LUCA (Leaves of a Maples Book 5)

by Haley Jenner

  “Take it out.” I let the wanton plea leak from my lips without second-guessing and his conceited grin morphs into a smile of triumph.

  And it only makes him more attractive.

  Bastard.

  “Sorry?” He drops his hands from my hips, an eyebrow raised in challenge and I pause my movements.

  Tongue ducking out to wet my dry lips, my breathing stutters. “Please.” I give him what he wants.

  Begging.

  A contented look of arrogance washes over him and as much as I want to slap his stupid face, I want him to pull his cock out more.

  His large palm dips into his pants, gripping his length and I lick my lips in anticipation.

  “Want this, Crazy Girl? Think you deserve my cock with how much you tease it? Maybe I should keep him to myself, drive you to fuckin’ insanity like you do me.”

  I whimper, my head shaking, pleading with him not to deny me before I can even contemplate how pathetic I must look begging.

  Slowly, he drags his cock out, fisting the base with such rigidity his knuckles are white. Dragging his fist upward, it glides along the thick line of his cock, forcing a generous drop of cum to leak from his cut tip. My mouth waters. My pussy throbs. My hand reaches out, because waiting another second to touch him seems too great.

  Call it divine intervention. Maybe an inconvenient interruption. A single knock at his front door, a jiggle of the door handle. It may as well have been an electric shock so forceful we flew apart like we’d been burned.

  Eyes wide, deep swallows, Luca stands with purpose, eyeing me with contempt. Like this was all me. That I was the one who dragged myself onto his lap. That I forced his cock from his pants. That I teased my lips along the naked skin of his collarbone setting his skin alight.

  Not the other way around.

  “Luca. Frankie. You home?” Jake’s voice slices through the evil stare we’re caught up in and we both turn toward his voice, shaking off the lust soaking our skin.

  “We’re grabbing a pizza, gonna play Guitar Hero, you guys want to join?”

  Clearing his throat, Luca throws one last scorned glare my way before moving toward the door.

  “Fairy dust,” he greets, shoulder resting against the open doorjamb. His body renders an air of relaxation, of complete calm. Something he definitely doesn’t feel. "Sounds good,” he volunteers. “Give us ten. We're just gonna shower," he pauses awkwardly. "Not together. Separately. Each of us will shower and then we'll head over…" He trails off and Jake offers a small smirk in my direction and I can't stop the amused grin that crawls onto my face.

  He’s right, I am evil. Not that I give a shit. There's something overtly satisfying about making a man like Luca St. Kelly fumble.

  "Okay." Jake winks, stepping from the door with a knock to the wood. "See you in ten. You know, after you've showered. Separately."

  The loud echo of the door being slammed resonates through the apartment, followed by Jake’s deep chuckle before he disappears into his own apartment.

  "Smooth," I bite out. "Real smooth." My eyes roll on their own accord, a sigh breaking from my lips as I turn toward the bathroom.

  "Francesca." I hear the obvious regret in his tone, but all it does is piss me off further.

  "You know what, Luca? No. You don't get to do this. Again. You started this. You. Not me.” I shake my head, the blame bitter and raw as I speak. “I was trying to take a fucking breath, moving toward the door and you stopped me."

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he shifts uncomfortably. He takes a breath to speak, only to pause briefly before trying again. "You wanted me to touch you. That's why you walked in front of me," he argues quietly. "If you wanted to escape, you would've made sure there was a wide expanse in your retreat. Not you all but climbing over my lap."

  I stare at the man that has me so twisted inside; hair knotted atop of his head, black shirt pulled tightly over his chest and arms, gray sweats hanging loosely on his hips and I wish I hated him. I wish I could refute the way I feel about him. But he's right. Maybe I didn't consciously choose to tempt him, but subconsciously, I know I did. I slid past him in the hope that he'd put me out of my misery and touch me.

  So I don't deny it.

