LUCA (Leaves of a Maples Book 5)

by Haley Jenner

  Then he’s gone, my body left cold with the force in which he pushes me away. Spinning on my heel, my chest heaves with unsatisfied need, body still overwrought with zapped nerves.

  It’s then and only then, a good five steps separating us, do I realize where we are. Eyes flicking to our friends; all openly gawking at the show Luca and I just put on for them, I slice them back to Luca, the heat of my embarrassment warming my skin.

  “Fuck are you doin’ to me, Frankie?” he accuses, the self-disgust in his tone turning my stomach. “Evil pull of easy pussy is leading me by my dick, and I don’t fuckin’ like it.”

  Easy. Pussy.

  I jolt backward, inhaling the pain of his words in shock. Tears prickle in my eyes, and needing to make sure I’m as far away from this asshole as I can be before they spill over, I turn, rushing away. I work to keep my head high, the weight in that self-inflicted demand bunching my shoulders.

  “FRANKIE!” he yells, the heavy fall of his feet following after me. “Wait.”

  I force my feet to move faster and reaching a side-door, I charge through it, a thick sob coughing out.

  A whore.

  Easy.

  Luca St. Kelly just cut me down in a way that brands itself on my soul.

  “Frankie. Babe.” He follows me through the door. “I’m sorry. That was outta line.”

  Turning on him, I hate myself for how weak I look right now, tears streaming down my cheeks, face sliced open in the wound he created.

  “Fuck you,” I hiss. “Who do you… how dare…” I move into his body, pushing at the rock-solid wall of his chest. “Fuck. You.”

  “Baby.” His eyes widen in regret. “I’m sorry.” They close over. “I’m an asshole. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. You’re confusing the fuck outta me, Crazy Girl. I can’t find any sense when you’re around.”

  He echoes the sentiment with an angry growl, hands pulling at his hair.

  “Jesus, Luca. Sense?” I spit. “You think you’re alone in that. I get so fucking lost in you, Luc. I don’t know how to act.”

  I can’t even condemn him for vacillating our relationship. We’ve been thrown in the deep end, there’s no arguing that. Two people who gave in to their baser needs and fucked, only to be launched into the most unusual of circumstance as roommates. The latter is on me, I know that, Luca conceded out of guilt. But the desire that sparked between us initially isn’t gone, if anything, it’s ignited into something uncontainable due to the force in which we’re pushing against it.

  We stand, bodies heaving with the thick breathing ebbing between us. “Are we friends?” I scrape out, shoulders deflating on a defeated shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t think so…” I admit, his head shakes in a silent argument. “I’d like to be, but you avoid me most of the time.”

  He steps into my space making me swallow my nerves. Thumb reaching out, he drags it along the damp line of my eye socket, catching the stray tear balancing on my lashes.

  “Don’t know how to be your friend, Francesca.” The admission is overflowing with grief, a regret quietening the words to a beaten sigh. “Being your friend scares me.”

  Pressing my back against the wall, he follows, invading my space with his downtrodden face.

  “You’re kinda doing it wrong anyway,” I tease.

  I can’t believe we’ve let ourselves be caught up in our overzealous need to touch. Again. We’re a fucking disaster, and all we can do is watch on as whatever this is implodes.

  “Do tell.” He pushes closer, the strong line of his body pressing against mine.

  “Well.” I tip my knee out, forcing his body to hit where I need him. “Friends don’t steal other friend’s panties.”

  “Hmmm.” He fights the twitch in his lips. “God. What kind of friend would steal your panties. Sounds like a creep.”

  “Total creeper,” my voice wisps out, our lips catching.

  His tongue strokes into my mouth before I’ve finished speaking, a soft growl vibrating into my mouth. I match his desperation, a wanton plea crying out for more.

  Large palm bruising my thigh, he lifts it roughly around his waist, grinding his cock against me shamelessly.

  “Jesus, Crazy Girl,” he rasps, words spoken between flicks of his tongue. “What are we doin’?”

  Opening my mouth to answer, I stumble across my own breath, his fingers reaching my heat, stroking up to tickle the bud zapping with eager need.

  “Dripping,” he licks out, tasting my moan.

