“Is it always this way?” Luke asks. I’m holding Olivia in my arms, after reading three stories to her in the rocking chair – one extra, because she was too excited about Luke being here, mostly because he raced cars around the living room floor with her for an hour. Now he’s standing in the doorway of her room, whispering.
“Like this?” I ask softly, looking down at Olivia, who’s looks positively angelic in her sleep. “Are you kidding? Hell, no.” Standing up, I cross the room to lay her in her crib, kissing her on the forehead as I tuck her in, and then shut her door behind me.
Luke steps back, but not much, and I’m suddenly very close to him. The faintest hint of cologne, or maybe aftershave, lingers on his skin. “Hell, no?” he asks.
“She looks adorable when she’s asleep,” I say. “Not so much when she’s screaming at three in the morning.” I feel the need to warn him that kids don’t sleep through the night. I’m nervous and self-conscious, and standing so close to him makes me feel panicked. So I ease away from him, walking down the stairs as I clear my throat. “I’ll clean up the kitchen. I may not be able to cook, but at least I can – oh. You already cleaned up. Of course you did.”
I’m looking at my kitchen, spotless, the dishes put away and the counters gleaming.
“While you were taking care of Olivia,” he says, his voice low in my ear. He’s standing right behind me, not touching me. And all I want him to do is touch me.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, and he laughs.
“What’s wrong with you?” he says.
“You cook, you clean,” I say, distracted as he trails his finger along the side of my neck, sending a river of goose bumps down my arm. “There has to be something wrong with you, some dirty secret you’re hiding.”
“The dirtiest,” he whispers, hooking a finger under the strap of my tank top, and sliding it down over my shoulder. He kisses me softly on my skin, where the strap was, and it makes me gasp.
“I can imagine,” I say, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I’ve done quite a bit of imagining when it comes to Luke.
“Oh?” he asks, pulling me back toward him, hard against his erection. “What exactly have you imagined, Red?”
“Th – that. You.”
“You’re tense,” he says, sliding his hands along my arms.
Hell, I’m stiff as a damn board. It’s been over two years since I slept with anyone, since I got pregnant with Olivia, and the thought of fucking Luke fills me with a confusing mixture of lust and fear and apprehension I can’t possibly put into words. “It’s…been a while,” I say, my voice catching in my throat. “For me.”
Luke pauses, his hands still, and for a second, I think he’s going to change his mind and walk away. But instead, he just utters the word “fuck” under his breath. Then he speaks, low in his throat, his mouth near my ear. “I don’t know what the hell happened, Red, who the hell let you go, but he was a fucking moron. Because I can’t get you out of my mind. I can’t get the taste of you off my lips, and I don’t want to.”
Before I can say anything, he’s kissing me again, behind my ear, his lips on that place that has always been so sensitive. He sweeps my hair from my neck, pulling it to kiss the nape and arousal courses through my body.
There are a million reasons I should say no to this. There are a million reasons I should not sleep with him, a million reasons I should find someone my own age, someone responsible, someone appropriate, someone settled.
Someone who’s not Luke.
But Luke’s touch, his fingers running down my arms, his lips on my skin, his hands reaching around, palming my breasts…his touch makes me weak-kneed. It makes my head cloudy, my brain shut down, and my thoughts consumed with lust.
“I…want…you,” I choke out, my words stupid. As if it weren’t already apparent that I wanted him -- by the way my breath catches in my throat, by the way that I practically pant with the anticipation of his hands on me, by the way I moan as he slips my shirt over my head.
He cups my breasts in his hands, kissing me, his lips on my neck, my shoulders, and I’m practically drenched. I want him now – fast and hard, fucking me with abandon. I don’t want foreplay. I don’t want anything but him inside me.
“Fuck, Red,” he says, pushing his erection against my ass. “Do you feel that? Do you know how hard you make me? Shit, I’ve been thinking about my cock inside you since the day I looked at you.”