by J. Daniels
I roll my eyes at the title he always used to label me with. In private. “Can you look at me please?”
“I am looking at you. Are you wearing my boxers?” He lifts the hem of the T-shirt I’m wearing, exposing my left hip. “That’s fucking hot.”
I’m quickly tossed onto the bed, and the moment my head crashes down on the pillow, a cloud of Whores-R-Us perfume surrounds me. I cover my nose and mouth with my hands, rolling to the edge, and wiggling off. “Ugh, gross. Your sheets smell horrible.”
Luke bends down and grabs a handful of his sheet, bringing it up to his nose. He gathers them up, mumbling something under his breath, and takes them out of the room, returning moments later with a clean set. “Sorry,” he says, meeting my eyes.
I shrug, watching as he makes the bed, leaving the covers turned down before looking over at me for approval. I scramble back onto the bed and lean against the headboard as he reaches for the button on his jeans.
“So, why do you have a guitar here and all those picks if you don’t play?”
His eyes go to the floor where the case remains closed but unlatched. “I just do.”
“Why?”
“Tessa…” His chest heaves with a deep breath as his eyes reach mine. “I just fucking have them, okay? People accumulate all kinds of shit that doesn’t mean anything to them. It’s just here.”
I stare, unconvinced, arms crossing over my chest. “Nobody collects things, like guitar picks, if they don’t mean something. Why would you have more than one if you didn’t want to?”
He slides his pants and boxers down, stepping out of them. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
There’s a finality to his words. That familiar hidden warning Luke always projects when I touch on a subject that is too personal for him. Twelve months ago I would’ve backed off, changed the subject, not dug for answers to things I desperately wanted to know about. But I can’t be like that anymore. Not when I know how it ends for me.
I hold my hands out, palms facing him as he crawls toward me. “Wait. I want to talk.”
“So talk.” He grabs my ankle and pulls me ’til I’m flat on the bed. “Nothing’s ever stopped you from being vocal before. You know I get off on that.” He presses my legs apart, and I flatten my hands against his head, keeping him inches away from where I know he wants to be.
I wait ’til he lifts his eyes to mine before I explain. “That’s not the kind of talking I mean, and you know it. You gotta give me something. If you don’t want to tell me about the guitar, fine, but I want to know who Sara is.”
He presses his lips to my inner thigh, trailing higher on my skin, pushing into my hands. “Stop fighting me.”
“Tell me who she is,” I repeat, tilting my head to read the name scrolled across his ribcage. I push harder against him, meeting his resistance. “Luke, I’m serious. I… oh, God. Don’t do that.” I keep one hand on his head, reaching between my legs and grabbing a hold of his wrist as his finger slides along the front of the briefs I’m wearing. I close my eyes when I feel his lips press against my hip, and suddenly my hands go limp, falling in surrender to the mattress. “I want to talk. Please talk to me.”
“Go ahead and talk, babe. Nothing’s stopping you.” He blows against my clit, cooling me through the thin material separating us as his hands slide under my ass.
I need to be strong right now. To demand answers. To reach down and grab the briefs he’s sliding down my legs. Why does he do this to me? Why can’t I block him out and focus on anything but the rough grip of his hands? The sound he makes when he bites my skin, or the urgent slide of his tongue? Practiced. Familiar. But never routine. The only predictable facet regarding the way Luke Evans eats pussy is that he’s getting at least one orgasm out of you. Most likely several, and good fucking luck saying anything but his name while he’s doing it.
I bunch the sheet I’m lying on in my hands. “Goddamn it. Why can’t you just wait a couple minutes before you… Oh, God, just wait… That’s… fuuuck.” I take in a shaky breath, then sigh. “I hate you right now.”
“Yeah?” he asks, stroking my clit with his tongue. “What do you hate? This?” He tilts my hips up, slides his tongue inside me, and fucks me with it. “You hate this?”
“Yes,” I answer through a moan.
“Tell me everything you hate. Make me feel it.”
