“Let’s talk altruism.”
Luke scoffs, loud and obnoxious. “It doesn’t exist.”
My brows wing up in surprise. “Huh?”
“Altruism?” he nods. “It’s a false word. It’s make-believe. It’s as real as the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. They’re all a nice thought, and the magic they imply is a lovely, warm feeling. But cut the cheese and get down to real, and they’re just an ideology.”
Strangely, this piques my interest far more than his explanation on single moms, and I really didn’t think that would happen. “Explain it to me. Altruism, from Luke Hart’s point of view.”
Grinning, he takes another drink and prepares for his speech. “I’m saying, a man can give a tenner to a homeless guy sitting outside the local gas station.”
“Altruism in its most basic form.”
“No!” he argues instantly. “You cannot tell me the first guy didn’t get something from that transaction. It might not be tangible, and maybe no one else can see it, but the first guy – even without the selfie and social media posts many make in those situations – he still got a dopamine hit. He did something nice, he handed over a little cash, and perhaps the homeless guy smiled and thanked him. Altruism gone, he got the dopamine hit. And he’ll probably do it again the next day to replicate that feel-good hormone.”
“But if this guy isn’t posting for social proof, and he’s not telling everyone he meets about it, if he’s not looking for a pat on the back, nor is he making the homeless beg or perform for it, then where’s the harm?”
“I never said there was harm. I said he got a dopamine hit. Once he gets the hit, he’s received payment for his good deed, thus rendering the deed anti-altruistic.”
“That was a big word.”
Laughing, we each turn when our server arrives to take our orders, and though I don’t know the server personally, it seems Luke does.
“How’s it going, Laura?” Luke turns to her and gives her all of his attention the way he does for most everyone. “How’s Carter?”
“He’s so good,” Laura smiles. She’s beautiful, curvy, and has a baby face that means I don’t know if she’s twenty-one or twelve. “He’s happy now that the chicken pox have gone away. Thanks for asking.”
Once we order our meals, and Laura meanders away to pass the message on to the chef, Luke turns back to me and grins.
“Who was that?” I ask innocently.
He bounces his brows suggestively, but I don’t react. He wants me to, but I’m too stubborn for that.
“That was Laura Grey,” he concedes after a moment. “She’s our age, she was in my classes all the way through school since kindergarten. She’s also a single mom, and has been since she was seventeen and finishing high school.” He flashes a wide smile and picks up his glass of wine. “I bet Carter’s kiddie hands wanted to scratch the shit out of those pox.”
Pasta, chicken, mushrooms, tomatoes, wine. The food is delicious, the wine is dizzying, especially when Luke stops after his single glass – designated driver – and I manage to have a glass or two more. Then we’re up and racing toward the restaurant doors.
“Your place or mine?” Luke jams the keys into the ignition and turns the engine over with a painful scrape that says he’s pushing the old truck harder than it can handle. But neither of us care, because I forgo my seatbelt and instead slide right across the bench seat until one of my legs straddles his.
My stomach is hot and swirling as alcohol and lust pulse through my veins. My heart hammers in my chest, my hands turn clammy from nerves, but Luke still pushes the truck into reverse, then into first as we pull out of the parking lot.
“Ally?” He places his hand in my lap, my open legs, and inches higher so my skin turns to fire. “My place or yours?”
“Mine is closer.”
I forget my manners, or, you know, being a lady, and open my legs wider. It would take just a touch, I’m certain, a single touch to my clitoris, and I would explode. So I guide his hand where it needs to go, and we settle for driving in second gear the whole way from the restaurant to my hotel.
My breath comes out in shallow pants. My chest lifts and falls in the darkness. And then Luke’s fingers make contact with my wet heat, and just like that, I fill his hand with something that makes us both groan.
“Fuckkkkk,” he bites out and aims the truck for my parking lot.
We move slow, torturously slow, but I’m already lost to everything but the sensations tearing through my blood. Luke doesn’t slide his fingers inside; he doesn’t have to. He merely circles my clit and gnaws on his bottom lip like that helps him keep himself under control. Then the second he pulls into a space outside my hotel, he removes his hand from between my legs and pulls me out his door and onto jelly legs.
“I don’t know that I can walk.”
He barks out a shaking laugh. “I can’t carry you in.” He wraps an arm around my hips and takes most of my weight. “It’s not that I can’t, and it’s not like I haven’t dreamt of carrying you to my cave barbarian-style a million times. But the second I pick you up, hotel staff are gonna get panicky, thinking I hurt you. So you need to stay the fuck up and walk.”
“I think my orgasm let my soul leak out. Now I’m just a bag of bones. Nothing of substance.”
He leads me through the hotel front doors with a hand on my hip, so tight that it stings a little, but the sting only lends to the pleasure that burns through my blood. It’s the kind of pleasure that demands I ask him to smack me, to hurt me, and then to make me come until my throat is raw from crying out.
“Whatever the fuck you’re thinking about,” he growls and leads me onto the staircase. “Save it till we’re alone.”
“How could you possibly know I’m thinking about you choking me?”
“Fuckkkkk.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I can feel you in the air, Ally. I can feel you literally pulsing in the air.”
“For real?”
“So fucking real that dogs are gonna start howling soon. Lock it in.”
We crest the first floor, and continue on to the next.
“Twenty seconds,” he coaches, and catches me when I stumble on the steps.
I’m not drunk. My brain fires off exactly as fast as it should. The problem with my body is that I’m mid-orgasm, mid-explosion, and the stopping partway thing practically renders me useless.
“Ten seconds. There’s your door, give me the key.”
I fumble the small keychain in my tingling hands, pass the key to Luke, and just a second after that, I find myself stepping from shitty hallway carpet onto something much more lush and clean. A second after that, the door slams shut, and a squeal tears up my throat when Luke picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder.
“Luke!”
Smack! His hand comes down on the bare skin where my dress leaves me exposed because of the way he holds me.
“Oh god,” I grunt and try to grind forward. At this point, I don’t care what touches my clit – his fingers, his tongue, his friggin’ collarbone – just give me something. Anything. “Luke.”