Promises We Meant to Keep (Lancaster Prep Book 3)

IT’S SUCH A CLICHÉ, but after telling Spencer everything about my mother, I feel lighter. Like I just relieved myself of all my past burdens, and I’m finally free to just…live.

He took it all surprisingly well, but I know my Spencer. He digests information almost impassively, turning it over and over in his mind until the real emotions eventually build and grow, and if it makes him mad enough, he’ll eventually blow up.

I expect that to happen. He’ll become angry, and honestly?

I want to see that. I want him mad on my behalf. I want him to become my knight in shining armor and defend me against all the evils in the world. Even if those evils are related to me, I want him to show them no mercy.

Would he do that for me? Or have I ruined my chance?

Once we cleaned up after lunch, I told him I was going to take a nap, and he said he’d take a shower. I’m locked away in my massive bedroom, staring out the window at all the trees, not napping at all.

I can’t sleep. I’m too attuned to the man who’s staying in the room next to mine. I could hear the water running from his shower and my imagination went into overdrive. Spence naked, standing under the spray of water, the steam rising, obscuring him from view. His hair wet and slicked back, droplets clinging to his thick eyelashes.

My core throbs just thinking about it. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a man. Far, far too long.

Longer than anyone would imagine, especially Spencer.

I may have purged most of my secrets, but he didn’t say a damn thing about his own and I’m curious. What exactly is he doing, working for his family? What is he involved in? Why was it so easy for him to drop everything and come in search of me?

If he’s still so angry with me, why did he even come here? Does he still care about me? Or is it more out of habit than anything else?

Does he have a girlfriend? Or a woman he’s seeing? He didn’t bring a date to Whit’s wedding, so I’m assuming no, which is a tremendous relief. If I can’t have him, I don’t want anyone else to have him either.

Ah, my Lancaster tendencies always come out to play when it comes to wanting something. Or someone.

I hear the guest bathroom door creak open and I tell myself to resist, but it’s like I can’t. I slide off the bed and tiptoe over to the door, slowly opening it a sliver and peeking out. The guest bathroom is diagonal from my bedroom and I can see inside. Barely.

Steam billows out of the bathroom and I smile to myself. Spencer always did like an extremely hot shower. Guess some things haven’t changed.

I can hear him move about the tiny space. The sound of a zipper—most likely his toiletry bag. The clink of something set on the tiled countertop. Water running. A brush gliding through hair. Yes, I’m that attuned to every little thing he’s doing.

Without warning, he emerges from the bathroom, a white towel slung low around his hips, his shoulders and chest covered with water droplets. Men don’t thoroughly dry themselves off after a shower and I’ve never understood why, but at this moment, I’m not complaining.

Those drops slide down his skin. Through the tufts of dark hair at the center of his chest. Down the flat expanse of his belly. That towel hangs perilously from his lean hips, like it might fall off at any moment, and I wait breathlessly for it to do exactly that.

“Are you spying on me?” Spence asks, sounding amused.

My gaze meets his dark one through the crack of the open door and I jerk away, my entire body flushing with embarrassment. And something else.

Arousal.

I back away at the exact moment my bedroom door swings open, revealing Spencer standing in the doorframe, clad in a towel and nothing else. His dark hair slicked back just as I imagined. I swear I can see the outline of his cock beneath the towel and I stare at it for a moment, wishing I had see-through vision.

“Syl.” His deep voice causes me to jump, my gaze finding his. His deep brown eyes are sparkling and his lips are curved in a knowing smirk.

I brush the hair away from my face, flustered. “Sorry, I just—”

“I thought you were taking a nap.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I confess.

We watch each other for a moment, the tension growing as per usual. It always does between us, making it near impossible to fight.

“You’re staring,” he finally murmurs.

“I can’t help it. Look at you.” I wave a helpless hand in his direction.

His smirk stays firmly in place. Damn him. And when he scratches his chest, my gaze tracks his fingers’ every move. “You’ve seen it before.”

“Not for a long time.” I swallow, my gaze greedy. “You’ve changed.”

He glances down at himself before returning his gaze to mine, his brows furrowed. “How?”

“You’re…bigger. Wider. There’s more hair on your chest.” That trail that leads from his navel and disappears into his towel is intriguing too. Far more intriguing than the hair between his pecs.

He chuckles. “I suppose. You’ve changed too.”

“You haven’t seen me naked yet.” I lift my chin, fighting the trembling that wants to take over my body. I can smell his skin. Clean and fresh. A hint of sandalwood. I’m dying to press my face into his neck and inhale his scent.

“You haven’t seen me naked yet either.” One large hand settles on top of the towel knotted at his waist, his fingers curling around the thick white terrycloth, and I wait in breathless anticipation. “Though I think you want to.”

“Spencer…” My voice is a warning. He can’t tease me. We probably shouldn’t do this. He’d be the first to say exactly that. Yet here he stands, about ready to whip his towel off and show me everything he’s got.

Then he’d expect me to do the same, and God, I would. Despite feeling a little sticky with sweat and the salty ocean air still lingering on my skin, thanks to the hike we took earlier, I would strip myself bare for this man and let him run his hands and mouth and tongue all over me.

