable routine, but my body was still cut to rival any gym rat’s, and I would be able to hold up Lacey through orgasm after orgasm. Until she sagged in my arms, finally calm.
The two women couldn’t have been more different. Where one was dark, with her ravenous sexual cravings and wicked pleasures, the other was light with her innocent smile and guarded reactions. But she still had that gleam in her eye like she was interested in a little fun.
What would she feel like, her small, voluptuous body moving over mine as she rode my thick length? Would she rock slowly back and forth, or bounce on me hard and fast? Would she make soft mewling whimpers or scream out her pleasure?
“What about you? Do you live alone?” Lacey was asking.
I hadn’t been paying attention. Was she implying that she wanted to go back to my place?
I shook my head, more at myself than her. Fuck, man, slow down. I needed to rein in my libido. If I didn’t concentrate on the conversation here, the real Lacey would never turn into my naked, writhing fantasy.
“No, I’ve got one roommate,” I replied. “But she works weird hours, so I have the place to myself a lot.”