We seemed to have rushed here in a frenzy, almost afraid that either one of us would turn back. But now that we both realize that we won’t, we begin to wind down, falling into a relaxed routine that belies the fervor that simmers beneath our skin.
It’s the fervor of a fever—a fever that follows wherever Lukas goes.
He spreads it with his presence, with his eyes and his hands.
And like any other normal, functioning woman, I am neither resistant nor immune.
I watched his presence plague every woman in that restaurant—watched as their eyes followed him against their will.
He yields a power that he doesn’t understand—that I don’t even understand. I just know it when I feel it.
Like right now.
He asks me questions while I nibble on frosting. I think I answer them. Can’t say for sure… The sudden heat under my collar makes it impossible to concentrate.
Damn fever.
I break the deepening silence, letting my eyes roam around the room.
“This place isn’t like you,” I tell him.
His eyes start to smolder. “How do you figure that?”
“There’s more warmth in your eyes than in these walls. And that’s saying something… considering how much of an ice-cold bastard you are.”
I grin behind my cherry.
Lukas starts to round the counter. The air gets thin in the room.
“Is that how you think of me?” he asks, sauntering towards me. “As an ice-cold bastard?”
I shrug with more nonchalance than I feel.
“Bastard, yes. Ice-cold…?” I let the statement linger.
When he stops two feet away from me, I shake my head up at him. “No, not ice-cold.”
His smile is as white as his collared shirt. His eyes focus on my naked collarbone before his expression drops.
He reaches a thumb toward me. “Looks like someone in here is not ice-cold at all… You’re sweating.”
He brushes the pad of his thumb at the base of my neck. I flinch when his finger lands.
His skin isn’t just warm; it’s hot, the heat radiating off of his fingers in waves.
Yup. Definitely not ice-cold.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Everything about him seems to send shock waves through my system. I stare numbly as he withdraws his hand, rubbing the sweat from my body between his fingers.
God help me, don’t let him snap those fingers. I’m a practically panting German Shepard over here, ready to take orders.
Elena, siiiiiit. Good girl! Here’s a treat. Would you like a bone…?
I stand up abruptly, flipping my cupcake face-down.
Lukas reaches out.
“You ok?”
“Yeah, su… no, everyth… I’m fine.” I clear my throat soundly.
“Do you have a bathroom where I can take a shower? I’m all hot and sweaty. I need to get out of these clothes.”
I regret the words the instant they slip through my teeth, biting down hard on my lip as if to contain what has already been spoken.
But it’s too late.
I catch the flash of recognition in Lukas’s eyes and he straightens up, inching across the massive kitchen counters without a word.
Before I know it, Lukas is wordlessly standing right before me—between my thighs, and I let my eyes take their greedy fill of him for the first time all night.
The urgency has returned, and all the patience that I felt not one minute ago has been thrown out of the window—replaced by a hunger that surpasses any physical reaction that I’ve ever known.
I’ve never wanted a man in this way.
I want his pleasure. I want his punishment.
I want it all.
It’s his special brand of reprimand—the kind that turns my surprised yelps into guttural moans.
That kind that makes me feel simultaneously sore and satiated.
A delicious pain. An addicting pain.
I crave it.
And Lukas can deliver it like no man I’ve ever known.
His hand creeps slowly under my jaw, tightening as he lowers his fingers. He grips the side of my neck.
Gently but insistently.
It is a possessive clutch, one that says “mine” without breathing a single word.
I answer the command with my body. I spread my legs.
Yes, Lukas. Yours.
At my submission, that fire in Lukas—that quickened inferno that exploded in Roman candle-style the night that we met—is set ablaze.
He tightens his hold on me, placing his other hand up under my chin to pull me into him.
And we perform, what in most cultures would be considered, a kiss—but it is unlike any embrace that I have ever known.
It cannot be described by any word that signifies “desire.” To say that he possesses my mouth would be an understatement.
Lukas devours my kiss, fueling a flame in me that can’t be quenched, making every part of my body come alive.
His hands roam down my collar to cup my heavy breasts, his thumbs pressing and rubbing insistently through the thickly-lined silk that lies there.
Rubbing. Teasing. Needling.
He smiles against my lips before dropping his mouth to the dip at my neck.
I groan when he bites it, not noticing that his hands have lowered even further and are now making their way up and inside of my conservative black skirt.
My inhale is sharp when he slides a finger across my naked slit.
“No underwear? Fuck, Elena—what are you trying to do to me?”
I try to gasp out the words, barely breathing as his thumbs continue encircling the sensitive nub below my waist that stands at attention.
“I had to rush… earlier, and then… I…”
He keeps kissing my collar, speaking the words into my neck. I feel him grin.
“You know, I’m starting to think you enjoy punishment…”
And he’s right. He’s so fucking right.
But do I let him know it?
“That’s what you think I want?” I breathe out.
“It’s not what I think you want,” Lukas rumbles deeply. “It’s what I know you do.”
