Yanked (Frenched #1.5)

by Melanie Harlow

  My smile deepened. “One of my secrets. I can’t tell.”

  “And your skin—I’ll never forget the first time you undressed at my apartment. I’d been trying not to picture you naked all day because I felt so guilty, but then there you were, and you wanted me to touch you.”

  My insides were melting like butter in a hot pan. “Yes, I wanted you to. I’d been wanting your hands on me all night. All day, practically.” Turning onto my left side in order to face him, I placed a palm on his warm stomach and ran it up his chest. Slipped one of my legs between his.

  “It was unbelievable, the feel of your skin next to mine. It still is.” Lucas trailed his hand from my shoulder down my back and over my hip, sending a shiver through my entire body. “And the first time I tasted you. Jesus.”

  I smiled. “You made me scream so loud. Remember?”

  “I love making you scream.”

  I slid my hand to his back to pull myself closer to him. His erection pressed into my thigh and I felt a rush of longing swoosh up my center.

  “And your mouth,” he whispered, bringing his hand to my jaw. “I remembered that time in my apartment, after the museum, when you fell to your knees and put my cock in your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat.” He kissed me softly, his tongue easing between my lips. I stroked it with mine, moving my hand between our legs and sheathing his hard length with my fingers. His body shuddered, and his cock grew thicker as he rocked his hips into my hand.

  “Let me do it again.” I began sliding down his chest, planting a row of kisses from his collarbone to one stiff nipple, which I teased with the tip of my tongue. “I’ve been wanting to.”

  But he grabbed my shoulders. “No, wait. I need to say this.”

  Surprised, I paused what I was doing and looked up at him. “Say what?”

  “That as I was lying here watching you sleep, cataloging every detail about you that I love and remembering all these amazing moments and thanking God that you were here tonight, I realized something. And it hit me like a bullet to the chest.”

  “What?” My own chest had some kind of thunderstorm building inside it.

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  My heart ceased beating altogether. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I don’t want you to leave. Ever. I want to be with you all the time like this. Every day. Every night. And I’m an asshole to let my fears stop us from being together.”

  “So…wait.” Shaking my head, I got to my knees and sat back on my heels. Was he doing my work for me? Was this what I thought it might be? It seemed like too much to hope for. “What exactly are you saying?”

  He sat up and took my hands. “I’m saying what you said yesterday. I want more. I love you and I miss you every day. I lied when I said I was happy with the way things are—I’m not. I want more; I’m just scared.”

  I felt like jumping up and down on the bed, but reined in my excitement. Proceed with caution. You don’t know what he wants yet. “How much more?”

  He hesitated, the question suspended in the air between us, and I almost asked it again before he answered. “Stay with me. Live with me.”

  OK, fuck caution.

  “Yes!” I shouted, throwing my arms around his neck. “Yes, yes, yes!” Swaying from side to side, I breathed in the scent of his skin. Oh my God, I’ll have this around me all the time. “Yes.”

  Laughing, Lucas wrapped his arms around my waist and held me close.

  “Sorry. I can’t seem to think of any other word.”

  He squeezed me. “It’s OK. I always love to hear you say yes.”

  Breathless, I sat back on my heels again and took his hands. “You said you’re scared. What are you scared of?”

  “Lots of things. For one, I’m scared of marriage. You know that. I saw what it did to my dad when my mom left. And words like forever, eternity, till death do us part…” He shook his head. “Are they realistic? I mean, maybe they are, I don’t know. Right now it feels like we’ll be in love forever, and I hope we are, but marriage scares the shit out of me. I’ve seen it ruin solid relationships. That’s why I’ve always been up front about my position. You say you’re OK with it, but what if you change your mind and leave me for someone who wants that piece of paper?”

  I dropped his hands. “Don’t compare me to Jessica.”

