Page 66 of Love Out Loud

His goofy grin spreads even wider, and I have to roll my lips together to keep myself from kissing it right off his face.

“You and…” He trails off, glancing at the screen.

“Hannah,” I say flatly.

“You and Hannah look at it and talk about how hot I am?”

“No. Hannah talks about how hot you are. But to be fair, she talks about how hot everyone is.” I’m not above throwing her under the bus to end this insufferable conversation.

“I do not,” she protests weakly. I simply raise my eyebrows at the screen and wait until she tips her eyes up and wiggles back and forth. “Maybe Lennon and the new guy in my department.”

“And Silas,” I remind her.

“Matthews?” Lennon asks.

She nods. “Oh yeah. He’s unattainable, though, so I don’t count him.” She pauses to consider, then says, “And Lark’s delivery guy is sexy as fuck.”

“My delivery guy?”

She shrugs again. “I may have had a thing or twelve delivered here.”

“How long have you been staying at my place?” I ask incredulously.

“Oh, did you hear that?” She looks around in the most overexaggerated way possible. “That hot delivery guy must be here with another package. Gotta go!” The screen shakes as she fumbles with the phone before she finally hits the button to hang up and it goes blank.

Lennon backs off slightly but remains close on the couch, and he’s still sporting a self-satisfied smirk. “So, that was Hannah.”

“Yes,” I say simply.

“And you two have conversations about how hot I am.”

I pin him with a look. “You heard her. You’re not special in that regard.” But even as I say it, I can’t help but notice how his sandy hair falls in waves over his forehead. How it curls at his ears because it’s a little too long. How one of his dimples peeks out from behind that smile, and how his eyes sparkle with boyish mischief and a touch of desire. How the strong column of his throat works against a swallow as my gaze rakes over him.

Not for the first time, my memories of high school Lennon merge with the image of him sitting in front of me. His dimples are the same, and so are his eyes. But all of the soft edges have hardened. He’s fully a man now, and my cheeks heat at the more recent memories of exactly what that age and experience has given him.

“Lark,” he warns darkly. “If you keep looking at me like that, you have about five minutes until I tear your clothes off.”

“Hmm.” I wet my lips with zero intention of changing the way I’m soaking in his body. “Thank you, five.”

His eyes flash, and he stills. I can see the evidence of his desire starting to press against his shorts. My own begins to pool between my legs as I drag my lower lip between my teeth. When my gaze meets his again, those hazel eyes are practically on fire.

“What should we do with the next five minutes?” I tap my mouth with my pointer finger as I consider. “I think I’d like your shirt off first.”

Lennon doesn’t hesitate. He grabs his T-shirt by the neck and tears it over his head. Ink and muscles are on full display, and I want to trace my tongue over every inch. I swing a leg over his so I’m straddling him. His hands land on my hips, fingers inching toward the tops of my leggings. “I intended to use those five minutes to get you ready for me.” His voice is an octave lower than usual. He sounds like a man on the edge.

I roll my hips against him, and he tilts his head back against the top of the couch with a moan as his fingers grip me tighter. Pure, unadulterated desire fills me from my toes to the top of my head. I’m high on the power I have—that I can bring this man to his knees with a touch.

“They’re my five minutes,” I taunt. “I can do what I want with them.”

“Tell me what you want, Lark.”

You. The word rings as clear as day through my head. He’s what I want. He’s all I’ve ever wanted. There is no life without Lennon near me. Not anymore.

I lift his wrist to my mouth and kiss it. His pulse makes quick, staccato pulses beneath my lips, pounding out the beat of his need for me. I run my thumb over it as I trace the tattoo of a compass over the back of his forearm. “What does this one mean?” I whisper.

“I thought it looked cool,” he says sheepishly. “But after I put those larks above it, I liked that it pointed north to you.”

Well, fuck. I’m surprised he can’t hear my heart cracking open. “That’s…nice,” I manage to choke out.