“I know what it’s like for you… You go to sleep at night and wake up with a throb between your legs. When you daydream, you hear a voice in your ear that’s not there…
“You find yourself craving… something you can’t explain. Something you won’t even admit to yourself…
“I know how you feel, love, because I feel it, too.
“Doesn’t make sense, does it? To want something so maddening?”
I find my voice—exhaling.
“You start to think you’re going crazy…”I say.
“But the curiosity is killing you,” he finishes.
Lukas practically hums into my skin.
“It doesn’t have to make sense… No rules, Elena. No rules.”
As he speaks the words, he inhales harshly, bringing his face to mine.
But he doesn’t kiss me again.
He pulls suddenly at the buttons on my blouse, ripping them at the chest.
And suddenly we are in a race to remove our clothes, pushing and pulling at anything that has a button or zipper.
But we don’t even make it completely out of our outfits; we are still half-clothed as we meld into one, fucking shamelessly on the kitchen counter as our shirts hang off of us in tatters.
“Elena…”
Lukas breathes my name, sliding my bare ass across the granite and onto his cock as he pounds into my wetness.
I clutch at every inch of his skin I can find, digging my teeth and nails into the exposed parts of his powerful shoulders.
My moans are muffled echoes as he picks up pace, placing my thighs in his hands as he slides back and forth.
“God, the only thing better than the way you taste is the way you feel,” he groans into my ear.
He entangles a hand in my hair, bringing my face to his.
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“And I don’t share, baby. Your pussy is mine.”
I try to respond; I want to explain tonight’s “date,” but it’s too late.
My voice is already screaming “yes,” telling Lukas whatever he wants to hear—whatever will maintain this sweet torture.
And I can’t stop.
I couldn’t stop myself from coming if I tried. I climax, feeling Lukas thicken inside of me as he nears his orgasm. I brace myself.
But he doesn’t reach it.
He pulls back, slowing the tempo as my body slips back down from its unbelievable high.
He continues to carry the weight of my wilting body, holding me upright, as I lay draped across his limbs.
He grabs for my face, pulling his lips to mine, reviving me with his kiss.
“I love the way your pussy feels,” he tells me, withdrawing slowly from my mouth. “And I have missed it, baby.”
He stares into my face, piercing me with a blazing green gaze.
“And I’ve missed this,” I reply humbly. “More than you know.”
“Good… because it’s not over yet.”
With my skirt hiked up and my legs straddling him, Lukas swings me from the counters to the wall, pushing me up against it while he bounces my aching body up and down on his perfect cock.
In and out. Back and forth.
I place my hands above my head, letting my cries ring loudly throughout the open kitchen.
His mouth trails towards my breasts, biting softly through my bra, soaking the white fabric at my nipples.
With every thrust, he slaps a bare hand across my ass, quickening his slow, steady strokes into a frenzy.
I hold onto his strong shoulders, soaking up every sensation along the ride.
Lukas fills me to the very brim. My orgasm is waiting for me on the other side.
I come again.
Fiercely.
And just when I think he’s done—when I think that my body cannot take any more pleasure, he surprises me—adding another title to his list of many.
Master of surprises.
Gorgeous bastard.
Owner of my pussy.
Lukas Griffin.
After him, I can never look at sex the same way again.
He turns me back to the granite-tops, flipping me over the counter.
I moan in utter abandonment as he enters me from behind.
“Lukas!” I cry.
He bends over me, whispering harshly into my ear. His words slip out on a partial groan, and I nearly climax when I hear them.
“You know, Elena… there’s nothing I love more than the sound of my name on your tongue.
“There are so many things of mine that I love on your tongue, baby…”
With a kiss to my shoulder, Lukas continues to pound perfectly into my willing body, and I fade gloriously out, slipping into a blissful oblivion.
***
The sound of footsteps stirs me from my temporary coma.
Consciousness has never felt so unwelcome.
I wake up from a glorious haze of after-sex, and when I come to, I dazedly awake to a clock chiming midnight and a half-naked Lukas.
His white button-down shirt lays crumpled at his feet; his unbuttoned pants hang loosely at his hips.
And me?
I am in complete disarray. My hair sits strewn across my head, and my limbs lie splayed across a black couch.
Did we fuck here as well? I can’t even remember.
All I can remember is the sensation of heat.
Hot. Sticky. Sweet.
I moan into the fabric of the couch, recalling the feel of Lukas’s skin against me.
I try to bask in the glow of those sensations… but the heat I feel now is unbearable.
It’s too hot.
I turn over to find a blanket on my shoulders. Lukas’s doing, of course.
He stands above me, smirking at my obvious discomfort.
“Hot?” he asks.
“You have no idea.”
He reaches down, removing the blanket from my body.
“I’m sorry I interrupted before you could shower.”
He grins wider.
“Yeah, you look sorry,” I quip.
At that, he laughs, warm and rich. Lukas leans into me, his hand heading for a bead of sweat near my brow.
I stop him.