  I scream out silently as two fingers dip inside me, torturing me in the best possible way.

  Eyes watching mine, he bites my bottom lip. “Last time you refused me names. This time when you come, you say my name. You thank me for making you come so hard.”

  His demand is rough, gripping and my pussy convulses in submission, agreeing to his command.

  “I fucking give up.”

  I scream out at the sound of another man’s voice, not quite sure whether to beg Luca to keep going or to stop.

  Luca’s body moves to shield mine, and forcing my eyes open, I glance to find Archer’s back only steps away. “Bleach for my fuckin’ eyeballs,” he grumbles, “Valentine’s Day and everyone fucks like rabbits.”

  Clearing his throat, he moves to leave, then pauses briefly. “Frank. Babe. Was just checkin’ you were okay. Reckon you’re more than, so I’m out.”

  We watch him leave, the breath I was holding releasing on a stutter.

  “Luca,” I cry as his fingers begin moving inside my greedy body once again. “God. Stop… everyone knows, ah…” I contradict my words, arching into his touch trying to force him deeper.

  His wicked smile mocks me, the burr in his words causing further mayhem to my already scrambled thoughts. “You want me to stop?”

  I nod, but grab hold of his bicep to keep him in place, my actions disobeying my conscience once again. “Fuck,” I laugh, the breathy sound giving away my climb to the orgasm teetering in pushing me over the edge. “You’re way too pretty for your own good, Thor.”

  Pelvis pushing against me, he rolls his hips, stimulating my clit at the exact time his fingers thrust deeper, massaging my sweet spot expertly.

  “Luca,” he growls. “Not Thor, Luca.”

  Lips sucking at my earlobe to echo the roar of his demand, I come, hard. His name dances on my tongue, whispered on my lips in submission.

  “Good girl,” he praises, and the condescending bite of his words prolongs my orgasm, aftershocks shaking my frame.

  He pulls his fingers from my body, swallowing my protesting cry with a searing kiss. Confident I’m stable on my feet, he inches backward, helping me right my dress.

  And just when I think he couldn’t turn me on more, the carnal motherfucker slides his fingers between his lips, sucking my climax from his skin on a jagged groan. “You taste like sin.”

  Fuck. Me.

  I can barely hold my eyes open, the after-effects of an orgasm drawn out by his indecency wanting to take away my ability to stand.

  Blinking languidly, my eyes slice down his body, his thick erection stretching his dress pants with an obvious need to escape. My hand itches to reach out, to touch him. To free his straining cock from the confines of his pants, and feel the sleek velvet weight of him in my hand.

  “Frankie.” I startle at the sound of Jake’s voice, shifting my feet one way, and Luca’s in the opposite direction.

  The shift, made to take away any suggestion of what just occurred, triggers his intrigue, gaze skirting between us inquisitively on a suspect brow lift.

  “’Nother set, babe,” he dismisses his thoughts. “You good to go?”

  Clearing my throat, I straighten my shoulders, fingers brushing through my hair to fluff it. I spare a glance in Luca’s direction, eyes traveling down his frame suggestively, my tender lips curving into a grin. “Raring.”

  Moving past him without delay, I pause, turning back to wink. “Nice... chat, friend.”

  I move away wit
h a dignity I likely shouldn’t feel, but fuck me if the tension coiling my body earlier this evening hasn’t dissipated. Yeah, it might be thanks to the Viking still sporting the mother of all hard-ons I walked away from, but the way I see it, the motherfucker owed me that orgasm. He did steal my panties after all.

  Chapter Five

  Frankie

  It’s not weird.

  We avoid eye contact. You know, it’s safer that way. Like an unwritten agreement. Lingering glances bring back memories of bodies pressed together, tough growls, needy whimpers, and harshly bitten demands.

  This time when you come, you say my name. You thank me for making you come so hard.

  My traitorous body responds to the memory as though he’s whispered it along the shell of my ear just now. Thighs clench, hips shifting to subconsciously relieve the ache of unfulfilled need coursing through my body like a bass drum. Definite. Pulsating like a resounding echo against the most sensitive parts of my body.

