"Adorable, actually," he says, looking down at me, his voice low.
"Adorable. Like a puppy." People don’t see me as cute. Men don't see me as cute. Or adorable, which seems exponentially cuter than cute. Competent. Capable. Bitchy, even. That's how men see me.
"That's not exactly what I was thinking," he says, his voice soft.
"Oh?" I ask, barely choking out the word. "What were you thinking?" My voice cracks mid-syllable, and I swallow hard. My body feels wired, goose bumps dotting my skin even though Luke hasn't even touched me, every inch of me tingling with the anticipation of his touch.
And then he does it. He touches me.
He reaches out and slides his hand to the nape of my neck, pulling me against him in one swift movement before I can even react. A small moan escapes my lips before he covers my mouth with his, and I can't do anything except melt into him. He kisses me, full and hard, his tongue finding mine like a long-lost lover.
Most first kisses are awkward, at least the ones I've had. They're tentative, hesitant, two people who don't know each other, finding each other.
Not this kiss. This kiss isn't the least little bit awkward. It's familiar, as if Luke's lips were always meant to be pressed against mine.
That thought shakes me to my core. I pull away from Luke, touching my fingers to my lips, the lips he just kissed. "I – " I struggle to get the word out. Me, the one who's never been at a loss for words. "I – I'm sorry."
The corners of Luke's mouth turn up. "I'm not."
I need some distance between us. I need space. Being near him, touching him, breathing in his scent, looking into his eyes… it all has the effect of making me dizzy, unable to think clearly. I need to be levelheaded. Mature. I'm not someone who loses herself in a kiss, a look, a touch. I'm a businesswoman. A mother. "I – that – shouldn't have happened."
"You're so full of shit," he says, and the language catches me off-guard.
"What?" I bristle at his tone. "I'm your boss. I'm–"
The door opens, and Mary walks back inside, looking hesitatingly back and forth between us. "I just needed – "
I clear my throat again. "No worries, Mary. I'm actually on my way back up to the house." I don't hesitate before turning around and walking back to the house, my lips still throbbing from Luke's kiss.
Luke is behind me on the way back to the house. I know he is, but I walk faster, as if by ignoring him he will disappear. I don't know what to say to him. I'm mortified that I lost control, embarrassed that I let myself kiss him. I should have remained professional. I shouldn't be fantasizing about how his hands would feel roaming my body.
There are a lot of shouldn'ts with Luke. Everything about him is one giant should not.
I pause, my hand on the doorknob, while Luke stands behind me, not daring to turn around and look at him. If I do, if I see the way he looks at me and that hunger in his eyes, my resolve will be completely and utterly washed away.
So I don't turn around. I stand there, with my hand on the doorknob, not turning it because I'm torn between desire and being appropriate.
If there's one thing in my life I've always been, it's appropriate. I studied hard, got good grades, and went to the right schools. I married the right man, the one who looked good on paper, the one I thought would be an asset to my father's company. So what if the chemistry was non-existent? I told myself. It was something that would develop over time.
Except that I got absolutely everything wrong with Edward. He was the wrong man in every way.
"Why are you running, Red?" Luke asks. His voice rumbles low under his breath.
I don't turn around. Instead, I lie. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm going into my house because I have work to do. No one's running anywhere."
When he steps closer to me, the air changes between us, causing goose bumps to flit over my skin, up my arms and shoulders, across my back. "Why are you lying, Red? Are you really going to tell me you felt nothing back there?"
"It was just a kiss, Luke," I whisper. "One that shouldn't have happened at all."
"Just a kiss," he says softly. His breath wafts over the back of my neck, and I close my eyes. I want him to touch me. I want to feel the weight of his hands on my shoulders, sliding down my arms, over my breasts, to my waist. And lower.
"Yes." The word comes out like a gasp. "It was just a kiss. That's all."
"That's why you can't turn around and look at me right now, Red. Because that kiss was no big deal."
