Page 99 of Buckin' Around

I rise and head for the door.

Closing it softly, I turn back around, hands gripping the doorknob. Like it can fecking save me at this point.

Spencer holds his arms out, wincing as the injured one raises a little slower.

My throat closes over.

God, a woman has never wanted something so badly in the history of all time.

And Spencer Lockwood is looking up at me from the damn floor like...

“Riles . . . Baby,please. . .” he rasps.

Heat drops in my core like something molten, red-hot and glowing. My grip on the doorknob fades.

My next breath barely graces my lungs.

I can’t come back from this.

But I’m moving toward the gorgeous man spread out on the floor, arms still waiting.

Hesitantly, I close in.

Bottom lip between my teeth, I sink my hands into Spencer’s hair, tilting his head up so our gazes catch.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” I utter.

He studies my face before loosing a groan. His forehead presses to my belly, arms folding around me. “Fuck what’s supposed to be, Riles. I’m putting my money on what’s meant to be.” He lifts his head on those last few words.

I’m a standing, tangled mess of want, need, and something else I can’t pin down.

“Spencer Lockwood, you don’t have any of that any more, remember?” I tease.

His rough grip tugs me downward. I sink, knees hitting the wood, ass meeting his lap as his hands cup my face.

“If this is what broke brings me, I’ll be a poor man for the rest of my days. This little cottage with you and Ives is all I need.”

Frowning, I shift on his lap. He’s hard beneath me. The friction is a blissful release to my aching core, and I can’t help but move on his lap again.

My eyes shutter closed.

For a moment, I can imagine his hands on me for days, nights. Months.

Years . . .

Fecking hell. No, Riley.

This can’t be any more than a fling.

His torturous groan pulls me from my reverie.

Guilt sinks in my veins like lead. This feels like more than a fling for Spence. His playful ways are a facade to stop people from seeing his true emotions. The things he truly wants.

I guess he’s had decades to perfect that tactic.

Sadness washing through me.

“That’s it, baby. Grind all over my cock,” he breathes, his grip around my jaw tilting my face up, his lips crashing over mine.