  My eyes strain to focus on the movie we awkwardly agreed on after realizing we were both home for the night. I considered feigning exhaustion and crashing early. But it’s not lost on me that I’ve totally commandeered his bed, at his insistence mind you. Still, up until now, I’ve been able to fall asleep without him here, meaning I don’t have to pretend it’s not completely ridiculous that he’s sleeping on a couch that barely fits him.

  Chancing a glance in Luca’s direction, my head turns slowly, not to alert him. But his gaze is already in my direction, focused on my clenched thighs. Sensing my stare his eyes flick upward, clashing with mine for a fiery second. He clears his throat at the same time my hand reaches up to scratch along the flush warming my neck.

  It’s strange to think of a man as beautiful. It’s a term more often attributed to women. Men tend to be described as handsome. Handsome just doesn’t seem to do Luca St. Kelly justice. He’s striking to look at; blue eyes that gleam with wicked promises, golden skin smoothed over well-defined muscle. He’s tall, broad, and powerfully sculpted. He’s comfortable in himself, almost graceful in the way he moves. Sandy, shoulder-length hair frames the angular lines of his face, a rough shadow of hair highlighting is naturally blushed stained lips. So while it’s strange to refer to him as beautiful, it’s the only word I can see that fits.

  Fuck. I need air. My legs push me up before I’ve given it a second thought. The front door only maybe eight steps away. Eight steps and then I can take a breath. Fill my lungs with air and not the lust that seems to be rushing down my throat, robbing me of oxygen and the ability for rational thought.

  I never imagined I’d feel this way about another man. Maybe not ever and not this soon after the demise of my last relationship. I used to be driven by lust with Brandon, and what a cluster fuck that turned out to be.

  Needing someone this bad isn’t healthy. It’s hazardous to my heart. A need that is amplified to a point of desperation that can only end in heartbreak.

  Taking a step in the direction of an unwanted but necessary escape, I refuse the cause of my current chaos, eye contact. Like I said, it’s safer that way. A few steps and I’ll reach it. Freedom. Clarity.

  His leg thwarts my ability for escape though, his foot landing on the coffee table, cutting off my clear path.

  His body is big. So much so, his leg is bent at the knee, where mine would need to be stretched to the point of pain to reach. The simple movement should be casual, relaxed, but it’s contradicted by the tension ticking in his thigh muscle.

  “Luc.” The sound of his name is barely audible on my lips. A whispered plea as my eyes close over in a feeling I can’t even be sure of. Relief? Indecision? Turmoil?

  Opening my eyes, I give in to my need to see him. To check the open thoughts painted across his beautiful face. His emotions mirror mine. He’s caught between his desires and his conscience. Torn apart by the dilemma of his head and heart.

  Neck tipped back, he rubs both palms roughly across his face in frustration. Nostrils flared, his blue eyes hit mine, swirling with ungratified need.

  Eyes locked together, I miss the moment his hand moves until his fingers brush against mine. My eyelids shut on their own accord, sighing against how good it feels to have his touch on mine.

  My feet stumble as his hand tugs on mine, pulling me closer. My knees collide with his and I glance down to entwined fingers, squeezing that little bit harder. He rewards the slight movement by pulling me forward again, and this time I go easier, moving with him to straddle his lap.

  His hand releasing mine, his palms skate along the line of my upper thighs, feeling the trembling muscle. His nose skates along my jawline, inhaling heavily, drawing me in.

  I move my neck in line with his movements, stretching my neck to give him greater access. How he makes the barest of touches feel so significant, so suggestive is beyond me. But I can’t get enough. I need, I want more. His bottom lip drags along my clavicle, forcing my body to break out in goosebumps tingling along my skin. He follows the line with his tongue and my breathing stutters. I swallow deeply, and his eyes focus on the obvious up and down drop within my throat. His lips move in, offering the line of my larynx a multitude of soft caresses of his lips.

  My bottom lip catches between my teeth, fighting against the need to whimper and cry. I’m caught in the most pleasurable form of torture, needing more but so caught up in how fucking good his barely-there touches feel.

  “Don’t hide from me,” his voice rumbles against my skin. “Make me hear you, Frankie.” The quiet demand is echoed by his thumb pulling at my bottom lip, saving it from the bite of my teeth and I cry out.