  Taking a step forward, his defensive façade drops, his arms falling to his sides on a sigh. He looks almost defeated by his own actions, and the pain that slices my already fragile heart is regretful. He hates this connection we seem to share, and I can't help but feel the overwhelming storm of rejection causing havoc in my broken soul.

  "Can we talk? Please." He gestures to the couch and I nod once, moving to sit along the arm, my feet planted on the cushions and he mimics my position along the opposite end.

  "I don't set out to be such a prick," he starts, picking at the leather strap wrapped around his wrist.

  An unimpressed laugh chokes its way out of my throat on a cough and he stops his fidgeting to meet my eyes.

  "I'm sorry," he implores and the sincerity in his tone is genuine, enough for me to nod my forgiveness. Truth is, Luca isn’t alone in this undesirable situation. More, I’ve forced it upon him by choosing to remain in his home.

  "Thing is, Frankie,” he continues. “I need this family. I think you do too. Jake and the rest of the crew, they're all I got left." The vulnerability in his words stirs something heavy within me and I appreciate for the first time since we met, this is his way of sharing something about himself. Something true. He's built such an impenetrable wall up that you'd be forgiven in thinking that he's unfeeling. That he cares only for himself and not the lives in which he's working to insert himself amongst.

  "I can't lose them because you make me want to get my dick wet." He shocks the hell out of me by stating, the accusatory tone forcing me to reel back as though he's slapped me.

  "Ouch."

  "Fuck. I didn't mean it like that. God, this is what I’m talking about. I can’t find sense when we’re doing what we’re doing." A large palm drags along his face, scratching at his unshaven jaw. The irritation he feels toward himself is evident in the tense lines creasing at his eyes, in the heavy exhale that deflates his chest. “I don’t like who I become when I have to think about someone else,” he admits hesitantly. “Being by myself is easier. It’s what I prefer. No one’s ever gonna change that.”

  That, I understand, and I want to tell him that I get it. That I appreciate how fucking hard risking your heart on someone is, even when it’s unintentional.

  "Like you, Crazy Girl. More than just the way you look. I dig you." He taps two fingers across his chest, over his heart.

  When I don't respond, he exhales heavily in defeat. "It might sound like I'm the world's biggest jerk, but I'm not interested in ever giving you more than a few stolen moments and a quick, hard fuck here or there. And I won't risk the only family I have left for a fuck buddy."

  Double ouch.

  "We’re attracted to one another. Insanely so,” he backs his statement with a small chuckle. “But lust isn’t worth throwing friendships away for.”

  Clearing my throat, I stretch my lips in an understanding smile. “I know.”

  His head nods along with the whisper of my words, taking comfort in my assent. “Not interested in investing my heart in anything. Ever. You're good people, Francesca. I wanna be your friend. But I don't see anything more for us." He offers me a small smile. This one shows no outward joy or relief. Instead, regret and uncertainty taint the gesture. "That ain't on you. It's me.”

  Back to playing with his leather bracelet, he gnaws at his bottom lip. “If you can accept that, I'd love us to be friends. Happy for you to keep living here until you've landed on your feet. But this," he gestures between us on a dark smirk. "As fun as it is. Safe to say, it'll only end in heartache."

  "Okay," I agree, because he's right. He doesn't want a relationship and I'm sure as hell not ready to dive into those waters anytime soon.

  His wide smile stretches across his face, white teeth on show, and I swal
low down the ball of lust that stirs deep inside of me.

  Friends.

  "I'd hug you," I return his smile, "but I think it's best we stick to a no touching rule from now on."

  A silent laugh shakes his body and the tension coiling his big body only moments before subsides, drifting off him in waves. He leans forward, offering me his fist and I mirror his movement, tapping my closed fist against his.

  "You know," I tease, jumping from the couch, moving toward the door, Frenchie and Luca fast on my heels. "You and Aubrey are so fucked."

  Glancing over my shoulder, I watch Luca raise a skeptical eyebrow. "Gonna need you to expand on that.”