That’s how we got into this mess in the first place.
I’d go for round two, but I don’t think I could survive it.
I’m a wreck, and Lukas, to me, looks better than when we started.
I’ve got to have a minute away from him.
“Ok, I definitely need that shower now,” I state, standing up.
He kisses my fingers. “I figured. My bathroom…”
“Guest bathroom,” I interrupt pointedly.
I expect a protest from Lukas, but find a smile instead.
He grins slowly at me, pointing over my shoulder.
“Yeah… guest bathroom’s down the hall and to the right. There are towels and cloths in the closet—robes on the shelves.”
He fingers the sleeve of my half-hanging shirt. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” He turns.
I watch him retreat up the stairs in his black, immaculate-fitting slacks, wanting to follow him—knowing that he will take a shower, same as me.
Wishing I had the balls to join him.
Better yet… where’s that steel-set vagina when I need one?
He never looks back at me, and I rotate on my heel towards the hallway, heading straight to the bathroom before I can change my mind.
***
LUKAS
My “quick shower” upstairs doesn’t last the five minutes I intended; it lasts for twenty.
I’m tempted to stay in even longer. I might even make it through… but my skin sure as hell won’t.
Not when I’m blasting it with several pounds of scalding hot water.
I let the water jets beat incessantly on my skin while I stand under the glass-encased showerhead.
I lean my hands against the black marble backdrop while the soaking streams assault me.
I must admit: The whipping feels good on my back and shoulders.
Each lash is like an act of attrition—a form of punishment for all the things that I’ve done, am doing, and will continue to do.
I’m going against my best friend’s wishes. And I’m doing it right under his nose.
As soon as I’m out of the water, I stand, dripping in the middle of my bathroom floor, letting the pain soak in—welcoming the welts and reddened skin. Absorbing the abuse and accepting all of its penance.
I feel wrong—and so fucking right.
I don’t know how much of an innocent Elena was before she got with me. And I didn’t care to know—I didn’t care to care.
But something has shifted.
There’s a sort of respect that she commands—a deference that she doesn’t ask for, but takes.
She’s smart… and witty. Astute as all hell.
Beautiful.
It’s these things that draw me to her—that make the crumbs of time I share with her not enough. It’s more than making her a part of my world.
I suddenly feel the urge to become a part of hers.
And regardless of how we started out on the wrong foot, we just seem to fit together. Nothing has felt as natural as it does when I fit myself inside the confines of her body.
But we all know how this will turn out. Look at Trina.
What was once a beautiful, diffident girl is now a drugged-out, spaced-out former shell of herself—a prom princess turned semi-psychopath.
It makes me think.
Could this happen to Elena? Would this happen to Elena?
I can’t deny…
I am the man that young girls’ fathers warned them about.
I’ve made women want things they didn’t know they wanted. Made them crave me more than any drug.
But then I discarded them.
&
nbsp; When I was finished. When I was fulfilled. When I was bored.
Is this what Foxx was thinking when he warned me to stay away? And now that I’ve had her… touched her… tasted her… can I?
I wipe the steam away from the mirror, watching myself amidst the fog. My eyes say “tell her everything”; my scowl says “don’t do it.”
I can’t even trust my own face to give me the answers I need.
I secure a towel loosely on my hips, sulking slowly over to my black dresser where I remove my favorite flannel pants.
I shift them completely over my legs and start to slide into a plain white T, when a noise from outside of the room catches my attention.
It’s soft, melodic. I think those are voices.
Wait… is that music?
I toss the shirt to the side and tread quietly down the stairs, in search of the source. I’m halfway down when I realize that it’s the sound of a piano playing.
I hit the bottom stair, crossing over carpet towards the den. I look over at my large black grand piano, but there’s no one there.
When I glance quickly to my left, I find the culprit. My surround-sound stereo is on. It’s playing Clair de Lune.
The music isn’t loud, but it’s everywhere, infiltrating the air with a tune that is rich and sweet—a melody that sounds the way that honey tastes.
I’d almost forgotten how beautiful this song is.
But what’s even better than the melody is the woman dancing to it.
Her blonde hair tickles her shoulders in slightly damp waves as she pirouettes barefooted across my hardwood floor.
She kicks a leg high above her head, revealing smooth skin and taut muscle below her perfect ass. Her slender leg lands on the hardwood, sliding into a split before she glides across the floor and into a sitting position.
She is graceful… even when draped in the large, white button-down shirt she must have borrowed from my drawers.
Fuck. Me. She looks better in my shirt than I ever could.
It completely swallows her lissome figure, but she never misses a beat.
I watch her silently as she swings through the air on a crescendo.
I amble aimlessly towards the grand piano, letting my suddenly wayward legs lead the way. I don’t even realize what my body is doing until the sound of the piano fills my ears.
The blonde woman freezes, staring across the room at the bare-chested man playing on the piano keys. I can tell she doesn’t recognize him.
Hour by Hour (Games & Diversions #2) Page 8
