The Screw Ball (Indianapolis Lightning Book 3) by Samantha Lind

Author:Samantha Lind [Lind, Samantha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Samantha Lind
Published: 2021-04-28T18:30:00+00:00

Thirteen

Lucas

I wake up, still a little shocked I ended up in Carmen’s room, naked, with her coming on my cock and tongue multiple times last night. It was so much better than I could have ever imagined it to be, especially once I got her to relax and just feel.

I can’t see a clock from the way I’m lying on the bed with Carmen tucked into me. I know it’s early since it is still dark outside.

I slip from the bed, needing to piss. I take care of business, find my phone, and make sure that I didn’t miss anything important while I’ve been a little occupied with Carmen. I don’t find anything pressing, so I set an alarm on my phone, then set it on the nightstand before I slide back into bed and curl around Carmen once again. I haven’t slept this soundly in forever. Being with her last night was so much more than I ever could have expected. I can only hope it wasn’t a one-time thing. Something tells me she isn’t the one-night stand kind of woman. I start thinking of ways I can convince her to give me a shot as I drift off to sleep for another few hours.

“Lucas!” Carmen screeches my name and she suddenly sits up. I crack my eyes open and see the panic on her face as she looks at me and around the room. The sun has come up, now, bathing the room in lots of light.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to reach out and pull her back into my arms, but fail when she bats my hands away.

“I have an eight thirty meeting,” she says, all flustered as she tries to untangle her body from the sheets.

“What time is it?” I ask as I roll over and reach for my phone. Apparently, I had my phone on silence and the seven thirty alarm I set went off but we didn’t hear it. I see that it is already eight fifteen, so at least she isn’t late for the meeting yet. “Shit,” I mutter, rolling myself out of the bed. “What can I do to help?” I ask as she starts to run around, grabbing clothes from her suitcase before disappearing into the bathroom.

“I don’t know!” she cries from the other side of the closed door. I can hear the water running and the rustling of her moving around, probably trying to do her hair and put on makeup at the same time.

“How about some coffee and breakfast. I can put in an order for the Starbucks downstairs and run down to get it if you tell me what you want,” I offer.

I pull up the app, and the door to the bathroom flies open. “You’re a godsend,” she says, already dressed in a pencil skirt and blouse with some fuck-me heels that have my dick twitching in my boxer briefs. “I’ll take a Grande White Mocha with an extra shot of espresso, no whip cream and a

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