I arch my back when two fingers replace his tongue. “I hate that you know I like that.” I scratch along his scalp when he sucks on my clit. “I hate… mmm, I really hate when you use your—” I gasp. “Teeth, right there.”
“What else?”
I go to open my eyes, to stare down at him ’cause I know he’s looking at me, but they just roll farther back into my head the moment he pinches my nipple. “I don’t know. I hate a lot of things.”
He pushes my knees against my chest and bites my ass. “Don’t give me some vague bullshit answer. You don’t just hate me because of what I can do to you, and right now, you’re gonna get that shit off your chest before you come all over my face.” He drops my legs over his shoulders, and our eyes meet. “Because when I swallow that last drop, it’ll be my turn, and I'm not holding back. I’m gonna tell you everything I hate about you and you're gonna feel it. So start talking."
I grab his head, arch my back, and cry out the second I feel his tongue between my legs. “I hate that you don’t talk to me. I wanna know everything about you, and I…” I gasp when his thumb moves over my clit. “I feel like you were just with me because you wanted sex.” I bite my lip, digging my nails into the mattress. “I hate that I want this, and that I stop caring about how much you don’t give me the second you… shiiit, the second you make me feel this way.” My breathing becomes heavy as my shirt clings to my skin. “I hate that I’ll always want more, and I hate that you won’t give it to me. Oh, God, right there.” I groan, feeling the pressure build and slowly spread out from my core. My body submits to this, to what he can do to me, and I fill my lungs to capacity one last time just as the wave of pleasure rolls through me.
“I hate that I can’t hate you enough to forget you. That for the past year I never stopped thinking about you. Not even for one day.”
My legs fall off his shoulders as he shifts his weight, kneeling between my legs. I think he’s going to give me a few seconds, stare at me a little, maybe respond to what I’ve just said, but he digs his fingers into my hips, lifts me off the bed, and drives straight into me.
“Luke,” I pant, digging my nails into his shoulders.
He wraps my legs around his waist before bracing himself with a hand on either side of me. Arms flexed, ink covering his skin, lips wet and inches from mine. “My turn,” he says through a soft voice. “I hate what you did to us. That what I gave you wasn’t enough, and that you fucking kept shit from me that I had every right to know about.” He begins thrusting into me, so hard my body slides up the bed and he has to wrap his arm around my waist to keep me still. “I hate you for not telling me why you broke up with me. That shit came out of nowhere, and you just dropped me like I never meant anything to you. I was going fucking crazy, and you ignored me. You wouldn’t talk to me. You wouldn’t give me shit. I deserved a fucking reason, and you treated me like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.” His lips fall open with a groan, and I reach up and flatten my hand against his chest, right over his tattoo.
My eyes well up with tears as my body begins to heat up. “Luke,” I whisper, sliding my hand along his skin to his neck, gripping him to bring us closer. He grabs my hand, flattens it above my head, and locks it there with my other, holding me at my wrists.
His thrusts pick up, become wild and frantic, as our eyes stay on each other, never breaking contact.
“I hate that I felt shit for you I never wanted to feel for anyone,” he says, dropping his forehead against mine. “That you made me feel it, and you didn’t give me a fucking choice.”
I stare into his eyes, the weight of my remorse hitting me like a M
ack truck. “Luke, I’m…”
“No. You said what you had to say. Now I’m saying mine.”
He slams his cock into me over and over, fucking me with raw force while his face remains distant. I’m already struggling from his words, choking on my own emotions, but seeing him like this solidifies everything he’s just said to me.
He bares his teeth, laughing through a growl. “Do you feel it, babe? How much I hate you?”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from falling apart.
“Good, ’cause I’m done. I can’t hate you anymore, Tessa. I won’t.”
He claims my mouth, roughly, his day-old stubble burning my skin while his hands form to my face. He’s giving me that helpless side of him I only get to see in moments like this, and it’s exactly what I need. It’s such a contrast to the Luke everyone knows, the self-possessed man who doesn’t look like he’d know the first thing about being gentle. But he does. When he breaks like this, when he loses control and gives me this perfect combination of wild and sweet, I become the defenseless one, willing to hand over my heart, unprotected, for a simple kiss.
