Or at least what I could give her.
My hands slid down her arms as I edged her towards the bed. I couldn’t seem to break eye contact, like I was afraid the permission to touch her would expire the moment I looked away, and I craved the sensation of her mouth on mine.
But I didn’t kiss her—not on the lips. Instead I trailed soft kisses down her neck, along her clavicle, and lower until I reached the lacy edge of her bra.
I shoved the delicate fabric aside. My thumbs seemed rough on her silky skin, but I couldn’t contain the increasing urgency in my touch. Mia gasped and her soft fingers dug into my shoulders. I took her nipple into my mouth and a shuddery moan escaped her, taking me instantly back to Gus’s kitchen when she’d come on my fingers. God, I loved making her come. I’d missed making her come. There’d been others over the years, but no one like her.
My heart had forgotten how it felt to be near her, and it raced now, thumping against my ribcage as I worshipped her beautiful chest. Arousal rocketed through me, and it was all I could do not to throw her down and fucking ravage her.
I released her breast from my mouth and gazed down at her. She smirked, as though she’d heard the reckless desire rampaging through my mind. She unbuttoned her jeans and wiggled them down her hips, revealing more white lace, and pushed at my waistband.
“Get naked.”
Like I needed to be told twice. I shucked my sweats, matching her smirk at my lack of underwear with one of my own until her jeans disappeared, and I was left with the sight of her in nothing but tiny boy shorts that clung to her perfectly thick thighs.
I was fucking gone. My mouth watered and I had no resistance as she lowered herself to sit on the edge of my bed and opened her legs. I sank to my knees, revelling in the firm press of hands on top of my head. Remembering. Anticipating. I slid my palms up her thighs and hooked my thumbs around her underwear. The slinky shorts went the same way as the rest of her clothes and she was finally bare to me.
My dick was heavy—throbbing—but I fought the urge to thrust inside her, and it belatedly dawned on me that it wasn’t me she wanted. Mia wanted to come. And I was ready, willing, and good at it, if I followed the cues her body had etched on my soul all those years ago.
I couldn’t make sense of the emotions having a rave in my heart, so I did the other thing I was good at and ignored them.
Breath caught, I buried my face between her legs and kissed her clit—feathery and light at first, before I went to town and worshipped her the way she’d always loved. My Mia had been a sucker for the kind of sex that took us somewhere else. Carried us off on waves of pleasure so high I’d sometimes feared we’d never come down. Teenage me had explored her with equal measures of excitement and nerves.
I wasn’t a teenager anymore. My tongue was sure of its path, and my mouth watered at her sweet taste. I thrust two fingers inside, and a harsh breath whooshed out of her.
“God, yes. Like that, like that.”
Her hands returned to my head, pushing me down again, holding me tight. I could barely breathe, but I didn’t care. My world narrowed to her charged moans and quivering flesh, and only the desperate need to make her combust stopped me jacking myself.
“Fuck. Luke.”
She tried to squeeze her thighs together, but I held her still, tonguing her hard, chasing oblivion on her behalf.
“Luke,” she ground out again. “God, fuck me.”
It took all I had not to freeze. My cock was screaming out for her, but my heart was fucking terrified. I eased off her and pulled away, staring up at her, my tongue still dripping with her taste. “You want me to fuck you?”
Her eyes blazed. “Why else would I be here?”
In answer, I crawled up her body and onto the bed, hooking my hands under her shoulders and hauling her up to the pillows.
She growled and shrugged me off, but the glint in her gaze told me I was giving her exactly what she wanted: Rough. Raw. Impersonal.
But away from the cocoon I’d created between her legs, being so close to her left me dizzy. The need to kiss her was overwhelming. I ached for her. And only fucking her would make it stop.
I wrapped my fingers loosely—briefly—around her throat, then reached across to the bedside table. A box of condoms had idled uselessly in the drawer since I’d bought the house a year ago, a housewarming present from my dickhead brother. I’d never used a condom with Mia before, but things were different now.
Things. Fuck. Everything was different now. I’d never fucked her with a condom, but I’d never moved inside her without kissing her, without stroking her hair back from her face, without telling her I loved her.
I’d never fucked her at all.
I tore open the condom and rolled it on my dick, feeling her gaze all over me, and when I looked up she was tracking my every move, eyes wide, teeth dug into her bottom lip.
Heat and doubt battled again, and heat won out. She wanted this, and I wanted her.
Mia
The way he was staring at me made me nervous. He was hot as hell, but something simmered behind his liquid gaze, and my brain couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle him when I so badly craved the stretching burn of him filling me up.
I lay back and widened my legs again, hoping he’d take the hint, and he did. Grown-up Luke was apparently as intuitive as his younger self.
He dropped a palm either side of my head. For a moment, I feared he might break my cardinal rule—the one thing keeping me sane in my new-found madness—and kiss me, but he went for my throat once more, and his dick nudged me where I wanted it most.
Nudging turned to edging, then a sure slow stroke as he slid inside me. Stars exploded. He filled the void inside me, and pleasure I couldn’t describe arched my back from the bed. From his bed.
The insanity that had carried me over here amped up a notch. I squirmed, desperately seeking more friction. Luke held me down—his grip unyielding, though I knew he’d let me go if I told him to. He stared at my lips, like he knew the battle raging in my heart, but a split second before I broke, he dipped for my throat again.
Luke had always been a natural in bed. Strength simmered behind every touch, but there was a delicacy too, as though I was his most precious thing, and the conflict in his gaze was meant for someone else. He was fucking me because I’d demanded it of him, and I couldn’t bring myself to contemplate why.
“Mia.”
Don’t say my name.
I screwed my eyes shut and pressed down on his back, urging him on all the while begging him to stop feeling what I was feeling. Please, baby, just fuck me.
Baby. Where the hell was my head at right now? It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Last time he’d set me on fire without engaging my heart, so why was his every touch now—every rough brush of his lips at my throat, every thrust of his hips as he moved inside me—showing me colour when I so badly craved white oblivion?