Getting Played (Getting Some, #2)(50)

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The next day—a Saturday—a mid-morning blizzard blows in and parks itself over the tri-state area, dumping about three inches of snow an hour on us. After I clear Gram’s driveway and make sure she’s good to stay put for the rest of the day, listening to an audiobook with Lucifer curled on her lap, I make my way over to Lainey’s.

She’s in the kitchen, in a tank top and lacey pajama shorts, shaking her irresistible ass and ever widening stomach to Adele while mixing a bowl of dough with a wooden spoon. There are cookies cooling on metal racks all over the counter, and the air smells delicious and sweet.

Not as delicious as Lainey Burrows—but a close second.

“Let me guess,” I say, “Boston Market is out—chocolate chip cookies are in on the craving front?”

She giggles, and just like most everything she does—it goes straight to my dick.

“Snowstorms make me bakey.”

“Bakey?”

Too fucking cute. So fucking fuckable.

“Yep—try one.” She takes a bite of the cookie and pops the other half in my mouth. And—yes—the fact that it touched her lips before mine actually does make it taste better.

How pathetic am I?

“The roads look pretty bad on the news,” Lainey says. “What are you doing here?”

“The roads suck,” I confirm. “I was sliding all over the place—thanks, New Jersey. They said it’s supposed to keep snowing all day.”

I press up behind her, my chest to her back, my crotch nice and snug against her ass, because I just can’t frigging help myself.

“I’m here to shovel your drive, baby. Feel free to take that as the pun it’s intended to be.”

She laughs, leaning back against me—comfortable, warm. That’s where our relationship is now. It’s a sexually frustrating—but good—place to be. I take a deep, quick sniff of her hair, like a coke addict needing a fast fix to get him through the day.

“Jason still sleeping?” I ask.

“Ah, no. He’s actually at my parents’ house. He needed a haircut and wanted to go to his regular barber in Bayonne. My dad picked him up early this morning before the snow started.”

My reaction to this news is an instant, raging hard-on.

Pretty sick, I know.

But the idea that this is now a kid-free space, that it’s just me and Lainey in this big house all alone, that we could do anything—everything—in any room we want, is almost more than I can take.

I swallow hard and breathe deep—and throw myself at the door.

“Sounds good. I’ll be outside.”

It takes me about an hour and a half to clear the main portion of the driveway, the porch steps and front path. The icy wind whips at my face and the wet snow soaks through my gloves. And despite it being colder than a snowman’s cock, I’m every bit as hot for Lainey when I step back in the kitchen as when I left.

She’s talking on her cell phone near the sink as I pull off my boots and hat and hang my coat on the hook at the back door.

“No, Dad—it’s fine. Stay off the roads, keep Jay with you for the weekend. I’m good. Dean is here.”

I don’t know what her father says, but she does this cute little eye roll that makes me want to kiss the ever-loving shit out of her.

“Yes, Dad, Dean is the guy. You’ll meet him soon. Okay, bye.”

Lainey sets her phone on the counter and slides the last batch of cookies onto the rack.

“Jay’s staying in Bayonne for the weekend?” I try to sound casual—to mask the hurricane of pent-up lust swirling inside me.

“Yeah, until tomorrow night.” Her eyes slowly drag over me, from my shoulders to my feet and everywhere in between. “Your shirt is wet. You should take it off.”

Take my clothes off? Such a great goddamn idea. She should join me.

I reach back between my shoulder blades, tugging the Henley over my head and dropping it on the floor.

And then, we’re drifting toward each other—two trains on the same track, who can’t wait to crash. We stand just a few inches apart, and Lainey reaches out like she’s hypnotized, infatuated, trailing her fingers across my shoulder and down my arm.

The look on her face nearly wrecks me. It’s naked heat and hungry fascination as she watches her palm slide across my pec and down the center of my chest.

My heart slams against my ribs and I don’t want to say anything that may break the spell—I just want her to keep touching me. But when her hand travels down my abs, resting just above my waistband, so torturously close to where my cock is already so hard it hurts, I groan. “Lainey.”

Her eyes dart up to mine and her chest rises and falls in these quick little pants.

For a few seconds we stay just like that, burning each other up with our eyes. Then there’s a small shift in her features—her lips part and her chin lifts—like she’s on a diving board ready to jump.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Supercalifragalist—”

I’m on her before she finishes the word. My lips on her lips, my tongue spearing and stroking, my hands on her hips pulling her close—then lifting her up onto the counter. And Lainey matches me move for move—it’s almost violent the way we attack each other. Her nails dig into my back and she wraps those long legs around my waist, pulling me in tight, trapping me between her thighs.