But it’s anything but simple.
My eyes flash open the second he bites down on my lip, and I’m there, sliding my legs higher up his waist as my climax rolls through me.
“Oh, God, yes. Right there.”
“Fuck yeah, babe. Come on my cock.” He grabs my hip and grinds himself into me as his lips move to my ear. “I missed this. How you squeeze me like that… Fuck, there’s nothing like it.”
I stare, breathless, as he pushes back onto his knees, bunches my shirt above my breasts, and strokes his cock over my stomach, coming with his head thrown back.
I don’t realize my eyes have closed until I feel Luke wiping me clean. Minutes later, the mattress shifts and the covers slide over me, but I’m too tired to open my eyes. My body feels stripped, devoid of the ability to do anything besides cling to sleep right now, so that’s what I do. I let myself drift out of consciousness, in the bed I never expected to be in again.
***
A weight shifts off my feet before something heavy presses against my stomach. Warm breath tickles my face, and I open my eyes just as Max begins sniffing my head. I grab him, pushing him off a bit before I scratch his neck.
“You weigh a ton. I think you need to get more exercise.”
He rolls onto his back to give me access to his belly. I scratch along his fur, sitting up and pushing my hair out of my face with my free hand. I feel well rested, not how I normally feel after taking a nap in the middle of the day. Usually that screws with my system and leaves me more tired, but not today. I pat Max’s belly and swing my legs off the bed, following behind him as he barrels down the hallway toward the stairs.
I’m halfway down the staircase when the sound of a guitar stops me. Slowly inching to the bottom, I peer around the corner and see the back of Luke sitting on the couch. He’s playing as if he’s done it for years, casually and without effort—a soft, sorrowful melody that causes my heart to ache. I find myself inching closer, holding my breath so as not to miss one chord or alert him of my presence. I wonder if he looks as tortured as he sounds right now, and if he does, could I stand seeing him like that, full of shameless emotion? So unlike the Luke I’m familiar with.
A phone ringing freezes me in place and halts his playing. I should move, slowly retreat back up the stairs, but when he stands and turns around, lifting the phone to his ear, our eyes lock and the only thing I can do is give him an apologetic smile. He doesn’t give me one in return before he answers the call.
“Yeah?” His eyes pinch shut and he runs a hand down his face. “Where? Yeah, all right. I fucking know, Ray. Just hold him.” He ends the call and stuffs the phone into his pocket, locking eyes with me.
“I thought you said you didn’t play.”
He stays silent, watching me take a step closer.
“It’s good. You’re really good, Luke. Will you play for me some more?”
His phone rings again, and I think I curse louder than Luke. I want this moment with him. I need this moment.
“What?” he growls into the phone, rounding the couch and heading toward the stairs. “I fucking said I’m coming. Would you give me a minute?”
His voice trails off behind me as I remain still, unsure what to do. I’m only left alone for a minute before he comes back down, keys in hand.
He looks at me, briefly, before dropping his gaze to his shirt I’m still wearing. “I gotta go. You can stay if you want but I don’t know how long I’m going to be.”
“Where are you going?” He lifts his head, and I see that wall slide up between us, keeping me out. I step closer to him, determined to get answers. “Who was that? Who’s Ray?”
He avoids my eyes and moves to slip past me, but I block him.
“Don’t. I need to go, and if you don’t move, I’ll move you.”
I step to the side, but grab his arm when he walks past me. “Luke, just tell me where you’re going. Why is it so fucking secretive?”
He wrenches his arm out of my grasp, glaring at me over his shoulder. “Stop, Tessa. Jesus Christ. If I want you to know shit, I’ll fucking tell you.”
The door slams shut behind him, and I suddenly no longer want to be here. In fact, the only thing I don’t regret about today is spewing my hatred to Luke—I only wish I had done it without him between my legs.