  “I’m not, Mia—I swear, I’m not.” He picked them up again, stroking my wrists with his thumbs. “Listen. You’re so different. You scare me way more than she ever did. When she left, I felt bad, but never once did I think I wouldn’t meet someone else, someone I’d love more. Someone who gets me the way you do, who loves me like you do. Someone who lets me love her the way I want to—all the ways I want to.”

  Whoosh.

  Heat flashed through me thinking about all his ways. Damn I loved his ways.

  “I think that’s what makes taking the next step so hard for me—it’s not that I don’t love you enough to make a bigger commitment. It’s that I’m afraid I won’t measure up, you’ll find someone who does, and I’ll never find anyone as amazing as you.”

  I shook my head. “What?”

  “You’ve had this idea in your head of the perfect man for so long. I bet he didn’t look like me, sound like me, or act like me. I’ve been putting off admitting—even to myself—that I want to live together because I’m hiding this fear that once you’re with me all the time, you’ll realize that I’m not what you want. I guess, in the back of my mind, I felt like it was safer to keep you at a distance. But now I’m all messed up, because I love you too much to keep you at a distance any longer.” He exhaled, leaning back against the headboard. “Fuck, it feels good to say this stuff out loud.”

  I scooted closer to him. “Lucas, I’m scared too. My life has taken this crazy turn in the last year and nothing looks like I thought it would. I’m not where I thought I’d be. And no, you are not who I pictured when I fantasized about my perfect husband. Or the perfect wedding, the perfect home, the perfect family.”

  He blinked. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Yes. Let me finish.” I pulled back the sheet—holy crap, I’d almost forgotten we were naked—and straddled his hips. “What I’m trying to say is, there’s no perfect life without you. In fact, I no longer dream about a “perfect” life. I only dream about a life with you.”

  Lucas sat up and kissed me hard, threading his fingers through my hair. “I dream about a life with you too. I want to make you happy, Mia. And if a ring means that much to you—”

  I stopped him with two fingers over his lips. “I don’t need a ring right now, Lucas. I don’t need a marriage certificate. I don’t even need you to promise I’ll get those things in the future—right now, I’m happy just to hear you say you want a life with me. We can take that life one day at a time and see where it leads us.”

  He kissed me again, and as he moved his lips over mine, his hands cradling my head, I realized the words I’d just said were true. I’d come here with a question about what our future would look like, but Lucas’s mind worked differently than mine. He didn’t know what the future looked like; he just knew he wanted to build one with me. He’d even been willing to put a ring on my finger to reassure me of his commitment.

  But surprisingly, I didn’t want that—not now, anyway.

  If and when he ever proposed, I wanted the question to come from a place other than fear.

  “Let’s be fearless, Lucas,” I murmured, running my hands up his chest. Blood was surging through my veins, and I felt more alive, more exhilarated, more aroused than I’d ever felt before. Not in a purely sexual way—although his cock was hardening beneath me, and my body was sizzling in all the right places—but in all ways, as if there were cells in my body that had lain dormant, and now they were awake, alert, electrified.

  “God, I love you.” He kissed his way across my jaw and down my throat. “But I do have one deadline I’d like to meet.”

  I tilted
my head, arching my neck like a swan as his tongue danced over my skin. “What’s that?”

  “You need number three before the sun rises.”

  “Trust me, love, that won’t be a problem.” I rocked my hips over his, gliding along his thick shaft. “I don’t know if it’s your body or the conversation, but I am so fucking turned on right now.”

  “I hope it’s both, but guess what—conversation over.” Reaching between us, Lucas positioned his hard flesh between my legs, where I was already wet and aching for him. I lifted myself up and took his cock from his hand, rubbing the tip on my tingling clit before easing it inside me. I loved to watch him when I slid down his flesh like this, taking the time to savor every inch. Loved the catch of his breath, the rigid set of his jaw. With my hands on his shoulders, I leaned forward and kissed his lips lightly, teasing them open. He inhaled through his teeth as I finally lowered all my weight onto his hips, taking his cock to the deepest hidden place inside me.

  “Mmmm,” I purred, writhing above him. “I love being on top.”