My hand is on the doorknob, and I stare at it, trying desperately to communicate the message to my muscles that my brain seems intent on not sending. Open the damn door, let yourself into the house, and shut him out. Go back to burying yourself in work, to being a mother and nothing more.
But my hand doesn't move. Instead, Luke's hand covers mine, his lips on my ear. "That's why you're standing here with your hand on the door, not moving," he whispers. "Because you didn't feel a damn thing when I kissed you."
"Luke," I begin to protest, but the sensation of his breath on my neck makes me practically writhe with anticipation. Heat pools between my legs and I want to give in. I want to do something wild and reckless and uncharacteristically out of control.
"Where's Olivia?" Luke asks softly.
"Toddler music class," I answer. "She goes to class with Greta, and then they go to the park."
"Toddler music class," Luke repeats, his hand unmoving. His lips brush the side of my neck, and I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning. It's been so long since I've been with anyone that Luke's touch feels so good, it's almost painful. "That's a real thing?"
"It's a real thing." I’m barely able to focus. "I mean, they basically run around and listen to kids' songs and…" My voice trails off. I know I'm babbling, the most nervous I've been in years, more so than any business meeting has ever made me. Why does Luke make me so nervous?
"Open the door," Luke whispers, his voice low. "Now."
"I'm not sure we should – "
He moves his hand from mine, places his hands on my waist, and presses his hardness against my ass. Suddenly, I can't think of anything except what he would feel like inside me. "Open the door, because we both know you want me."
I choke out a laugh. "Shit, you're full of yourself."
But I open the door. And the second we step inside, Luke shuts it, slamming me hard against it before reaching up to turn the lock. He slides his hand under my shirt, the movement furious, cupping my breast, his finger finding its way under the fabric of my bra. My nipple hardens immediately to his touch, and he smiles as he watches me writhe under him. It's exquisite pleasure when he touches me, and he knows it.
"Full of myself?" he asks, his lips so close to mine they're nearly touching. I want to feel his lips again. I ache for him to kiss me.
"Full of yourself," I agree, my words catching in my throat. "Yes. Exactly. Definitely full of yourself."
"You'd love to be… full of me," he says, grinning as he thumbs my nipple, and I think I might come from the sensation alone.
"You're juvenile," I say, and he slides his hand from my shirt. For a second, I think he's taken it away, a reaction to me insulting him, but he reaches lower to my waistband, flicking open the button of my pants with a single, obviously well-practiced motion. He yanks my jeans over my hips and slips his hand down the front of my panties before I can even register what he's doing.
When I do realize, I put my hand against his chest, halfheartedly intending to push him away, to tell him I can't possibly do something like this – and up against the front door of my house, no less – but then he's sliding his fingers over my clit, and the sensation that ricochets through my body nearly makes my knees buckle. I have to cling to the fabric of his shirt to even stay upright.
"Juvenile." His mouth is close to mine. "Tell me you still think I'm fucking juvenile now, Red."
He rolls his fingers over my clit, stroking me until my brain is entirely enveloped in a fog of need an
d desire, until I can't possibly think clearly.
"I – " I start, but I stop myself. I can't remember why I was objecting before.
"What, Red?" he whispers. His eyes are trained on mine as he slips his fingers lower. "You're so fucking wet, so fucking hot for me right now. I'll bet your pussy is throbbing for me. Just admit it. Say it for me."
When he presses his fingers against me, I inhale sharply. "I am," I agree, my voice barely audible. "I'm so… wet."
Luke groans loudly, bringing his mouth down on mine as he plunges two fingers inside me in one swift movement. His other hand comes around the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, gripping the roots, pulling me into him. He kisses me like he owns me, dominant and possessive, in a way no one's ever kissed me before.
And what he does with his fingers inside me, the way he strokes me, isn't like anyone's ever touched me before. He plays me with his fingers like he already knows me, and every part of my body feels alive, positively buzzing with electricity.
