I promise myself that not only will I never hurt Shade; I’ll never hurt Luke either.
And I’m doing a lot of thinking over here while Luke’s hand is all over me, our bodies still pressed together, our breaths close enough to mingle. He waits for me because he’s patient and steadfast. Also, because he might be gruff, but he’s a lot of other things too.
“Do you feel like your heart is all shadows?”
Luke blinks. “I guess so. Sometimes.”
There are so many other words I don’t use—words such as lonely, alone, solitude, pain, and despair.
“Did you know the light of a single candle is enough to keep a person from freezing to death in the dead of winter if they get stranded, and it’s freezing?”
“No, I can’t say I did.” His lips waver at the corners. “We live in Florida, so I can’t say I’ve ever contemplated freezing to death.”
What I’m trying to say is maybe we can be that candle for each other, to thaw the cold. We’re like two hearts reaching out—sudden, abrupt, aching, and searching.
Ironically enough, I guess I have my parents to thank for this. Without them, I wouldn’t be here right now.
“Are you sure this isn’t a mistake?” I know I’m all over the place, but I have to be sure.
“It’s not.”
“I feel like we can’t just turn our emotions on and off.”
“We didn’t turn anything on or off. People change. Feelings change.”
“It hasn’t been enough time. How do you know for sure?”
Luke shrugs. My hand is still on his shoulder, and I can feel it rising and falling. My fingers are curled imperceptibly into the smooth cotton, searching for his warmth and smooth skin below as my thighs pulse at the thought. I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. The skin at the shoulder isn’t usually a turn on for most people, but maybe I have weird undiscovered fetishes.
“I don’t know. If you haven’t noticed, I don’t know much of anything lately. I want to have all these answers, but I don’t.”
I stare at Luke, and he stares back. I finally realize what I see on his face. It’s sincerity. That’s what it is. It’s not just clouded desire or a guy saying anything necessary to get in my pants. Not that I would ever think such things about Luke. I don't need to know him for years to know he’d never do that to me or anyone. Not now, never in the past, and not even if we were both young with zero experience and tons of hormones.
Somehow, I believe he’s sincere about not hurting me. People can be sincerely wrong, but maybe that would be both our faults or no one’s fault. Things happen, and I shouldn’t be contemplating endings before beginnings even start. I know that, but I also know I’m a planner, and I don’t want to cultivate disaster by just blazing through life, oblivious to other people.
This time, I have to be extra careful because of Shade, Luke, and my own fragile, searching, hopeful heart.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Can we go upstairs?” The words fly out of my mouth, falling all around us like scorching water in the shower because the tap was turned the wrong way. It’s shocking, burning.
“Yes,” Luke says slowly after a moment of contemplation. “Yes, it has a lock. And yes, we can go upstairs.”
“I’ll be totally silent.” I watch his lips twitch again, but to his credit, he doesn’t laugh at me. “No one will know, I promise. I…I can’t sleep in your bed after. I’ll go back to mine…”
“Yes. I know.”
“Well, maybe just a few hours. But not past three in the morning. Do you have a phone with an alarm that just vibrates? Is there someplace I can hide in case Shade gets up in the middle of the night and knocks on the door?” I feel like we’re planning for the perfect crime over here.
“Yes. And yes.”
“Where?”
“The closet,” Luke quips with a hint of a smile.
“How cliché.”
I should stop this. I know that. But I can’t because I don’t want to. I feel like I should give Luke one last warning, though, so I say, “You’re not the only one who feels exhausted, trying to be strong all the time. I might not have a well of hurt, but I do have painful little stings and cuts. Will you take me like that?”
“Obviously,” Luke snorts. “Look at the state I’m in.”
For a second, I think this is going to go the way of the kitchen and not happen. We’ll go our separate ways, apologize again in the morning, and make sure we aren’t tempted in the future. We’ll blame it on the whisky neither of us drank, on holidays spent, or the freaking full moon or something, because it makes people act crazy.
I’m so sure and unsure at the same time.
Luke’s hand sweeps over my cheek. He has such power in those big hands, but they’re gentle, and his touch banishes the uncertainties. He leans in and kisses me so tenderly that the parts of me still undecided shape up real fast.
All of a sudden, he stands up, and I’m swept into his arms like he’s a freaking white knight from corny songs and cheesy movies. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight, clinging to him. Ducking my face into his shoulder, I drink in the delicious scent of his t-shirt, skin, cologne, deodorant, and a day of unshowered scents that slowly built up. It’s utterly intoxicating.
I keep my face there like it’s my own secret, private spot—my old go-to and treasured favorite—like I’ve been drinking in his scent for a lifetime. He carries me up the stairs, down the hall, and to his room without making a sound.
I say nothing, just inhaling deep breaths as my face remains buried in his shirt.
CHAPTER 18
Luke
We silently make it upstairs to my room, and I manage to shut the door. I silently lock it and find the bed in the pitch-black darkness. Feeney hangs onto me like I’m a lifeline, even when I go to set her on the bed. She doesn’t unclasp her hands, but instead, she drags me down on top of her. It’s not graceful, and I hear her soft exhale of surprise in the inky black as I quickly get an elbow into the bed to wriggle away, so I’m not crushing her anymore.
I feel clumsy, useless, and out of practice. My dick is as hard as a goddamn tree in my jeans. It’s been a while.
Feeney doesn’t seem to care. She doesn’t seem to care that I’m awkward, and if she knows I’m suddenly nervous, she doesn’t say anything. She just wriggles below me until her soft breasts are pressing into my chest, and then she wraps her hands around my neck again to tug my face to hers. Her hips arch up as instinct takes over for both of us. At least I remember how to kiss because it’s instinct. Or maybe she makes it easy to kiss her because I’m doing it furiously, so hot and hard that I’m sweating. And also, hot and hard everywhere else too.
Feeney’s hips rock up into my jeans, and her pelvis presses against mine. My knee slips between her legs, which part around me with one curling at my hip. My dick throbs into her stomach, although she can probably feel it, even through layers and layers of clothes.
She rocks against me again, and the clothes make it hotter, not less hot. When we’re like this, pressed together with her body beneath mine, all wild heat and burning passion, I’m very much aware of how much smaller she is than me and the difference in our bodies. She’s not little or delicate, but next to me, she comes off as both of those things.