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According to Lucas it was right for me to love them both. But I think he still wanted me to love him more. And I think it was driving him crazy knowing I was having sex with Desmond but still hadn’t shared that part of myself with him. Most men would be pretty frustrated waiting almost a year to bed their girlfriend. I can’t imagine it made it easier to know I was getting satisfaction somewhere else, while Lucas got none.
At least I hoped he wasn’t finding his satisfaction somewhere else.
The thread of possessive jealousy in that thought fed the building desire, and when Lucas kissed my shoulder blade, I shuddered.
“Lucas…”
He found the hem of my shirt, his smooth palms ducking under the loose cotton. Skin-to-skin contact was too much. I let out a gasp, startled by the burst of liquid heat rippling outwards from his fingers.
“We can—”
“Shhh,” he urged, inching closer, pushing us nearer to the window. I put a palm up, still holding the wineglass in my other hand, and the coolness of the window made the fiery presence of his body that much hotter.
He was taller than me by a head, so he was forced to stoop as he kissed me. I think the extra distance between our upper bodies was the only thing keeping me sane. Then my shirt was up as high as my bra, and sanity was a fleeting memory.
I turned towards him and met his wandering mouth with a scorching kiss. Pressed against him like this I couldn’t ignore his growing hardness, and my mind swam with the possibilities. I growled into his mouth, biting his lower lip, and he responded by edging his knee in between my legs. Knowing Lucas’s make-out style as well as I did, he was on the verge of picking me up. I guess tall guys don’t love getting a crick in their neck when they have short girlfriends.
I saved him the trouble and shoved him backwards. He fell off the raised platform by the windows and onto one of the large couches, but a firm grip on my shirt meant he took me with him. Lucas landed on his back, and I was straddling him, still holding a half-full glass of wine, which I’d miraculously saved on our way down.
I sipped the drink and tried to act nonchalant, but he was using his new position to his advantage. Lifting me so I was poised over his hips instead of his stomach, he let out a groan as I shifted my balance.
“Sorry,” I whispered, putting my glass down on the coffee table.
“I’ll show you sorry,” he growled, seizing a handful of my hair and pulling me closer, kissing me with naked, ferocious hunger that brought the heat between us to a fever pitch. He tugged at my shirt and instructed, “Off.”
I complied, tugging the shirt over my head and tossing it away. It caught the wineglass, knocking the drink over and sopping up the remains. Well, at least I’d ruined a shirt with something other than blood for once. Ignoring the mess, I returned my attention to Lucas, licking his jaw. His stubble made it feel like I was licking sandpaper, but the sensation wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
The distinctive flavor of cinnamon unique to him flooded my mouth, and combined with the remnants of the pinot noir, it was a heady, dark blend that made me think of Middle Eastern spice bazaars and old spells Grandmere warned me about.
He spread his wide palms across my stomach, moving them upwards until he was cupping my breasts. A masculine smirk played at his lips, and he got harder, his erection straining against the thin knit of my black tights. My yellow eyelet skirt had already been bunched around my hips.
When he reached to unclasp my bra, I froze. The new tension was obvious to him, because he stopped immediately, his hands coming back around to the front like he was saying, Here they are. No funny business, I promise.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“It’s okay.” His voice was raspy and thick with lust.
“It’s just that—”
“Secret, I get it.” His hands fell to my thighs and, as if acting of their own volition, slid under my skirt. When I didn’t stop him, he moved closer to my inner thigh, and one thumb grazed the damp fabric between my legs.
I groaned.
“Let me…” He stroked a little harder, a little faster, until my breath became low, husky panting and I was rocking my hips to meet the frenzied gestures of his fingers. “Let me do something.”
“We can’t—”
“Not that,” he promised before I could voice my hesitance. “Will you trust me? I want to do something to you, Secret.”
He stopped stroking me, and I mewled in protest, my hands clenching the front of his shirt. I didn’t remember grabbing him. Lucas sat up, his mouth hovering over my breast a moment before he licked one taut nipple through the lace of my bra.
“Oh, yes. Yes, whatever you’re going to do just do it already.”
The press of his erection between my legs made me want to throw caution to the wind and put us both out of our misery. But I wasn’t ready yet. He latched on to my nipple and used his formidable strength to spread my thighs open more. When he bit down on my breast, his hand delved under the waistband of my tights, and he thrust one finger, then two inside of me while I rode the shudder of pleasure from his bite.
“Lucas.” I hissed out his name as he stroked me inside, his thumb moving in dizzying circles on the outside to match each come-hither curl of his fingers. I whined, throwing my head back.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