  “Oh, fuck.” Closing his eyes, he ran his hands up my thighs. “I love you on top too, because I can watch you move.” He looked at me again, a warning in his eye. “But you have to go slow.”

  Raising my eyebrows, I took my hands from his shoulders and lifted my hair up, piling it on my head, keeping it pinned there with my hands. Then I circled my hips, slowly and sensually. “Slow like this?”

  “Oh, you’re such a bitch.” He groaned, his fingers digging into my leg muscles. “Fine, go ahead. Put on your little show. But when you move like that, you know I can’t control myself.”

  “You want a show?” I teased, letting my hair fall. “I’ll give you a show.”

  Bringing my hands to my breasts, I snaked my body above his, letting the movement roll through me like waves from shoulder to hip. Lucas’s mouth dropped open as I played with my nipples. “You like that?”

  “Yeah. God, I love that.” He sat up taller, away from the headboard, and brought his mouth to one breast, licking a circle around one hard nipple. I took his head in my hands and watched, gasping when he took the pebbled peak into his mouth, sucking long and hard. Jesus, that feels good. I moved my hips, tiny little thrusts that had my walls tightening around him within a minute.

  “Move down,” I demanded. “Now.”

  For a second I thought he might take offense to being bossed around like that during sex but to my immense relief, he slid onto his back, breathing hard. He’s just as close. He wants it as badly as I do. Falling forward, I held onto the headboard and let my hair graze his chest as I moved over him, grinding my clit against the base of his cock. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you like this all day,” I said, riding him harder with every word. “And it feels so good to get you right where I want you.”

  “Oh my God.” Lucas grabbed my hips and held me tight to his body as I thrashed above him. “You’re gonna make me come so hard. You want it?”

  “Yes, I want it. Now. Now!” A anguished cry escaped my lips as I felt him begin to throb inside me, flooding my pussy with liquid heat. Each pulse of his cock tossed me higher, pulled me tighter, pushed me closer, until finally I barreled right over the edge of Now, sailed off the cliff of Yes Yes Yes, and drowned in a sea of Oh My Fucking God.

  “So.” Lucas sat back in the booth of the little diner we’d chosen for breakfast. “Now that we’ve decided to cohabitate, we need to tackle some big questions.”

  “Agreed.” I sipped hot black coffee from a thick handled mug, the best coffee in the entire world, as far as I was concerned. Was it possible to feel happier than I did at that moment? Ever since last night, I’d been wired, filled with an insanely joyful energy that seemed to feed on itself, multiplying every time good things happened.

  And a lot of good things had happened.

  In addition to Lucas being the one to suggest living together, Coco had texted that the DAC was available on Karen White’s chosen date and she was already moving forward on the details, my mother had left a voicemail that she had decided to stay in a hotel rather than my condo when she visited me next month (I love my mother, but we get along much better when we don’t share a roof), and best of all, Jessica was gone.

  When Lucas checked his phone this morning, she’d already left him a message saying that she was accepting a job on a cruise ship and would be staying at a hotel until she left the following week. He’d wanted to call her back and demand an explanation for her behavior in the bathroom, force her to admit she’d lied and make her apologize to me, but I told him to forget it. I had everything I wanted, and I didn’t need her flimsy excuses or phony apology. And the cruise ship job? How fucking perfect.

  Bon voyage, Little Mermaid.

  “Number one,” Lucas went on. “Where are we going to live?”

  “Well, what are the choices?”

  “New York? Detroit?”

  “Paris?” I said wistfully.

  His eyes smiled at me over the rim of his cup. “You want to move to Paris?” Setting down his coffee, he looked at me thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t be able to work there unless you got a permit, which is next to impossible to get.”

  “Oh.” I wrinkled my nose. “Work. I forgot about that.”

  Lucas laughed. “We can visit though. Any time you want, once school is out in May. Actually I have a week off in March too, which I was planning to use to come see you in Detroit, but Paris is nice in March, too. We can go then.”

  Clapping my hands like an excited toddler, I squealed. “Can we really?”