  "Guitar Hero. Jake and I are musicians. Be prepared to be spanked by my epicness."

  He laughs. Loudly. Sarcastically. "Crazy Girl, the things you need to learn. Baby, you're going down." He brushes past me, picking up Frenchie as he does, his head shaking in obvious amusement.

  "You got secrets, Viking?"

  Knocking heavily on Jake's front door, he smirks. "Watch and learn, Francesca Walker. Watch. And. Learn."

  Chapter Six

  Luca

  I nod down at the schedule, bottom lip tipped out in approval.

  Ships in the night or some shit. That’s how this works. I’m not avoiding. I’m playing it safe. Forcing a distance to give us a reprieve from suffocating in one another’s space. From being overcome by temptation.

  I know I should just kick her out, stop this fucking soap opera we have going on once and for all. But I can’t do it. One, her dog is cute as fuck. We’re pals. Two, I feel guilty turfing her out on her ass. She’s made is clear her parents’ place is a no-go zone. I, better than anyone get that. So for now, she stays.

  Doesn’t mean I can’t work to avoid her at any given opportunity. I'm working on the concept that 'distance makes the heart grow fonder' (or cock harder, whichever cliché you’re stuck within), is a falsehood. A fairy tale concocted by men and women in long distance relationships trying to pretend their happily ever after is a possibility. Please. Distance does nothing but weaken your bond. It turns your eye to possibilities closer to home. How can someone thousands of miles away ease your loneliness? How can they offer you the soft, comforting caress of a hug when you've had a shitty day? How can they show you they love you through touch, through the affection in the way their body loves yours? How can they wipe away your tears when everything becomes too much? How can they celebrate in your achievements right then, in the moment?

  They can't.

  Someone right here, right now, they're who offers you a warm bed. The comfort of affection when you feel as though you’re standing on a cliff edge by yourself, waiting for the warm touch of another to reassure you that you don't need to fall into the cold, helpless depths of nothing. Because they're there. Where you need them most. With you.

  Keeping my distance from Francesca offers me the premise of inflated memories. Her beauty, her laugh, her smell, fuck, her taste. It's my mind playing tricks on me, amplifying what I seem so hell-bent on wanting to believe. I'm craving intimacy and my mind is deceiving me, duping me to fall into the inescapable trap that she is the only person that can give me what I crave.

  Loneliness is a curse that can cause you to do the most stupid of things. Like, I don't know, fuck a random stranger, bare, in the back corner of a seedy bar. To then tempt you into concluding that that singular moment was one of the greatest in your sorry life. That in that dirty fucking cesspool, you finally felt something. Something real. Something worth chasing. Screw that. Those dreams all lead to heartache.

  I’ve felt loneliness in every sense of the word. That’s how I know which form is the most cataclysmic. The type of emptiness you feel when lonely is the last thing you should be feeling. Because you have someone to share your life with. Yet, while you’re close enough to touch, to reach out and feel the smooth sweep of skin you once held against you with complete adoration, with love. The expanse building between you is so fucking profuse you’d swear worlds were separating you. And you try, fuck do you try to work through that horrible space stretching you apart. To the point you know eventually, you’ll die trying.

  Then comes the painful certainty of your reality. Do you remain in the misery? Keep fighting when you know, in the end, maybe soon, maybe not so soon, you’ll die. Feeling as shitty, if not worse than you have for all these years.

  Or do you let go? Do you give into loneliness and accept that you’re no fucking astronaut? You can’t float between planets hoping that if you succeed in capturing your heart once again that that sinking feeling will be gone? Do you take the gamble on the truth that it will likely never be the same?

  Yeah, that’s the worst kind of loneliness. The one when you’re not really alone. Because you’re supposed to feel loved, cherished, but all you feel is desperate, cold, and abandoned.

  Distance doesn’t make the heart grow fonder, it chips away at the happiness you felt with someone until one day you considered whether it was ever really there. How are you now strangers? When once upon a time you were convinced they were what brought light to your soul?

