“You’re sorry?” Her eyes travel over my face, searching for something. Maybe it’s for a shred of sincerity. It’s not like I’ve been very open with her since I showed up here. Maybe she’s searching for more.
“I’m sorry. I never meant to make you cry.” I brush the last of her tears away and cup her chin in my hand. She looks at my lips and it’s all the invitation I need. I wrap one arm around her, pulling her tight to my body.
“Oh! Um …”
She doesn’t get a chance to make actual words because I smother her sentence with my kiss. Tenderly, my lips find hers. I let my lips tell her everything. How much I’ve missed her. How much I need her. How sorry I am for breaking her heart. My lips spill all of my secrets, without ever speaking a word.
I feel the tension melt from her body as she sighs happily into my mouth. Our tongues gently collide and I run my hand up her back until I reach her hair. The rest of my body is coming alive from her kiss. Like she’s breathing life back into the void she left in my soul. Of course, with the rest of my senses waking, the urge to make her cry out in a different way builds up in me.
I walk her back until she’s pressed against the cold wall, without breaking our kiss. My hand slides down from her chin and I quickly reach up, under her uniform and unsnap her bra with one hand.
Haven’t lost my touch.
Her breasts drop slightly under the weight of her heavy tits. I can’t wait to run my tongue over her dark nipples and fuck her until the only thing she’s crying out is my name.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Lauren squirms sideways from beneath me, putting inches of space between us that feel like cold miles.
“I’m just trying to make you feel better. I want to say sorry for making you cry.” I give her a smile and she pauses, like she’s thinking about it.
Instead, she snakes her hands up under the back of her shirt and hooks her bra back up.
“What? Jesus, Mack, you can’t fix everything with your dick you know.” She smoothes her hands down over her shirt.
Ms. Professionalism is back. That cock-block.
“Are you sure? How about I give it my best shot? I bet I can make you happy for a while,” I murmur and step toward her, trying to shake of Lauren’s prim and proper act.
Just because it’s been a decade since I’ve had her, doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten her wild streak. I know it’s not buried that deep beneath the surface. Besides, from what I saw in her tight, little spandex gear the other day at the track, her body has blossomed in ways that would really do that wild side some justice now. The memory of her curves makes me hungry for her.
“No. Mack, I’m being serious.” She looks at me with her large brown eyes. I know she’s trying to be stern with me, but it’s just making me want her more.
“So am I.”
“Listen, I’m not one of your bimbo fan-girls. I know you, the real you. At least, I used to.” Her voice trails off sadly and her eyes soften. Lauren quickly composes herself though, throwing her shoulders back and jutting out her chin. “Anyway, I’m not even crying over you. You’re such an ego maniac!” Her eyes snap back up at mine. This time they stop me dead. She’s not screwing around.
“You weren’t?” I step back and run my hand over the back of my neck. I guess it was presumptuous to think she’s got nothing else going on besides thinking about me.
Lauren might be right about the fan club bimbos. It’s hard to remember that you’re not the center of everything when every chick you meet acts like you are.
“Then, what are you so upset about?” I take another step back, giving her the space she needs to talk and giving me the distance I need to concentrate on more than her round ass and her tight little …
Focus!
Lauren looks up at me sideways, like she’s not sure if she can trust me. Or maybe it’s my intentions she’s struggling with.
“I seriously want to know. Maybe I can help or something?”
She tilts her head and shrugs, and I don’t think about running my tongue over the soft skin of her neck. Well, not for more than a second. Two seconds, tops.
“I don’t know if you can,” she talks to our feet. “It’s Chris. He’s completely out of control.”
“Hold old is he?”
“Nine,” she swallows hard.
“Nine.” I’m no genius, but it doesn’t take one to do that mental math. “Wow, you and Joel didn’t waste anytime after I left, huh?” Lauren looks at her hands and I realize that I’m making this about me.
Again.
“Never mind, sorry, that’s none of my business. But, nine-year-old boys love to stir up shit. I can tell you that from experience.”