The Billionaire Playboy's Regret (Lark and Max)

Lark woke with her head feeling full of cotton, her mouth tasting as if she'd licked a carpet and her body weighed down into her mattress. Snippets of the evening before began to filter into her memory as she emerged from the darkness of an alcohol induced deep sleep. She made a whimpering noise and then gave a surprised grunt as the heaviness of her body was squeezed and a hissed "shh" came from behind her.

The twins stayed the night and just as they did thousands of times in their lives as kids, teens, and young adults, they'd drunkenly crawled into Lark's bed, snuggled up, told stories, and giggled until they all passed out.

She reached a tentative toe behind her and sure enough she connected with the hairy shin of the man whose arm was holding her captive. Keeping her eyes closed she moved it forward praying to connect with Ollie's leg and yet was not surprised to find her side of the bed empty.

"When did she leave?"

"She mentioned a breakfast date last night, don't you remember? She left fifteen minutes ago. You were snoring." Max's voice was hot in her ear as he pulled her stiff body backwards into his arms and hugged her tight snuggling her neck. "Stop talking now. It's too early and I don't want your folks to find me yet." "What time is it?"

"Eight."

"I was supposed to go running with Dad at seven," she whined. "He's probably already seen you."

"It explains then why Ollie went out the door instead of the window." He flung his leg over her hip and drew her tighter. "Max, this isn't appropriate, for us to be in bed together alone." She whispered. "Why not? Last night you agreed we could be friends again."

"I was really drunk."

"So was I but I'm holding you to your promise. You even agreed to go on a hike with me today." He groaned, "but not for at least a couple of hours, several cups of coffee and at least another hour of sleep." His voice was thick and rumbled with exhaustion.

"Max."

"Lark, shh," he whispered again. "Just enjoy it."

She rolled in his arms to look at him, aware this was not a new position for them. She'd woken in his arms many times in her youth, but she'd also woken in Ollie's arms in the exact position. The three of them always gravitated to each other and somehow, she was always the meat in the middle of the Villeneuve sandwich.

However, this version of Max, the adult one with the bigger than ever body with the muscles everywhere, the morning scruff coating his cheeks, was a far cry from the kid who used to drool on her. She noted the crusty white film at the corners of his mouth and snickered. At least he still drooled.

"Lark," he whined as if he knew she was staring at him, "chère, I haven't slept this well in years. Please don't make me get up. Snuggle with me." He tried to press her head to his chest, and she giggled unable to stop herself.

"You're still cranky in the morning."

"Only on days which end in y," he hugged her tight, rolling onto his back and pulling her so she was laying almost atop him. "Please stop talking."

She stared at him in disbelief at the position he now held her in. This was far more intimate than any position he'd ever initiated. In the past he would hug her, even cuddle her but putting her on top of him never happened before. She tried to protest when he used his palm to shove her head to his chest. "Max. I can't lay on you."

"If you keep your moving, Lark Hoffman, I'm going to lay on top of you."

She swallowed at the threat aware she wasn't near as horrified by the threat as she should be. However, as she wriggled to try to get into a more comfortable position, she was aware of a growing member of Max's body. Her eyes were huge as she froze and stared straight ahead at the wall.

"Now see what you did," he chuckled. "All this moving around combined with me thinking of being on top of you and suddenly my little friend is also awake. Stop moving so he can go back to sleep." "Jesus Christ."

"Nope, it's me, Max." he chuckled as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Sleep. Please." She was never going to sleep like this. "Maybe I'll go make breakfast."

"Or maybe we could make love." At her squeal he laughed, "I'm teasing Lark. I'm teasing. As much as I would love to live out all my teenage fantasies of you naked, you aren't ready. Your heart is broken over Douglas the Douche Canoe so we're going to lay here, settle down and go back to sleep as friends." She blinked incredulously at the melodic, comforting tone of his voice as he stroked her back reassuringly, despite the hard length of him pressed against her thigh.

"Then, when you're feeling better and realizing you were never meant to be with him because you were always meant to be mine, I'm going to come at you with all my guns blazing, even the one you're pretending isn't there right now, pressed against you as if it isn't where it was always supposed to be." "Max," she whispered her heart thundering harder than it ever thumped before at his quiet declaration. "I agreed to try over as friends."