  “That’s it,” he smokes out, blue eyes hooded, a smile dancing along his mouth before his tongue drags along the wet line of his lips.

  Hands moving to my hips, Luca jerks me forward, connecting my needy center to the thick, pulsating line of his crotch.

  “Fuck, Crazy Girl. Dangerous how hard you make my dick. So bad for me. So bad, it makes my dick leak.”

  I whimper at the rough crassness in his words. Luca would be a filthy lover. There’s no denying that. Rough. Demanding. Dirty. The kind of lover you crave, one that sets your skin on fire, one that derails every thought you’ve ever had until you wonder whether life beyond them in your bed ever really existed. And I want that more than I care to breathe.

  “So bad,” I echo, rolling my hips to find relief.

  The uneven growl that rips through his throat is swallowed by my mouth. Hushed by the thick stroke of our tongues reconnecting.

  Our lack of willpower is comical. Like electricity, our charge of choice… lust. And it's combustible. Ready to explode with a single spark. That small fiery strike of eye contact, a brush of skin, a memory.

  His large palms slide along my spine, dipping into my pants to grip the naked skin of my backside. Taking control, the calloused touch of his hands guide my movements, rolling my hips, and I take his direction eagerly. The smooth gyration letting us find the sweet pleasure of connection with every reel.

  I can't pinpoint the draw he holds. Why, whenever I'm in his presence, I lose all capacity for coherent thought. There's nothing but him. Nothing but the craving that fires deep in my stomach and spreads eagerly through my body. Why the gaudy longing prickles along every nerve ending I possess, turning me into a giant erogenous zone, begging for contact.

  He breaks our kiss, dropping his hooded gaze to where our bodies touch. We're fully clothed, but his nostrils flare with frenzied intimacy. His gaze watching on with such intensity, you'd think we were naked, our bare skin touching in the way I long for.

  “You’re evil,” he grinds, his bottom lip pulling through his teeth on an upward thrust of his hips. “The devil,” he groans. “Never wanted to fall into the depths of hell as bad as I do now.”

  My agreement is communicated through our fixed gaze. Arching backward, my palms find stability on his knees. My hips push up on a fluid roll, dragging my damp heat across the bulge of his sweats. A dark patch rea
ching the upper band of his pants tells me he’s as desperate as I am, his cock leaking with the need burning my skin. What I’d give for him to pull himself out, to let me see his swollen head, the thick, pulsating veins decorating the underside of his smooth length.

  His hands pull from my pants, coming to rest on my hips, and I watch the muscles in his tanned arms flex and throb in time with his movements. Tensing as he drags me slowly forward, relaxing as he pushes me back.

  It’s a perfect strain of relaxed torture. We’ve been intimate twice. Both times explosive. Panicked moments of lust, so reckless and violent that neither of us had the ability to find sense, to fight for control. Again, we’ve found ourselves in a hopeless situation, two bodies so driven out of their minds with the need to touch, the thought of restraining was too great to hold onto. Yet, we’re both still fully clothed. No naked skin touching. No line actually being crossed. We’re relishing. Feeling. Letting the simple act of touching quench the fire balling deep in our stomachs.

  It’ll never be enough. No. Eventually one of us will cave. One of us will have to concede to what we both so desperately crave.

  More.

  God, please let it be him. Let him be weak. Let him be the one that pulls me into the hell we can’t seem to escape. Let me have this power.

  He’s an asshole though. That much I know and as his conceited grin twitches at his lips, I prepare to beg. Hands gripped on my hips, he pushes me back with greater force, and I know in that moment, really, I was never in control. And he wanted me to admit that, if only to myself.

  The harsh movement has shifted his pants farther down his hips and the wet tip of his swollen cock peeks out.

  I cry out, the sound so ardently frail and wanting, my eyes close over at the broken sound. I can barely raise my eyelids with how over stimulated my body feels and he hasn’t even touched me.

  Will it always be this way between us? So reckless. So charged that the threat of dying if he doesn’t touch me how I need him to, feels so fucking real that I question my sanity. Because in the end, at least I’d know I’d die happy. I’d leave this earth feeling so unbelievably high, the thought of coming down, the risk of waking up was something I no longer cared for.