He is the only one I would do this for.

A sigh leaves him and his hand drops from the towel. “I don’t know why we always do this.”

I ignore the disappointment flooding my veins. “Do what?”

“Tease each other. Sexually.”

“Maybe we still want each other. Even after all of these years.”

“More like it’s just old habits die hard, if you ask me.”

The disappointment is replaced with frustration. How can he write us off like that? Tear down what we have and render it meaningless?

“Then get out,” I say, my voice dripping with barely veiled disdain. “Get dressed and leave.”

He rests both hands on his hips, completely comfortable in just the towel. “Are you really going to pull that shit now, Syl? Even after everything you just told me?”

“You don’t really want me.” I sound like a hurt little girl, which I guess is the theme of my life.

“I have always wanted you. That’s the problem.” He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding with the movement. “If you really want me to leave, I’ll go.”

That is the very last thing I want. “More like you don’t want to stay.”

Anger flares in his gaze, dark and ominous. “Stop with your game playing, Sylvie. It doesn’t become you anymore. It never really did.”

He turns, his fingers flicking at the knot on his waist, the towel falling in a wet plop on my floor. I stare at his bare ass as he storms out of my room and I launch myself after him, following him into the guest bedroom.

He has the same view, though not as all-encompassing as my wall of windows, but he doesn’t even notice. He’s too focused on pulling clothes out of the suitcase that lies open on the queen-size bed, his face a mask of pure frustration. His dark hair hangs over his forehead, water droplets sliding down the side of his face.

Spencer is also completely naked.

My gaze goes to his cock. Even in its unaroused state, it’s magnificent. Long and thick, with a flared head, nestled against dark pubic hair. As if it can feel my eyes on it, I swear it starts to harden. Lengthen.

“If you want it, get over here and suck it,” he demands.

I’m startled.

Breathless.

Without thought, I cross the room, and he turns in my direction when I stop in front of him. I fall to my knees, in a trance as I nuzzle my cheek against his now hard cock.

We say nothing, the heavy beat of my heart loud in my ears. He threads his fingers in my hair, holding tight, as if he plans on keeping me in place in case I try to leave. Not that I’m going anywhere. My mouth drifts along his shaft, barely open as I breathe him in. He smells clean yet musky. Unmistakably Spencer. When my tongue sneaks out for a lick, he hisses out a breath, his fingers tugging, making me wince.

“Put me in your mouth.” His tone is fierce. Angry.

I should run. I should tell him to fuck off. But I don’t.

Instead, I do as he says, my lips enveloping the head of his cock, tongue tracing around it slowly, savoring every inch of his skin. He groans, his hips gently thrusting, pushing himself deeper into my mouth, and I relax the muscles in my throat, taking it.

Taking him.

We’re still silent, the only sound my lips suctioning around his length. The wet drag of my tongue licking. Lapping. He’s leaking pre-cum everywhere and when I pull away so I can tongue the slit, he growls, shoving his way back in between my lips.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth,” he warns, and I nod, whimpering low in my throat just before he completely possesses me.

And I let him.

He shoves his cock as deep as he can get it inside my mouth, sliding in and out, fucking me steadily. Tears leak from my eyes as I moan around him, letting him use me, reveling in the way he’s treating me. Brutal and mean and demanding. Not giving a damn about what I need or how I feel.

He’s in it for himself.

His expression is fierce, his jaw tight, a vein throbbing along the side of his forehead. His focus is one hundred percent on my open mouth, my lips stretching in near pain as he continues fucking my mouth. My entire body throbs when his pace increases, my panties flooding with moisture, and I can’t hold back the moan that comes from deep within me.

When I woke up this morning, I had no clue my day would end up like this. Me on my knees getting rugburn while Spencer Donato stands above me, his cock in my mouth as he fucks it until I can feel that first spurt of semen land on my tongue.

“Drink it.” The words barely slip from his tight lips before he throws his head back, his entire body taut when he groans as the orgasm slams into him. His fingers tug my hair, holding me to him while he comes down my throat. I swallow it down, my gaze on him the entire time, fascinated by his body and the play of muscle as he strains and shudders.

Our encounter was quick. Not lasting even five minutes, but I’m completely changed. Transformed. I pull him out of my mouth, strings of saliva sticking to the tip, and I wipe away the connection. Then wipe at the corners of my mouth. My body aches, the need to be filled by him overwhelming me and when he pulls on my hair, I rise to my feet, my heart hammering in my chest when he thrusts his face in mine.

“You liked that.”

I nod, alarmed by the dark tone of his voice. The matching glare in his gaze.

“You fell right back into your role as my little whore, didn’t you?”

I blink at him, shocked by his coarse words.

Shocked further by my body’s reaction to them. My hard nipples rub against my bra and I’m so wet between my thighs I swear my leggings are damp too.

“I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen,” he continues, his gaze dropping to my lips. “But then I catch you spying. Staring like you’re starved for me and I cave.” He wipes at the corner of my mouth, drawing his thumb across my bottom lip. “Now your lips are covered in my cum.”