When he pulls his lips away from mine, his eyes are filled with lust. "I've wanted this since I first saw you," he says, his fingers still working their magic inside me.
I reach for the button on his pants, but he just laughs.
"Not so fast," he growls. "First, I'm going to make you come right here on my fingers, right in the doorway of your house. Then, I'm going to rip those jeans right off you, and lick you until you come again on my tongue. Then, and only then, do you have permission to reach for my cock."
"I have permission?" I ask, the question punctuated by short breaths, gasps I can't help as Luke presses his fingertips inside me, against the place that sends me hurtling closer to the edge. "You're so… fucking… arrogant…"
Luke just grins. "You heard what I said. Permission," he repeats. "And I'm not arrogant. I just know what I want."
He continues to stroke me, bringing me higher and higher, and I cling to him, desperately wanting to reach out and undo the button of his jeans, to wrap my hand around his cock. I can see it, his hardness clearly outlined, pressing against the fabric of his jeans, and the sight nearly pushes me over the edge.
"You're… so… fuck…" I want to tell him how cocky he is, how ridiculous… I want to tell him that no one has ever spoken to me like this, told me exactly what he plans to do to me. But I can't put anything into words when this ridiculously arrogant man has his fingers buried so deeply inside me.
I can't think clearly when this man makes me drunk with lust, shutting off the rational part of my brain, the part of me that makes smart decisions.
Decisions that are exactly the opposite of this one.
Then Luke whispers into my ear. "You fucking love it, Red," he says. "It was written all over you, from the first day I saw you. You wanted me from the second you laid eyes on me, too. You just like denying it. But I know you've been wet between your legs for me."
"That's… oh, God… not… true."
Luke pauses, unmoving, and I moan, the sound needy, unable to help myself. "Are you saying you want me to stop, Red?"
Do I want him to stop?
I should want him to stop. He's immature, young, reckless. I don't do spontaneous. I don't have one-night-stands. And I certainly don't let a guy a decade younger than me rip my jeans down my thighs and finger me in broad daylight in the doorway of my house.
But I look into the eyes of the man who's doing exactly that, and I don't want him to stop. "No," I finally answer, the word barely more than a whisper.
But he doesn't move, doesn't give me the release I crave. "Sorry, Red. I'm not sure I heard you."
I swear my knees are about to buckle under the weight of my neediness. "No," I say. "I do… not… want you to stop."
Luke chuckles, pressing hard against that spot inside me, the one that makes me moan. "That's better," he says. "Now, sweetheart, I want you to come for me, because I've been dying to put my tongue between your legs since the first time I saw you, and I don’t think I can wait much longer.”
He covers my mouth with his before I can even react, stroking me harder, and the combination of everything overwhelms my senses. I come with blinding intensity, clinging to him as my touchstone when I crash over the edge, my moan muted by his mouth.
When he pulls back, he gives me a look that’s so self-satisfied, so damn pleased with himself that I’d slap the smirk off his face if he weren’t so sexy. Then he squats down and yanks my jeans down my legs in one swift pull and looks up at me, his eyebrows raised. “Pants off,” he orders. “Now.”
11
Luke
She doesn't argue, doesn't open that smart fucking mouth of hers, that damned self-assured smartass mouth that inexplicably makes me so hard, ready to bend her over and fuck her at a moment's notice.
And that is exactly what I want to do now. I want this girl on her knees, her sweet lips wrapped around my cock. I want to bend her over, put her palms against the door, and thrust my cock inside her. I want to yank her hair, feel her tighten around me, hear her call my name when she comes, the way I know she wants to.
I want this girl in every way possible.
I want to claim her.
I want to own her.
The thoughts pop into my head and I force them away – especially the last one. It’s a stupid fucking thought, one I’ve never had about anyone before. And I don’t spin her around. I don’t put her palms against the door. I don’t bend her over or smack her ass while I thrust inside her.
Yet.