"Mm," he caressed her back softly, "you did. We will be friends again. This time though, I'm not letting you go. Now, I meant what I said. Either sleep where you are, or I'm going to have to take drastic measures. He lifted his hips upwards his smirk ruffling her hair at her gasp, "and move things along at a speed much faster than you are ready for. Make a choice Lark. Another hour of sleep or another hour of -" "Sleep," she cut him off, slamming her cheek to his chest aware the sweatpants they each wore were not nearly enough material to keep either of them from being aware of the other.

"Good choice."

She lay there quietly while he continued to leisurely stroke her back through her t-shirt, noting his movements were growing slower with each pass of his palm. His chest rose and fell more evenly and then a quiet snore escaped his mouth. He truly was back to sleep in minutes, and she lifted her head to study him more, accepting she was never getting back to sleep.

In her bed, right now, was Max Villeneuve telling her he was going to pursue her once she was feeling better over Douglas, and it felt as if she'd slipped into the twilight zone. Nothing of this made any sense to her. She hated him for so long but to lay here, with him, felt the best homecoming she ever expected. He was as handsome as he ever was, and her eyes were glued to his sleeping face.

He was grown up, and out, she considered as she realized how broad his shoulders became. He never was an athletic person growing up. He liked swimming but hated soccer and pretty much any team sport, though he did thoroughly enjoy the martial arts which Riggs insisted the three of them participate in. In high school, he'd joined his father and his security team in running every morning, often with her and her father tagging along. She recalled he lifted weights with the security team when they'd been in high school. However, he was even bigger now than she remembered.

She couldn't stop herself as she lightly ran her fingernails over the scruff at his jaw, grinning when he wrinkled his nose in protest but kept on sleeping. The only kid in their seventh-grade class with a moustache, he still grew it easily. It turned out Bobbie, his mom, was not a true blonde and as Max had gotten older, his inherited deep brown hair was almost black. While some of the boys in school sported peach fuzz and patchy 'staches, he was shaving every morning by grade eight.

In retrospect, it should have been a great indicator of how much testosterone ran through the man's body. His s*x drive was apparently out of control. She remembered a story Ollie told her of a time they went to Louisiana to visit family a few years back and she'd made the mistake of taking a room on the other side of his. Ollie said every time she'd pulled off her noise cancelling earphones, they were still going at it and at once point the woman shrieked, she would die if he gave her one more orgasm. Ollie was disgusted but Lark thought of the story for months, annoyed each time Douglas stopped after he gave her the requisite two orgasms each time.

She twisted her head as she felt his body twitch under her and felt what started to soften up grow harder again. She flicked her gaze back to his face and noted though closed, his eyes were moving behind his lids. Dreaming. He was dreaming and whatever it was, was making the very real eight plus inches under her legs rise to the occasion.

This never happened before. Not ever. Not once in all the times they snuggled up and gotten cozy together had he ever been hard like this with her. Though, admittedly, he never let her get this close. He always kept his hips firmly pointed away from her.

Could he truly have been hiding his feelings from her back then or was everything he said on the previous weekend simply to mess with her head?

She was ruminating over the thought of the strange situation she was finding herself in when he whispered in his sleep, his hips thrusting towards her.

"Ah chère, Lark."

Lark bit her lips together and knew her eyes were likely ready to pop from their sockets at the unmistakable evidence he was dreaming of her. Not only was he dreaming of her but given the way his hips moved, he was dreaming of f*****g her.

She found herself unable to stop her own little moan as his arms tightened around her waist. She quickly caught herself before she ground her own hips against him and decided she needed to get out of this bed. Yet, when she went to slide off him, his hands tightened, he rolled her over and she found herself in the position he earlier threatened, with his heavy body covering hers and his rigid c**k jammed between her legs.

She looked up at the ceiling as he sighed contentedly in his sleep. He was still sleeping. She knew it from the way he was breathing and as she quickly darted her eyes to his face, the way his eyes were still twitching behind the thin skin. Definitely dreaming. Of her. f*****g.

"***k," she whispered as her sweatpants dampened with arousal. Now what was she going to do?