While he dipped into her warmth, she fumbled with the buttons on his jeans, and managed to get them open so she could stroke him. "How's this going to work with my boots on?"
"I'm glad you asked." He guided her onto the bed. "Roll over. No, kneel up. Hold onto the bed head."
She grabbed the wooden frame, and he paused for a moment to stroke and admire her bare butt. He'd spent the last couple of days discovering her body wasn't just beautiful, but touching her made her respond in a way that drove him wild. Her butt was a delicious shape, and when he ran his hands over it, she pushed back against his hand.
With her legs caught by her jeans, she could only open them an inch or two. It was enough for him to play with her from behind, enjoying the noises she made when he caressed her.
She wanted him inside her, that was obvious. But in this position, she was at his mercy. And he meant to tease her by drawing it out and making their pleasure last a long time.
He thrust his fingers into her, reaching around with his other hand to stroke her from the front. With the limited space he had, he couldn't do those things simultaneously, and he didn't do either for long enough to make her come.
His own cock jerked and strained, his balls already aching. He wanted to push inside her, but the view was too good not to linger over. She moaned each time he touched her, wriggling back impatiently.
"Yes," she gasped, when he ran his bare cock over her wetness, slicking her moisture onto his shaft. "Yes, now."
"Not yet," he said, drawing back and making her groan. It was exquisite torture for both of them, but the longer he got to play with her beautiful ass, the better. "It's your own fault for being gorgeous. I want to look at you some more."
"You're doing this on purpose," she accused. "Getting your revenge for the Baxter Games by driving me crazy."
He chuckled. "Ask me nicely and I'll stop."
"I swear, Bronson Reyne, if you aren't inside me in the next ten seconds, I'm going to … " The words broke off as he bent and flicked his tongue between her legs. "Oh," she gasped. "Oh, that's not fair. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
"The magic word," he murmured, drawing back to roll on a condom. Truth was, with her taste in his mouth, and her throaty voice begging him, he was teetering on the edge himself. There was no way he could wait a moment longer.
And when he slid his cock inside her, pushing up to the hilt and burying himself completely, he had to hold onto his control with everything he had.
With her groaning and pushing against him, urging him deeper, he thrust into her hard and fast. She gripped the bed head and with each thrust, it pounded against the wall. Something fell from the ceiling, thudding off his back. Just a piece of ceiling plaster. He didn't slow.
One hand went up to her mane of hair, gathering it and holding it, pulling her head back as though she were a galloping horse he needed to hang onto. With the other, he reached around to her breast, cupping it and letting her hard nipple rub against his palm.
The bed head thumped against the wall, sending more of the crumbling ceiling plaster raining over them. White powder stuck to their bodies, while larger chips tumbled like snowflakes, bouncing off the bed and furniture.
Bronson registered it with the small part of his brain that wasn't focused on how incredible Lacey felt, and the powerful urge to come that he was barely managing to hold back. He ran both hands down Lacey's back, then reached around so he could brush her clit with his fingers.
She exploded beneath him, climaxing with cries loud enough to bring the entire building down. Her knuckles were white around the bed head, and her body convulsed with the force of the sensation sweeping through her.
It was the final push that tipped him over the edge.
He emptied himself into her with enough force it felt like his whole body was turning inside out. His pleasure took him onto a whole new plane of existence. A paradise where nothing mattered except the feel of her around him, of her body beneath him, and an absolute knowledge that this was right.
When he finally, reluctantly drifted back to earth and could focus again, he blinked at the devastation around them. Lacey's hair was so coated with white powder, she looked like she was wearing a wig. The bed and floor were covered with plaster. Some pieces that had fallen were as big as his hand. And where the bed head had been hitting the wall was a hole where the old, rotting board had collapsed.
He lay back on the bed, plaster and all, with Lacey gathered into him. Staring up at the ceiling, he could see more pieces that had been shaken loose and were hanging precariously, ready to fall.
"I've heard of the earth moving," he said. "But this is the first time the ceiling's come down on me."
"Mmm?" She sounded as dazed as he felt. "The ceiling?"
"Falling. Didn't you notice?"
"The ceiling fell?" She lifted her head and stared around, her eyes widening. "Oh crap. When did that happen?"
Sixteen
Lacey tried to help her father adjust the blanket he had tucked around his legs, but he pushed her hand away.
"For fuck's sake, just leave it," he said. "Tell me when you're going to get me out of this shithole and take me home."
"Soon, Dad." She sat on the visitor's chair in his small room, and glanced out the window. There was a small, lovely garden that residents could use, but she knew better than to ask her Dad if he wanted to go outside.
"You held the protest?"
"I've come up with another plan. I think I'll be able to get Bronson to change his mind." She swallowed. Today was Sunday. Tomorrow Crystal would move out of the Baxter for good. By Wednesday morning, the bet would be over. Between now and then, she'd have to find a way to win it.
Her father harrumphed. "Change the building owner's mind? You'll never do that. He's a money-loving asshole."
"Actually, he's not-"
"Human garbage. Wouldn't piss on him if he were on fire. You need to do something to make him stop. Grow a backbone and force his hand."
"I'm doing that." She dragged in a breath. "But what if the Baxter takes time to be repaired? How about if I took you to a different, nicer apartment?"
"Don't be stupid. The Baxter's my home. I want to go to my own apartment, with my own books. My things," he insisted, glaring at her. "That's if you haven't sold them off already. Can't wait for me to be dead, can you? Fucking vulture."
Lacey stood up. "Please don't get yourself in a state, Dad." Her voice trembled a little. She had to remember this wasn't really him, that it was the tumors speaking. Somewhere underneath all the spite was the man she remembered from her childhood. A kind man, who cared about important things, like justice and fairness. A man who'd spent his entire life fighting against corruption and entitlement, and trying to make the world a better place for everyone.
He scowled at her, but calmed a little. "Want to go home," he muttered. "Why won't you take me home?"
"I will, Dad. I promise."
She left with a heart that felt like it had been squeezed to a much smaller size, and a chest so tight it was hard to breathe.
The last couple of days had been magical. She'd been enjoying every moment of the time she and Bronson had together. Every morning she left the apartment a little later, and after forcing herself to get at least some work done in the library, every afternoon she came home earlier.
Being around Bronson was like a drug. She wanted more and more of him. Missed him, even now, when she'd only dragged herself away a couple of hours ago.
Things were great between them. She'd never been happier. But when she stopped and thought about how impossible their romance was, the weight of betraying both her father and her readers felt like it was about to crush her.
Once she was outside, she pulled a packet of chocolate candies out of her handbag and gulped a few down. Then she tugged out her cellphone and typed a tweet.
Sunday - Day 5: Bronson surviving despite everything. More discomfort needed! #TheBaxterGames
She stared at it for a moment, then deleted it and called Ally instead. "I need to get Bronson out," she said to her friend. "I'm desperate."
"I've been racking my brain," said Ally. "I've got nothing."
"I promised my father." Lacey closed her eyes. "If I win, it solves everything. My father can come home and Bronson won't be the bad guy anymore. I'll be able to keep seeing him without feeling like I'm betraying our readers. And I might even be able to convince my father that he's not so bad."
"You want to keep seeing him?"
Lacey swallowed. "I guess I do."
"Then we'll have to come up with something."
"But what? I have two days left, and Bronson's perfectly happy where he is. Especially because he's sharing my bed." She kept meaning to insist he sleep on the uncomfortable camping bed, but somehow that hadn't happened.