She looks down at me, face flushed, lips plumped and swollen from mine being pressed against them, her breasts heaving as she gasps, and I know by the expression on her face that no one has made her come like that before.
That makes me want to take my time with her.
I slide my hands up her legs around her thighs until I reach the sides of her panties. Her hands go automatically to them, as if she’s trying to keep them on self-consciously, which makes her somehow more endearing.
I wasn’t lying when I told her I’d been thinking about the way she would taste since the second I saw her. Since I first looked at her, I’ve been thinking about how her face would look when she let go of the prim-and-proper bullshit and finally came on me.
Grasping the edge of her panties, I tear the shit off her before she can protest. She squeals – literally squeals – which just makes me want to do it again. "Luke!"
"What?" I ask. "Were you attached to those?"
I toss them, watching as they land perfectly in one of the bowls she has perched on a table in the entryway, this wooden decorative bowl that holds her keys and her sunglasses.
Now it holds her panties, too.
Kneeling between her legs, I spread her thighs apart with my hands, my thumbs grazing her pussy lips. She's freshly waxed and groomed, and I realize that’s for me. Despite all of her protesting, she’s wanted this. She’s anticipated it.
Shit, I could come right here and now at the thought of that.
"What?" She looks down at me, her voice breathy. "You're making me nervous."
“Nothing. You’re just hot as hell.”
Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. “No one’s told me that in a long time.”
My hands on her thighs, I lean closer to her, inhaling her scent. I want to drink her in. “The men you’ve been around must be fucking blind.”
She moans before I even touch the tip of my tongue to her pussy, and it spurs me on. I lick the length of her, slowly, trailing my tongue along her until I reach her clit. When I take her clit into my mouth, sucking it, she leans against the door, watching me with hooded eyes. All I can think about is what those eyes would look like as she comes.
Her fingers run along the back of my head, and she moans my name as I lick her, her breath coming shorter and shorter as I fuck her with my tongue. She’s whispering my name over and over like it’s come kind of mantra – until she stops, this time saying it with a hint of alarm in her voice: “Luke!”
&nb
sp; I look up at her, not stopping until she says it again. “Shit. Luke! The nanny is back early. She’s pulling in the driveway. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
And just like that, she’s pushing me away, scrambling for her jeans and grabbing the rumpled clothing from the floor. “Luke,” she says. “Shit. I have to put clothes on. You. What are we doing with you?”
“Well, a half-second ago, you were about to come on my tongue.”
Her face goes scarlet, and she looks like she’s about to break into a run, the lower half of her body naked. “Oh, shit. I mean, there’s a bathroom downstairs for you to clean up. Oh, God.”
She’s darting upstairs before I can tell her she left her torn panties in the bowl on the entryway table. I slip them into my back pocket before the door swings open.
Greta, the nanny, stands there with Olivia on her hip, her eyes going wide. “Oh! Luke… I didn’t know anyone was home. We came home early instead of going to the park because it looked like it was going to rain. Autumn is usually out in the – “
“Usually what?” Autumn’s voice comes from behind me, and she passes me without a second glance, scooping Olivia up in her arms. “Hey, my little baby. Did you have fun?”
“We sang lots of songs,” the nanny tells her.
“Mr. Saint was just giving me some ideas for the reorganization of the orchard to increase efficiency of the crop,” Autumn says quickly.
“Efficiency,” I agree, stifling the pang of irritation that runs through me. The way she avoids eye contact with me makes me feel like she’s ashamed of what happened, and for whatever reason, that annoys me.
“Are you staying for lunch, Mr. Saint?” asks the nanny.
Autumn clears her throat. “I think he probably has a lot of work to do,” she says, interrupting me before I can speak.
“Yeah.” I’m annoyed that she just interrupted me, like she’s afraid of what I’m going to say or something. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Work that I’m basically doing for her as a favor. I don’t need this job.
I don’t know why I’m so annoyed that she just brushed me off, but I am.
Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance Page 69
