by Nicole Snow
“I have both my parents. I'm lucky. Can't imagine what it's like growing up without a mother.” I'm flirting with fire, oozing sympathy at this tall, dark beast, poking tenderly at his obvious sore spot.
“Quit changing the subject.” He taps my face with his fingertips, reminding me there are some lines better not crossed. “This isn't therapy hour. We're talking about what it's going to take to get you laid.”
“Right, Dr. Jekyll.” I smile, goosebumps peppering my skin. “I think we agreed I'd better wait until I move out. It'll be easier then. Plus I'll find better quality men than any around here. We're way out in the boonies, and the boys in my class aren't really my type.”
“God – yes!” A soft voice rips through the night, louder than before, reaching us from the weeds several yards away.
It doesn't help that most of the guys in my small class are taken. Or busy with girls who are more than happy to be their next piece of rotating meat. I'm not interested.
Luke's smirk grows wider, more like a smile crisp with lemon. “How do you know your type if you've never had one?” His blue gaze intensifies, so hard I can't look away.
“A girl knows,” I tell him. Vague, but true, one more lie hiding my inexperience. “Not sure why my status is so important to you anyway. It's not like you're coming to college with me, standing over my shoulder, and handpicking suitors to bring me bouquets. You can't stop me from making mistakes, Luke. Everybody deserves a chance to stumble, don't they?”
His arm goes around my waist. My eyes flutter shut. All the frustration pours out of me when his fingers graze my side, firm and wanting, reminding me he'll do whatever he pleases. “Robin?”
I open my eyes, surprised he isn't using my nickname. “What?”
“Shut up.” It's not his words, but his kiss that silences me.
Except calling the explosion tearing through my nerves silence is wrong.
It's fire, it's ice, it's rain emptied on the soil after a savage drought lasting years. It's everything my body wants, and everything my brain keeps screaming no to.
It's quintessentially him, Lucus Shaw, mysterious and ever calm. In control. Focused on taking me over.
His lips come at me softly at first, and his tongue does the rest. It flicks out once, parting my lips, sliding into my virgin mouth when it opens for him. He tastes me good and deep, putting his hunger into me.
Just before he breaks away, I moan, and heat rushes to my cheeks. I only realize after the fact I'd started grinding on his knee, poised between my thighs.
“Jesus,” I whimper, as soon as he pulls away. “I thought I was too young for you?”
“Happy fucking birthday, little bird,” he whispers, tipping his forehead into mine. He holds it there, listening to me breathe, lust and want and confusion boiling in my veins.
“What's next, Luke? I don't know what to do.”
“Go home. Get your friends some water and a shower when they stumble in with their hangovers. I'll see you when I'm home from my first flight. Got at least one reason to come back here instead of staying in a hotel.”
He's gone. No hesitation. I can't fathom how he pulls himself away so easily, like it's nothing more than shaking hands.
He's halfway down the path, heading uphill, when he turns back and looks at me in the darkness. I can't see his face, but I know he's smiling.
More than a smirk this time.
He's proud. I'm left happy, breathless, and horny as hell. I kind of want to run after him and punch him in the back of the head, or at least taste his wild lips again.
I don't know what this makes us, if it makes us anything. But it's obvious I won't be leaving the Shaw grounds without experiencing Luke again.
Little bird. That's what he likes to call me, ever since we started having regular encounters in the halls while I'm working, with no time or privacy for anything more than a quick glance and a few words, until tonight.
If only I knew what he really meant with the nickname. Does he want to cage me, or help me fly?
GET BABY FEVER PROMISE!
