He bends over me, kissing my breasts and my stomach. And then his perfect lips are grazing the thin fabric between my thighs. He pushes the lace away and covers me with his mouth.
I reach for him; run my hands through his thick waves as he explores me with his tongue. Then his fingers, which he slips inside me without missing a beat. My body is buzzing, bucking beneath his touch as he settles into a perfect, easy rhythm. Slowly, everything in me starts to coil again, until I'm wound so tight I know I'm about to explode.
"Luke." My voice is breathy and thin, and I try again. Stronger this time. "Luke.”
He stops again. “Not yet.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Not yet,” he says again. “You’ll come when I want you to come.”
“Yes,” I whisper. I have no idea how he can take charge like this and still be so sweet, so sensitive. And I don’t care. I care only that my body is on fire for him. I want every inch of him.
“Sit,” I order.
Without a word, he settles onto the couch. Clumsily, I undo the buttons on his shirt. I don't know how to do this; it's been too long. But he doesn't seem to notice. He shrugs off his shirt, then lets me peel off his undershirt.
His chest is solid and warm. I ran my hands over him, and he pulls me in to a tight hug and envelops my mouth again. I can taste myself in his mouth; can feel the beat of his heart inside his chest.
Hungrily, I undo the button and zipper on his jeans. Pull them off with the boxers underneath, and he's more naked than I am. And so fucking beautiful, the sight of him takes my breath away.
"You okay?" he whispers.
I nod, without taking my eyes away from him. It's almost impossible to believe that he sees me, knows me, and wants me still. That I could do this to his body.
He starts to say something, but stops the second I lower my mouth to taste him. Lightly, I trace the tip with my tongue. Then I take in as much of him as possible, sliding my lips and tongue along his length until he groans my name.
"I have to have you. Now," he murmurs urgently.
"Take me, Luke. All of me." The thought of giving myself to Luke makes my body shake with anticipation. For the last six months-- much longer, really—I've been totally empty, with nothing more to give to anyone. And yet the idea of giving myself to Luke now is thrilling. Being with him fills me up instead of depleting me.
Without another word, he pulls me onto his lap and guides himself inside me. Our lips almost touching, our breath perfectly synced.
I moan. I can't help it. He feels too good. I wrap my arms around him and he holds me so tight, we dissolve into each other.
"Look at me. Don't ever stop looking at me,” he says.
"Promise," I whisper, locking my eyes with his. The depths of the blue surprise me every time. Slowly, I lift my hips until he's no longer inside me. And just as slowly, I lower myself onto him again. And again. Is it possible for him to feel better every time?
"I want to bury myself inside you, Elle." Without breaking my gaze, Luke slides me onto my back and positions himself between my legs. The feeling of his weight on me is reassuring. I'm here. He's here. We're real.
I trace his lower lip with my thumb as he starts to move. He fucks me so slowly my desire is almost painful. I claw at his back, pulling him in deep.
"Please." The word is a near-whisper. Vapor rising from my lips. I'm not even sure if I've spoken it aloud, until I feel him responding. With every thrust, he penetrates my soul in a way I never thought possible. My body opens. I grip his face in my hands as he moves faster. I want to hold his gaze, but I'm not sure I can handle the intensity. It's overpowering; spreads through me and settles at my very core. Building.
A cry escapes my lips as we move together, faster and faster. I am close to the edge, everything in me tight and tingling and ready for the release. I want to shatter in his arms. I know he'll hold the pieces.
"Luke—"
"Come with me." He reads my mind, my body. We unravel together, tumbling into each other. All heat and flesh and soul.
chapter twenty-three
“So I have to ignore you entirely just to get you to talk to me?” Despite the miles between us, it feels like Aria’s standing in my classroom. Her anger is palpable, even over the phone. “That’s fucked up, Elle.”
“I know. I know.” I close my classroom door and turn on the lights. Unnecessary, since the morning outside my window is crisp and clear and bathed in nearly blinding sunlight. I turn the lights off again and deposit my coffee and keys on my desk. “I’m really, really sorry, A.”
“Not good enough,” she snaps. “I’m still pissed.”