I gasped as his tongue slid between my lips, and my body arched against him of its own volition. Don’t do this. But the warning voice in my head faded to black. I wanted this—him—even if it was the last time.
Groaning, I clutched at his suit jacket, barely resisting the desperate need to push it off his shoulders, to tear at his shirt and unbuckle his belt. Luke was going to fuck me. He had to, or I’d die. But getting naked was out of the question.
Irony had become my constant companion in recent weeks, and it hit me again now, drawing a breathless chuckle from my heaving chest. Was I really worried about taking our clothes off when we were already going at it in the town hall?
Luke gripped my thighs and lifted me onto the counter like I was made of feathers. He drew back from me, his beautiful mouth already ruined. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No... God, no. Don’t stop.”
He kissed me again, and a second laugh died in my throat as reality hit home. Don’t you dare kiss me. Oh what a fool I’d been to utter those words that very first night. To deny myself the magic of his mouth on mine, his lips, his tongue, the scrape of his teeth.
I tilted my head to grant him better access. He responded with a grunt, and his hands found their way to my hair, tugging just enough to send shocks of pleasure-pain rippling through me. God, I’d missed this. How his rough touch sent me into overdrive, and my awareness of anything but him melted like butter. How he spun me so dizzy I was sure I’d fall, even with his strong hands holding me up.
He made me crazy. Frantic. Desperate.
I went for his belt buckle, ripping it free, and pushing his trousers down his hips. His underwear went the same way, and I closed my fingers around his length, squeezing, absorbing his gravelly moan, letting it merge with the coil of arousal throbbing between my own legs.
He was still kissing me like I was the only woman he’d ever desired. With Herculean effort, I broke away and leaned back, steadying myself on the countertop, and widening my legs in a silent, smirking invitation for him to claim what he wanted.
Taking his cue, Luke shoved my dress up my legs and found my underwear with expert precision. He eased long fingers past the silky scrap of material—the only physical barrier left between us—and teased my slit with a feather-light touch.
I shivered. We were really doing this, hooking up in a bathroom like horny teenagers, even though we’d never done anything like this when we were young—our tent in Sandgrove Park had been as private as any bedroom.
Luke reclaimed a hand from under my dress and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. A condom seemed to appear like magic, and I spread my legs wider, grinding with his fingers, searching for friction. God, I needed this. How had I survived a decade without it?
Without him.
Luke withdrew to roll the condom on. I moaned at the loss and bit my lip, squirming on the cool countertop until he was between my legs again. He angled his cock and slid into me with harsh thrust.
A high-pitched sound escaped me. Luke pressed his hand over my mouth, breathing hard. “You gotta be quiet,” he whispered. “We can’t get caught.”
Another shudder passed through me. I ran my tongue across his palm. He smirked and drove into me again, and the air shifted.
I slumped backwards, barely keeping myself out of the sink as he fucked me, going from naught to sixty in a handful of perfectly aimed strokes. Hard and fast, his strong grip keeping me safe, while his mouth was busy at my neck, Luke turned me inside out. My mouth hung open in a silent scream, building with every drive of him inside me, as I got high on his natural clean cotton and pine scent. Laurent had doused himself in cologne every morning, and the cloud that followed him had often left me wanting to puke. Luke didn’t need that kind of help. He smelt like heaven.
Delirious, I wound my legs around his waist, hooking him tighter, and gripped his shoulders. My nails dug into his unyielding muscle, and the pain seemed to spur him on. His ragged moans got louder, his thrusts wilder. He caught my chin in his hand and tilted my face to look at me. His eyes were molten sex, his lips curled in a snarl. He was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
A rush of emotion I wasn’t ready for sluiced through me. “Luke, I—”
He kissed me. Once. Twice. Three times. “Don’t,” he whispered hoarsely. “Just this, Mia. Just this.”
Contemplating what he meant was too much. Coherent thought slipped away and I gave myself up to the mind-bending pleasure of him moving inside me. My toes curled, and my thighs shook.
“Yeah.” Luke slid his fingers up the back of my neck, his palm cradling my head. “Like that, baby. Come for me.”
Baby. It had annoyed me the first few times he’d said it way back when, but I’d grown to love it. To revel in the affection he rarely showed anyone else. And it did something to me now. Pushed me over the edge. I came hard, pleasure seeping from every pore, and spilling from my lips in breathless gasps. My vision whited out, but I fought oblivion, too captivated by Luke falling apart to miss a moment. The drive of his cock became erratic, then stilled as he seized up. He pressed his forehead to mine, and came with a low, throaty groan.
I was entranced, captivated by every part of him, from his sex-mussed hair to his shaking arms and ruined expression. We were nothing alike, but in this rare, heated moment, we had everything in common.
We were both wrecked, and so so so fucked.
Luke buried his face in my neck and slumped against me, breathing hard. I wrapped my trembling arms around him and held him tight. “Come home with me?”
Chapter Nineteen
Luke
It took me six months to get used to waking up in the same big bed every morning. Then, on the rare occasions I didn’t make it back to my house, coming to somewhere else entirely scared the shit out of me. I’d jump awake, heart pounding, and leg it home before I lost my bloody mind.
Waking up in Mia’s bed was different, perhaps because it was Gus’s house. Before she’d come home, I’d been a regular visitor.
Or maybe it was the silky, sweet-scented pillow I’d apparently made for myself on her abdomen.
Fuck. I started to push myself upright.
Soft, unyielding hands pushed me down. “Shh, baby.”
I looked up at her.
She smiled and wove her fingers into my hair. “It’s early.”
I lay back down, waiting for weirdness to hit me, but it didn’t, and the combination of her gentle hands and a vague hangover sent me back to sleep.
* * *
Sometime later I woke again, spooned up to her from behind, naked, morning wood pressed against her thigh, and my face buried in her hair.
We’d slept like lovers.