Chapter Twenty-Three
I’ve observed that a strange thing sometimes happens when you’ve gone through a divorce and survived it emotionally. You become a beacon of hope for others looking to do the same.
My mom hasn’t called my father in a year. As long as his checks come, there really isn’t a reason for them to talk. He sent her a text when he proposed to Jamie. She sent one back saying OK. Other than that small exchange, it has been radio silence between them. But when Lucas’s mom came to mine, ashamed and humble and afraid for her livelihood, in search of a lawyer to go up against the man she was leaving, my mom knew the only worthy opponent was the slimeball who represented my father.
For two weeks, my mom has been Shannon Fuller’s personal divorce route tour guide. Tonight, she talked Shannon into having a little fun down at her new studio. I guess boudoir photoshoots are an empowering thing for newly single women to do. After a shopping marathon at Victoria’s Secret, my mom took her to have her hair and makeup professionally done. They’ve been at the studio shooting for four hours now, but they also took two bottles of wine. I have a feeling they’ll be spending the night there.
Fine by me. It means Lucas and I don’t have to talk in hushed whispers. Though I like the hushed whispers too, for entirely other reasons.
It’s strange how fast time passes when we’re together. He’s climbed through my window almost every night since the episode we have affectionately labeled BFM for Big Fat Mistake. The only night he missed was the one when he helped me climb down so I could sneak out and drive up to Chicago with him and Tory and Hayden and Abby. Tory said he wanted to stand by the lake and look up at the skyline, and Lucas wants to erase his father’s bad deeds and do right by his best friend. We made the three-hour trip in just over two and rolled back into the driveway just before sunrise. I told my mom about it afterward because I didn’t want to start a new collection of secrets. Of course, she doesn’t know about the nights Lucas is in my room. I have to have a few things, and as much as I want our bond to rebuild and grow, I also don’t want to give up the feeling of having Lucas’s arms around me when I fall asleep at night.
Or the feeling of having his fingertips tease along my midriff, as they are right now.
“So, about that date,” I say, my eyelids lowered as I look down to where his head rests on my hips. His devilish gaze is focused on the work of his fingers that are slowly inching my shirt up my ribs.
“Yeah?” he hums without glancing up. His eyes close and he rolls his head to press a cool kiss on the skin next to my belly button. He opens them as his tongue takes a quick taste.
“Don’t think you can use your typical ploys to distract me,” I say, my hips already fighting to squirm because fuck, his ploys work.
“Okay,” he hums again, this time dragging his tongue up higher, his bottom lip catching on my skin while his hand pushes my T-shirt up further. When his hand pauses at the spot where he should encounter my bra—but doesn’t—his eyebrows lift.
“What’s this?” His lip curls on one side, and I match with a smirk of my own.
“It’s yours if you talk about the date you promised me,” I tease.
He breathes out a laugh and inches higher still. I arch on instinct and he shifts so his weight is balanced on both elbows, his hands free to pull my shirt up the rest of the way until my breasts are exposed to the air.
“Ah ah,” I say, barely getting the sound out as my breath hitches. I hold up a finger and waggle it in front of his face. “No dessert before dinner.”
His lips tighten and curve on the ends, eyes hazing with all kinds of dirty thoughts. He moves his head forward enough to allow his mouth to close around my finger, his teeth gently biting the knuckle as he playfully growls.
“You are all dessert, June,” he says, letting go of his hold on my finger.
“One. Date.” I stand my ground, though I know all of this is for play. The play is almost as arousing as the other things. Maybe even more.
“All right,” he says, tipping his chin and kissing the skin just below my breasts.
I sharply suck in air and push my tits up, wanting more. Lucas ups the ante and kisses closer to the center of my pebbled peaks, a kiss for each curve of my breasts, all the way around, but never fully where I need his lips most.
“Homecoming,” he says.
I laugh out because homecoming is so not either of us.
“What would I wear?” I question.
He lifts himself forward and flicks his tongue at the tip of my breast. I quake as he blows dry the cool spot he left behind, a tightly puckered smile playing on his lips.
“Black dress,” he says, pausing to torture my other breast the same way. “I’ll wear my black jeans, and that dark gray sweater over a shirt and tie.” His cheek dimples with a tempting smile because he knows that look is my favorite. I asked him about that sweater last week.
“Okay. Black dress, and you . . . sexy as fuck. Got it,” I say, knowing he likes it when I talk to him that way. His eyes flutter closed and he growls against my body, dragging his nose along the center of my chest and pausing with his lips brushing lightly atop my right nipple.
“Nothing under your dress,” he says, his tongue taking another pass, a longer and harder one this time that bends my back into an arch that opens access for his hands to slide underneath, leaving him in complete control over me.
“That seems risky, me in a black dress at homecoming with nothing on . . . down . . . there.” I bring one knee up and lift my hips, wanting to push myself into him and ease the building pressure.
“Those are my demands, June.” He licks again and I bend to his will, my eyes barely able to remain open as I stare into him, calling his bluff. He isn’t bluffing, though, and the thought of being out with him that way has me curious and hungry.
“I think I can do that,” I say, my answer maybe surprising him a little. His right brow lifts higher than the left.
“So, it’s a date?” He covers my right breast with his mouth and sucks hard, leaving nothing but the grip of his teeth, and ending with a gentle tug that has me wanting all of him. Now.
“It’s a date. Now, please, Lucas. For all that is holy, will you fuck me?” I end my plea with a whimper and it amuses him more than normal. His eyes haze even more than they already are as he rolls my shirt up over my head, taking my arms along with it. He twists the fabric together, tethering my hands loosely above my head then sits up on his knees, my legs parted on either side of him. He’s done playing games and teasing me, and his fingers curl around the band of my pink lace panties. I bought them with Abby with this night in mind, and I’m fairly certain they’ve done the job as the top of Lucas’s cock protrudes from the band of his gray joggers. He rarely wears underwear, I’ve learned. A trait I have come to love for moments like this.
He slides my panties down my lifted hips, and I bend one leg at a time to free them completely. Lucas leans over my body, reaches for his wallet on the night table, and he pulls a condom out, clenching the packet in his teeth. His lips tick up a hint on one side, bringing his dimple back into play. I draw my knees up on either side of him, wanting him to ease the ache I have building desperately.