  “Sure. But that’s not helping us decide where to live.”

  “Right.” I leaned back as the waitress served our plates full of eggs, toast, potatoes, and bacon. “Should we flip a coin?”

  Lucas choked on his coffee and set it down so abruptly it sloshed over the side. “Flip a coin! To decide where to live? Who are you and what have you done with my Mia?” I laughed as he went on. “Don’t you want to make a list or something? Pros and cons of each city? Compare and contrast the cost of living? Check some kind of Happiness Index?”

  I wadded up my napkin and threw it at him. “Ha, ha. No. Actually,” I continued, picking up a forkful of my Greek Omelette, “I’m being honest when I say I could be happy anywhere with you. I do have a business in Detroit, so I have to think about that. Coco and I started it together, and while I think she could run it on her own, maybe with help, it would be hard for me to up and leave.”

  “Hmm.” Lucas used my napkin to mop up the coffee he’d spilled. “And I have a teaching position here, but my graduate work is done. I could look for another position somewhere else. Or…” Taking a bite of toast, he chewed for a moment before going on. “Or I could do something completely different.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about opening up my own place.”

  “What kind of place?”

  “A bar, but not the usual corner hangout or even the average cocktail or wine bar. Something a little different.”

  I bit into a strip of bacon. “Talk to me.”

  “Well, the Count recently invested in an old distillery not far from the villa, and they’re producing absinthe, which is now legal to import to the US again.”

  “I’m liking this story already.” The Count was an actual French aristocrat who owned a beautiful villa and vineyard in Provence, which I’d visited with Lucas last year. He was formerly married to Lucas’s ex-movie star French mother, and he was father to both Lucas’s half-brothers, although it turned out he preferred men. His longtime partner Henry ran the vineyard, and in a strange circle of friendship that made my head spin, all parties got along fairly well. Lucas’s mother Mireille and her current husband (also not Lucas’s father) often vacationed at the villa, and I’d met them all when I was there. “Go on.”

  “The product they’re making is the real deal. Authentic nineteenth century recipe, high-quality botanicals grown in the Loire Valley, and it’s en
tirely hand-crafted at their distillery using historically accurate methods. Nothing industrial or synthetic added.”

  “Wow. But can they do that? I mean wasn’t the original absinthe the stuff that made you see green fairies or pink elephants or whatever?”

  “That’s actually a myth. Absinthe will make you drunk if you over serve yourself, but it won’t make you crazy. And you’re not really supposed to get drunk on it—it’s not like beer or wine or even vodka, where you sit around drowning in it all night.” He grimaced. “This is why I don’t know that my idea will fly with Americans.”

  I made a face too. “Give some of us a little credit. What’s your idea—import it?”

  “It’s already being imported, but the audience for it is still growing. It’s expensive, because of the ingredients and methods used to make it, but it appeals to the upscale market, people with discriminating taste who don’t mind paying more to have the real thing.”

  “So what would you do with it?”

  “I was thinking of opening an absinthe bar in the French style, but it would also serve other craft cocktails. Something totally different than The Beaver,” he said, naming his brother’s sports bar in Paris where we’d met.

  “Hey.” I held up a warning finger. “Don’t beat on The Beaver.”

  Lucas’s mouth hooked up on one side, but I could tell he wanted me to take this seriously. Last summer in Paris he’d mentioned that one thing he thought he might do in the future was open a bar, maybe in Paris, maybe in New York, but he wasn’t anywhere near as committed to the plan as he sounded now. “Nothing wrong with The Beaver. I love that place. But this would be something else—smaller, more intimate, more expensive, but more exacting in terms of what I’d serve.”

  “I like it. Actually it sounds kind of like The Sugar House in Detroit—remember we went there for a drink one night? They do craft cocktails too.”

  “I do remember. And that place has been in the back of my mind ever since. My place would be sort of like that, but with more emphasis on absinthe. I’d serve it the traditional French way and use it in other cocktails too.”