I quickly slip into my jeans that are now completely dry, tuck my shirt and bra under my arm, grab my keys from upstairs, and walk out to the garage. I stick the battery back in my phone and power it on, grateful when the screen lights up. On the way out to my car, I notice three missed calls on my cell phone. Two from Mia and one from Reed. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. The one person I wanted to talk to still won’t give me anything, and I was stupid to think he would after what happened between us today.
But people don’t change. They’ll always disappoint you, and I can’t keep holding out for someone who will never give me what I want. I need to let go of Luke, but that’s easier said than done.
I hear the commotion inside the bar before I even get the door open. I should turn around, go back home to be with Tessa and keep this piece of shit out of my life. That’s where I want to be—with her. She drives me completely insane, but I fucking live for that. Even sitting a floor below her while she sleeps in my bed settles me somehow. I don’t need to be in direct contact with her to feel the effect she has on me. But that shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s how it’s always been with Tessa. The proof of that is in the excruciating year I’ve had, knowing she was within a fifteen mile radius of me, that at any point in time I could’ve gone to her and satisfied my need to see her. I’d diverted my thoughts to those of hate, tried to push out everything else I’d never wanted to feel. But now that I’ve gotten all my animosity toward Tessa out of my system, there’s nothing distracting me from that constant throbbing desire I have to be near her.
Nothing except for this bullshit.
Stepping inside, I immediately spot Ray and one of the other bartenders, their arms wrapped around my dad as they strain to keep him in the far corner of the bar, away from the liquor. He’s putting up a fight, and I know it’s because he’s sober. That’s the only time he can actually give you any amount of physical resistance. He’ll just run his mouth when he’s drunk. Put a few drinks in him and he becomes a stumbling, mouthy idiot; the version of him I’d actually prefer to deal with right now. Because when he’s completely coherent like this, fully aware of how much of an asshole he’s being, this version of him has my right hand curling into a fist.
I push through the crowd that’s gathered around the scene, shoving the dickheads back who think this is some kind of a fucking show for them to amuse themselves with. Ray sees me over his shoulder, a look of relief washing over him as I step up in front of the three men.
My dad raises his head and laughs. He fucking laughs.
�
��If you think I’m leaving here without getting a drink first, you got another thing coming,” he says, leaning into the hands holding him against the wall.
He looks put together, for the most part. His typical flannel shirt is tucked into his jeans, and his hair is pulled back, out of his face. Plus he seems to have showered today, unlike the last time I saw him. But even sober, he still looks like a desperate drunk—irrational and half-mad, willing to do anything for that one drink. And I’m too pissed not to see how far he’ll go to get it.
I step closer, holding my arms outstretched. “You want a drink? How about this then?” I stab a finger against my chest. “I’ll fucking buy you one. All you have to do is get past me.”
“The hell, man?” Ray asks, wide-eyed. “What are you doing?”
I’m sure he’s wondering how I’m gonna match up against a guy who’s got at least twenty pounds of muscle on me. I’d be concerned myself, but I’m too geared up right now to give a shit.
My dad smiles, his eyes twinkling with optimism. “Yeah? You think I won’t lay you out, boy?”
I step closer, the adrenaline spiking in my blood. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
“Shit, Jack,” Ray says, pressing against my dad’s chest. “You need help. Serious help, man. Why don’t you let Luke take you home?”
“Take me home?” he repeats mockingly. His chin tilts up and he looks at me straight on, grinning like he’s just won the fucking lottery. “You heard him. He wants to buy me a drink. I’d be a damn fool to pass that up.”
Ray looks back at me. “You better know what you’re doing.”
“Are we really going to let them go at it?” the other bartender, Pete, finally speaks, struggling to maintain his hold on a man who is now highly motivated to come at me.
Ray steps back, causing Pete to scramble to grab hold of my dad, but Pete’s half the size of him, and Dad easily barrels at me. He wraps his arms around my waist and takes me down to the floor, hard, hitting me with all his weight.
My head slams against the hardwood, distorting my vision, as the weight on top of me crushes my lungs like an accordion. I gasp in a breath when I’m able to roll him off, and I try to flip him to his stomach to immobilize him, but for a fifty-year-old man, my dad moves like a Goddamn ninja.
