“Eh, I’m sure he was nicer when he wastrying to date you, and now he’s just jealous.” I loved the confidence in Luke’s tone, such a contrast to last night when he thought I was embarrassed of him.
I leaned across the table conspiratorially, motioning him to lean in, too. He obliged, ducking his head, that rebellious brown lock falling in between his eyebrows.
“I’m not gonna lie, it was pretty hot when you put him in his place last night,” I whispered.
His hand found my leg again, tracing soft circles on the inside of my knee, leaving a trail of tingles. My thighs clenched.
“My threat of bodily harm to your ex do a little something for you, Val?”
“It’s doing a lot of somethings for me.”
He rolled his lips together as his gaze bore into me.
After a moment he leaned back. My knee felt exposed without his touch. He took a lazy bite of his food, letting the silence linger, leaving me squirming from a hand on my knee and a hushed conversation. I looked at my plate, but food was the last thing on my mind.
I lifted my eyes back to his. Confidence back, the smirk on his full lips was his smug one. It looked good on him.
When we left the restaurant Luke draped his arm over my shoulder, leaned down, and pressed his lips to my temple. He already felt more like my boyfriend than Max ever had. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this drawn to someone. The attraction buzzing beneath the surface of my skin, everywhere.
I thought—hoped—it was the same for him. For the rest of dinner and one more drink after he kept finding ways to touch me: rubbing his thumb over my kneecap under the table or playing with my hand on top of it, guiding me to the door with his hand on my lower back.
As the sidewalk narrowed, he switched to holding my hand. When we neared the parking area behind his building I said, “I don’t want to go home yet.” I craned my neck to look up at him.
“Let’s go up to my office,” he said quickly, like that was already what he was planning.
My stomach fluttered. “Okay,” I whispered.
He locked the door behind him as soon as it swung shut. Hands grasping mine, he walked backward, sat down on a couch and pulled me on top of him. I didn’t have time to take in any details of his office.
I straddled his muscular thighs and kissed him feverishly, pulling him by his neck toward me. His tongue dipped into my open mouth, dancing with mine. I gave in almost immediately to the urge to roll my hips against him. His erection provided the exact pressure I needed to start soothing the ache between my legs that’d been building since dinner. A sigh escaped my lips.
“Fuck, Val.”
His hands squeezed both of my hips, pressing me down even harder on top of him. “Mmm,” he groaned into my mouth.
We were a storm of lips, tongues, and teeth. Kissing, nipping, playing. Intentionality gave way to chaos. I grinded shamelessly on top of him; the only things separating us were the thin fabric of my underwear and his shorts. I wasn’t thinking about what I looked like, what he was thinking, if he was enjoying it. The sounds breaking from his throat and the grip of his rough hands on my hips told me enough. It felt so good; I never wanted it to end.
I pulled back and started kissing his neck, licking it, and then breathing on the same spot, over and over. Another groan, like a prize. His hand reached into my hair, grabbed hold of it, and angled my head back, exposing my neck to his hungry lips. He pulled the sensitive skin into his wet mouth, kissing at first, then sucking.
I squealed with delight but said, “You’re going to leave a hickey.”
He released my skin from his lips. “Sorry,” he whispered to the tender spot on my neck.
“It feels so good, it might be worth it.”
“No, no. I’ll be gentle.” He kissed the same spot again, lightly this time, licked it, and continued peppering both sides of my neck with featherlight, torturous grazes of his lips and soft swipes of histongue. I was unraveling, grinding my hips into him, his hands holding me in place, the forcefulness of the union between my wet core and his erection a sharp juxtaposition to the gentle torture he was enacting on my neck.
“Luke,” I whimpered, the tension building in my lower abdomen. He hadn’t even touched me where the nerve endings between my thighs were humming, and I was already building toward release. My whimpering his name tipped him off. He knew I was close.
“Yes,” he said, to what I didn’t know, and crashed his lips back onto my mouth. My lips parted, taking as much of his tongue as possible. I’d have half a mind to be embarrassed by how needily I was rubbing myself against him, but I didn’t have half a mind right now. It’s all skin and breath and tension and passion and this overwhelming sense ofrightness. Like we were finally doing the natural, obvious thing, acting on what has felt right for a long time. I no longer felt like I was being torn in two, denying the feeling in my gut.
Right here. Right now. With him. This was exactly where I was supposed to be.
He pulled down the straps of my sundress, exposing both of my breasts. He stared at them for a moment, as if in awe, and then covered them with both his palms. The friction of his calloused hands on my sensitive skin acceleratedeverythingthat was happening inside my body. My forehead dropped to his shoulder as an involuntary moan flowed from my lips. He released one hand to lift my chin, pressing his lips to mine. His back arched, his hips bucking into me. I wasn’t sure if he did it to increase the friction for my benefit or his, but it worked. I resumed moving on top of him, the pressure in my abdomen heightening.
“Luke, I’m so close,” I whined.
“Keep going baby, I’ve got you.” He captured my mouth with his, one hand pressing down on my hip, guiding my movements, the other finding my breast again. When he started working my nipple between the pads of his fingers I let go, my orgasm crashingover me in multiple bursts. He clutched me to him, catching my moans in his mouth.
