Willow woke slowly, her eyes heavy. The sheets on the bed felt unfamiliar, and it took her a moment to realise she was in the hotel.
And that the heavy weight over her waist was Luke’s arm.
He was still here.
She wondered if he realised. Usually, he’d climb into bed with her as she was on the verge of sleep, but in the morning, he was always gone. Sometimes to his own bed, sometimes to the sofa, sometimes out of the apartment completely. Yet, in the quiet peace, he was here. With her.
Willow thought back to the evening before and wondered how Cerys was feeling. Memories of the way Luke had taken care of her and Izabel, getting them safely to the car, then throwing himself back into the crowd to help get Cerys to safety flooded her brain. It hadn’t occurred to him to stay with them in the limo.
Because he took care of people no matter what the cost.
Only, up until last night, she’d assumed that was a bad thing, because he was churlish about it, like it was a sacrifice of some sort. But it wasn’t. It was an instinctive reaction to look out for what was his. To do the right thing. And beneath the way he chafed at the responsibility that came with it, it was as natural as breathing.
She blew out a long breath of relief. He’d look after her. Look after them. At his very core, beneath all the bluff and bravado, he was a good man. And contract be damned, she wanted to feel what it was like to be taken care of for once.
As he had last night, when his fingers had driven her high, but his words had driven her higher. She wanted to let him decide what they did and how they did it.
His arms tightened around her, pulling her back to his chest, his erection nestled against her ass. He’d made an effort to not have sex with her until she trusted his motives. The truth was, she wasn’t sure. But for as long as she held back, she’d never know and not have him fully in her life. And if she did open up to him, well—what was the worst that could happen?
He’ll break your heart.
Who was she kidding? Most of the outcomes of this would break her heart. She’d go back to Malibu a single mom. He wouldn’t see his child very often. But if she just tried to trust him, maybe it wouldn’t end that way.
“I can hear you thinking,” Luke grumbled, his voice low and raspy against her ear. “Go back to sleep, flower.”
His words eased her for reasons she couldn’t explain. Instead, she turned in his arms and studied his face. Lashes so long they almost touched his cheeks, strong jaw covered in scruff. An inked pattern of honeycomb and bees crept over his shoulder and up his neck. His lips were full, and she knew how good they were capable of making her feel.
Maybe she should try to take a step. A casual one. One that protected her heart from the worst he could deliver. He could separate sex and love. Why couldn’t she? Heck, she’d never know if she didn’t try. And if she didn’t take a step, they’d be dancing around each other for another eleven months.
She placed her hand on his waist, his skin warm to the touch. He’d slept in his boxer briefs, always black ones that fit him like a second skin, and she nudged the tip of her finger beneath the elastic.
“Flower,” Luke warned, his eyes blinking open.
Instead of responding, she bit down on her lip. Her arousal flourished, seeping through her veins, quickening her pulse. “What?”
Luke studied her. “What are you doing?”
“Exploring.”
He flinched when her fingertips grazed the firm head. “Don’t do this because you feel like you owe me something. I’m not keeping score.”
Lazily, she pressed a kiss to his lips. “I know. And that’s why I want to do this.”
Luke slid his hand around the back of her neck, squeezing it gently. “Define this for me, flower.”
“Is it okay if I don’t totally know the answer? I just need . . .”
“What do you need?”
“More. What was it you said the other night? About lines or boundaries shifting. I feel it too.”
“How much more do you need?” As she thought about her answer, he slipped the strap of her cami off her shoulder and kissed her there.
“I need it to be us. Not just me. Last night worked, right up until I closed my eyes to go to sleep. And then, it felt . . . lonely. I think it’s why masturbating has never really worked for me. I mean, I can get off and find a release, but I feel every second of it being solitary. And I just wished that we’d . . . enjoyed something together.”
“Do you know what you want to enjoy?”
She met Luke’s gaze. “I don’t. But I hoped you might.”
Luke smiled softly as his lips met hers. “You trust me?”
“I think I do.”
“You don’t like it, just tell me, yeah?”
Willow nodded.
“Then stop teasing my dick and grip it. Because I think that’s what you wanted to do when you started to touch me.”
He was right. The teasing had been a hint she’d hoped he’d take. That she wanted more of him. She slid her hand beneath the waistband and circled him. From their night together, she remembered he liked to be gripped firmly.
“Yeah, just like that. And give me those lips of yours.”
She lifted her face to his and he cupped her cheek before kissing her. Deep and slow, his tongue seeking hers. His hips rolled against her as if he was fucking her hand, and she made a move to increase the speed.
“Stop, flower. Let me control it. You touch my head and I’m going to come all over you.”
His words made her press her thighs together. “Would that be a bad thing?”
“No. But I’d really prefer to come in you. Or on your back. Or on those tits of yours.”
He caught her gasp of air in his mouth before kissing her again.
The next thrust was deeper, her hand fisted around the base of his cock. “Squeeze me,” he groaned.
Despite him telling her what to do, she felt a surge of power that she was the one putting the need and gravel in his tone. She was the one making him twitch against her. He buried his head in the crook of her neck. “Fuck, your hand feels good wrapped around me,” he muttered.
He slid his hand beneath her cami, up her torso until he cupped her breast, his thumb grazing her nipple. An electric shock couldn’t have made her jump more.
“I need this off,” he said, tugging on the fabric.
Releasing him, she leaned back a little and slipped her cami over her head. Before she’d tossed it to the floor, he’d already sucked her nipple into his mouth firmly. Connections were made in her body that couldn’t possibly coexist. Every tug of his mouth rippled through her sex. Her clitoris ached for his touch.
It was messy. Wet. No polite licking with the tip of his tongue. It was a full mouth appreciation of her breast and, God, she was totally and utterly there for it. She could feel the wetness from the tip of his erection against her hip. The wet lapping of his tongue to her nipple and their gasps and groans were the only sounds beyond that of the busy London street coming to life outside.
She threaded her fingers through his hair. Muscle memory told her to tug. Nothing gentle, everything done with intention and meaning.
Luke rolled them so he lay cradled between her hips, then sat up suddenly. The crown of his dick sat proud above the waistband of his underwear. His abs and V-muscles more defined than she remembered. Everything about him was so . . . delicious.