A moan sounds and I realize it’s coming from me. “Spence…”

“Is this what you want? To give up all control? To be told what to do? You’ve lived your entire life like this. Everyone controlling you. You’ve never stood on your own until what? A few weeks ago? When you discovered this place was yours?”

I nod, hating the reality he’s speaking of. Knowing that every word he says is true.

I’ve been controlled my entire life, but never like this.

“You need to learn how to manage your life instead of taking orders from someone else.” He takes a single step backward, his hands falling away from me, and I whimper at the loss. “You need to figure out what you want. I refuse to let you use me. I know how you operate. You’ll only abandon me again.”

I part my lips, ready to protest, but he cuts me off.

“Don’t bother denying it. You know it’s true.”

“Spencer. No. I need you.” My entire body aches, especially my heart. I hate that I’ve hurt him. I can’t erase what I’ve done, no matter how much I wish I could.

“For once in my life, I used you. I fucked your mouth for my own pleasure. I didn’t give a damn whether you liked it or not. And the best thing is, you got off on it. I can tell. You’re aroused. I bet if I slipped my fingers in your panties, I’d find that you’re wet.”

Spencer never, ever talked so boldly to me before. Not like this.

Swear to God, I’m more aroused because of it. My entire body aches, yearning for his touch.

“Are you? Wet?” He arches a brow.

I nod once, too choked up with desire to speak.

“Show me.” When I frown, he rubs his hand across his jaw, the movement so wholly masculine, I nearly collapse to the floor. “Put your hands in your panties and prove it.”

Again, there’s no hesitation. I slip my hand into my panties, encountering creamy wetness. I coat my fingers with myself before pulling them out and showing him. They gleam with my juices and I swear a matching gleam lights up his eyes.

“Look at that.” He grabs my wrist and pulls me toward him, lifting my hand to his mouth. “You are wet.”

I gasp when he pulls my fingers into his mouth, sucking them. Licking them. His gaze never strays from mine, and I am overwhelmed with emotion, my body drawing tighter and tighter at the thought of him putting that magical mouth on other places.

Like between my legs.

“If we have nothing else, Syl, we always have this,” he murmurs, his gaze growing even darker, I swear. “Take off your clothes.”

I pull my hand out of his grip and shed my clothing as if my skin is set on fire. Until I’m trembling and naked in front of him, my nipples so hard they hurt.

He barely looks at me. Just points at the bed. “Lie down.”

“We should go to my bedroom—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Lie down. Now.”

I do as he says, positioning myself so I’m sprawled across the middle of the bed, my legs spread, open and waiting. The air touches the sensitive skin of my pussy, making me suck in a sharp breath, and when he studies me there, I swear I can feel myself grow even wetter.

How that’s possible, I have no idea.

“Touch yourself,” he demands. “Touch your tits.”

I cup them. Squeeze them. Curl my fingers around my nipples and tug on them until they’re hard, aching points. He watches, downright impassive as I cup them in my palms, holding them to him like an offering.

But he doesn’t take me up on it. He doesn’t do anything but tell me what to do.

“Finger yourself. Show me how you like it.”

I glide my hand down my belly until my fingers are right there, dipping the middle one in, swiping it across my distended clit. God, I’m so aroused. It will take nothing to get myself off, if that’s what he wants to watch me do. I’ll put on a show for him. I’m not embarrassed. If anything, I’m more comfortable doing something like this with Spencer than any other man out there.

I stroke myself, the wet sounds filling the room, urging me on. His breathing accelerates, I can tell by the rapid rise and fall of his glorious chest, and I go faster, bringing my legs up so my feet are flat on the mattress, my thighs still spread wide. Showing off.

Showing him what he’s missing.

“Stroke your clit,” he whispers, and my fingers find it, rubbing. Circling.

I bite my lower lip, my orgasm building. Looming just out of reach. It feels so good, better than usual, and I know it’s because he’s in the room. Watching me. His presence, his gaze heavy on my skin.

A shuddery breath leaves me and I curl my toes into the comforter, anchoring myself. My thighs shaking, my fingers growing tired and I’m straining toward it. Oh, it’s going to be big.

Without warning, he’s there, pushing my hand out of the way, thrusting two thick fingers inside me at the same time his mouth finds my clit. He sucks and licks, my thighs clamping around his head, a keening cry falling from my lips.

I’m coming, wave after delicious wave washing over me. Spencer holds me down, his hands at my hips, his mouth latched onto my pussy, never decreasing the intensity as I come and come. I thrust my fingers into his still damp hair, pressing his face against me and he lets me. Until I’m the one pushing him away, completely overwhelmed. Unable to take it—him and that wonderful, filthy mouth—any longer.

I collapse in a boneless heap on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my breathing harsh, my heart racing. Chest aching. I feel him turn his head, wiping his mouth against the inside of my thigh before he kisses me there. Softly. Sweetly.

The gesture makes me want to cry. Tears actually spring to my eyes, but I squeeze them closed, fighting them off.

“Damn” is what he finally says and I have the oddest reaction to what he said.

I laugh.

And so does he.