I send Greta home early, too shaken up by what happened with Luke to even focus on work right now. I swear she knows that there’s something going on, gives me a funny look when I send her home, like our encounter is written all over my face, my personal version of the scarlet letter.
As if she can tell that I was just pressed up against the front door of my own house, in the middle of broad daylight, Luke Saint’s face between my legs.
This is not something I do. I don’t throw caution to the wind, and I don’t have flings. Edward was my college boyfriend, and the handful of boyfriends I’d had before him were all the same – responsible, business-oriented, and…boring.
But Luke…
His touch still lingers on my skin, his taste still on my lips.
I focus my attention to Olivia, mentally chastising myself for my attention drifting. “Is that yummy, Liv-bug?”
Olivia grins up at me, her mouth stuffed with spaghetti noodles, and then opens wide, her tongue sticking out, dropping half of the chewed food onto her high chair tray. “Eew, see-food. Gross, Liv-bug.”
She cackles hysterically, slapping the high chair tray, delighted at my reaction. I know it’s not something I should encourage, especially if I want her to develop any manners, but she’s so pleased with my faux-disgust that I can’t quite help myself.
I talk to her while she finishes her lunch, then read her favorite story, The Three Little Pigs, in a rocking chair in her bedroom until she’s rubbing her eyes. When I put her in her crib, she’s out like a light.
Which leaves me alone with my thoughts. And those thoughts inevitably return to Luke Saint.
Luke, with his grin, the one that hints of mischief.
Luke, with a body made for sin – broad shoulders, rock hard abs, and the tightest ass I’ve ever seen.
Images of Luke flash in my head, one right after the other.
Luke’s fingers down the front of my pants, underneath my panties, touching me. Then, inside me.
Luke on his knees, pulling my jeans down over my hips.
Luke’s tongue on me, exploring me. Tasting me.
I get into the shower to clear my head, lingering under the pounding water as if it will wash away thoughts of Luke. Closing my eyes, I will the images away, focusing on the water pouring over my skin. But the more I try not to think about Luke, the more I can’t stop thinking about him.
I imagine being on my knees, his cock in my mouth. Tasting him. I think about how he would feel inside me, how he’d ride me until I came on him, over and over. I don’t want Edward to have been it for me – five minutes of lights off, missionary-style sex until he came, his face screwed up and his eyes closed, before rolling over and falling asleep.
My body is still on edge from what happened with Luke in the hallway, and I’m already near the edge almost immediately as I run my palms over my breasts, slick with water. Waves of arousal crash over me as I picture Luke’s mouth wrapped around my breast, his tongue flicking over my nipple again and again until I cry out from the delicious agony of his touch.
I picture him sliding his fingers inside my slickness. I imagine myself pulling him against me as I kiss him, my tongue warring with his until I can’t wait for him any longer.
I run my fingers over my clit, so swollen with arousal that it’s almost painful to the touch. The warm water from the shower runs over my shoulders and down my breasts as I move my fingers over my clit. I’m so ready, so on edge from where we were interrupted before, that it doesn’t take me long to hurtle toward the edge of climax.
And the whole time, I’m picturing Luke, his strong hands gripping my ass, lifting me up in the shower and holding me against the tile wall. I think about wrapping my legs around him as he thrusts inside me, harder and harder, his cock bare.
I slip my fingers inside me, my palm pressing against my clit, imagining that it’s Luke who’s there. I think about the dirty things he’d say to me, as he fucks me harder and harder, and I clutch wildly at his shoulders, his back, leaving my mark on him.
When I come, it’s so intense that I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. It’s a minute before I catch my breath, my heart pounding so loudly in my chest I swear I can hear it over the white noise of the shower.