  I know what I need to do with my feelings toward Francesca Walker. I have people that could grow to be my family. I could one day never fear the feeling of desolation again.

  Breaking her heart would mess with that. More, it’d rip the promise of familial love from the tips of the very fingers I’m using to grasp onto my last hopes with.

  The shrill sound of my cell ringing pulls me from my melancholic thoughts, and I shake my head, disturbing the dark clouds of my own mind. Glancing at the screen, my mood changes without pause, my dejection morphing into a firing feeling of loathing that makes me want to throw my cell across the room. I settle for rejecting the call, turning it off and sliding it into the open drawer of my desk before slamming it shut. Save myself from the twelve more calls to come incessantly after that one.

  I stand, wanting freedom from the four walls of my office. Grabbing the small folder that’s been burning a hole in my desk for days now, I consider, if for only another second before making my decision. Pulling my switched off cell from the drawer, I grab hold of my jacket and keys, hightailing it from the bar.

  My bike roars to life underneath me and a calming sense of freedom courses through my veins. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than riding. Well, maybe one thing… but, inflated memories.

  I take off, the wind fluttering against my jacket and the loose strands of hair peeking from my helmet. This right here, is heaven. The one place in the world there are no constraints. I let my mind find a numbness, a state of nothing where I’m happy just existing.

  My knuckles rap softly on their front door, working to not wake the possibly sleeping baby inside. I hear Ben’s voice before I see him, the quiet rumble as he opens the door, cell caught between his ear and shoulder. The surprise on his face at seeing me is short-lived, a welcoming smile touching his face as he beckons me inside.

  Lifting a finger, he gestures for me to give him a second, and I nod quickly, turning to close the front door behind me. I move around the living space, his voice casting a quiet hum through the house. It’s been a long time since I’ve stepped inside a home. Not just a house. Anyone can have that. Four walls, furniture, maybe a photo here or there. But a home. Built by the family that lives inside. Little touches scattered through the space without purpose.

  A book discarded on the coffee table, put down mid-read. Walls and mantels artfully filled with picture after picture of friends, family. Eméli’s pacifiers and blanket dropped onto the couch with an intention to put away but forgotten about in the madness of having a baby. Children’s books piled next to the playmat decorating the living room floor.

  “Sorry about that.” Bennett walks back into the room, dropping his cell onto the coffee table. “Overly pedantic client, one that thinks they know my job better than I do. Gotta love them.”

  He pauses, glancing to me for a moment before waving off his own wo
rds. “Not that you give a shit, get you a coffee?”

  I nod quietly, following his lead into the kitchen.

  Picking up the stuffed bunny rabbit on the counter, I move its head back and forth as Bennett busies himself making coffee.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate hangin’ out, but there a reason you’re here?” There’s no irritation in his tone, just genuine curiosity, but that’s Ben. He’s likely the most easygoing of Jake’s friends. Laidback, and one of the only ones that doesn’t get drawn into the bullshit between Archer and myself.

  Dropping the bunny back to the counter, I smile at the teasing arch of Ben’s dark brow, taking the coffee on offer.

  “Yeah, looking to see if you have time to do some work for me?”

  Pulling his mug from his lips, he smirks. “Can’t say I’m very talented at tending a bar but could give it a shot if you’re stuck.”

  My quiet laugh breaks along the liquid in my mug, causing small waves of coffee. “Funny.” I roll my eyes. “Space above the bar, I wanna remodel it into a place to live. A loft.”

  His mug pauses midway to his lips, his ears tweaking with interest. “Didn’t realize the space was available.”

  “It is.”

  Dropping his mug to the counter, he nods his head thoughtfully. “Need approval from the owner—”

  “You have it,” I cut him off before he has the chance to speak again.

  He remains quiet for a beat, eyeing me skeptically. “All right. Will need more than your word but definitely something I’d be interested in helping you with.”

  “Own it,” I concede, and I watch his brows furrow in confusion. “The bar. The building. I own it. It’s mine.”