Her stomach flipped at the very idea. He was so much taller than she was. Rougher than she was. But somehow, his simple questions had made her certain. “Yes.”
“Good.” He led her to the elevator, and she pushed the button. When they stepped inside, he gripped the back of her neck. “You want anything to stop, you just tell me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Tell me three things you like in bed, Will.”
“What I’ve liked so far, or what I’d like to try?”
Luke grinned, his dimples popping. “Both. But I’m defo interested in the latter.”
“I want someone who won’t treat me like glass, someone who pushes me. I want something rough and dirty, not chaste and clinical.” Her cheeks burned with heat as she looked down at the floor.
“Keep talking.”
“I don’t know what else to say. I feel like I’ve never had mind-blowing sex.”
“You want the kind of sex that leaves you breathless and sweaty and hanging halfway off the bed. The kind of sex where you fight to get closer or deeper. No matter how hard you try, you want more. Within minutes of it being over, you can’t wait to do it again. You want to feel stripped down raw, like your soul has been ripped out of your chest.” Luke put his forefinger beneath her chin and tipped her face to his.
“Yes,” she whispered. “For once, I want to feel like that.”
The elevator pinged and the door opened. “What room?”
She held out the key card to him. “Don’t hurt me.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
But she wasn’t sure if she meant in bed, or just in general.
Luke checked out Willow’s waist as she walked ahead of him into her room.
The artificial high he’d been riding at the arena was beginning to fade, but what replaced it was a high unachievable by artificial stimulants. It was created when a woman looked at him like he was a fucking king. When she looked at him with need-filled eyes that told him only he could take the ache away.
It didn’t happen often.
Sure, lust was real. Being a drummer in a rock band riding an unexpected wave of success brought those kinds of opportunities in spades.
But the look in Willow’s eyes?
Yeah. That kind of connection didn’t happen every day.
He let the door click shut behind him, then tugged his still damp T-shirt over his head. “I’m going to shower really quick. I don’t want you to join me . . . well, that’s not actually accurate. I’d love for you to shower with me. But you and me and hot water and a whole heap of skin will lead to a pretty quick fuck. And that’s not what you need, is it?”
Willow looked up at him, complete with a soft pink pout. Jesus Christ. Doe-eyed did it to him every fucking time.
“No. Well, not yet, at least.” Her cheeks took on a rosy hue.
“Not yet,” he huffed. “Going to be the death of me, Willow. Get naked. Wash your face. Whatever it is you do to get ready for bed. Feel free to come in and use the bathroom. I’m not shy. But be in that bed, naked, before I’m done.”
Luke tugged his clothes off, throwing them over a bench near the dresser, and walked into the bathroom. He turned the water to cool, his body running hot from playing and thinking about what he’d like to do with Willow.
Then he tried to stop thinking about the things he wanted to do to Willow because he was too amped up. Instead, he thought about the best players to ever wear a Man City jersey. Colin Bell, maybe. Five hundred appearances were damn impressive. David Silva would be on the list. Probably Aguero.
By the time he was clean, his heart rate was down and his dick still hard, but not to the point where one touch or lick would send him over the edge.
He rubbed a towel over his hair, then dried himself briskly. With the towel wrapped around his waist, he opened the door to the bedroom. Willow had done what he asked. He sat down next to her and rubbed a hand over her collar bone. The sheets of the bed were tucked under her armpits, and he gently tugged them down as he pressed his lips to hers.
Soft. Warm. Utterly kissable lips.
And responsive.
While he’d sensed a certain shyness, it seemed to be more around discussing sex rather than engaging in anything sexual.
“Mind-blowing, right?” he muttered.
“Yes, please.”
“In that case . . .” He dived over her onto the bed, tugging her with him until she lay on top of him. Willow squealed as the sheets tore away from their nicely tucked corners. “Playful. Nothing out of bounds unless we say. We fuck. We touch. We lick. We suck. Wherever we want it. Break for food. Showers. Power naps. Yeah?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Good. Come here, flower.” He cupped her cheeks firmly and pulled her mouth to his, groaning as she opened her legs to straddle him, her pussy separated from his cock by his bath towel. And thank fuck, because her tanned limbs pressed up against him revved his engine back to overdrive.
Running his hands down her body, he cupped her arse, encouraging her to grind against his dick.
Willow’s eyes were wide. “Luke.”
He rolled them over so he could guide the movement, and Willow lifted her thighs to his hips. “You like that?”
“Oh, God. Yes.”
Luke grinned against her lips. “Good to know.” He knelt up, and tugged his towel off, throwing it to the floor. “Touch me,” he instructed.
“Where?”
He glanced down at his dick, then bit his lower lip. “Anywhere you’d like, flower.”
With tentative fingers, she ran her hand down his abs, over his ink. The mosaic of his life and loves. A black-and-white tattoo of his father in his firefighter uniform, the last picture of him in it before he died. The Manchester City logo. Bees and honeycomb. His mum and sister’s date of birth. The date his dad died. History she didn’t know and never would, because tonight was about something much baser.
Her hand hovered above his dick, her eyes looking to his for permission. “Grip it, flower.”
She did. Hard like he asked, then she licked the tip. Tentative at first. Just tongue.
“Suck it,” he instructed, smoothing her hair back from her face gently.
Lips, tongue, saliva, all wrapped around him. Some guys worried about technique, Luke was a fan of enthusiasm. “Hmm,” he groaned, sighing deeply as he held back the urge to thrust into her mouth. That would come later. When they knew each other a little better.
He pulled back, knowing full well that if he stayed in her warmth for too much longer, he’d pass the point of no return, and one thing his father had always drilled into him—always be a gentleman.
Which meant ladies first.
“You’ve got a pretty gifted mouth. Want to see if mine is any good?” he asked, climbing off the end of the bed.
Willow leaned up on her elbows. “Show me.”
Luke grinned, reached for her feet, and pulled her to the edge of the bed, where he knelt down between her legs. “I need room,” he said.
Willow laughed. “You move me around like I weigh nothing.”
“You do weigh nothing. Plus, drummer’s arms. They’re pretty strong.”
She sat up and ran her palms down them. “I like them.”