He slips out of me, his back turned as he disposes of the condom. I feel the sudden need to look him in the eye, to know whether he really just wants to get the hell out of my house, but he speaks with his back still turned to me.
“You’re laughing,” he says, stating the obvious.
“You’re the one who asked if I was okay.” I cross my arms over my breasts, the evening air cold.
Luke walks to me, sliding his arms around me, looking at me with an intensity in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “And?” he asks. “There’s something funny about that?”
“I’m very okay,” I say, laughing. I’m giddy, drunk with the afterglow of orgasm and sex and doing something wild and out of character. Okay isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe it.
Fucking spectacular might be a more appropriate term.
“You’re thinking about something,” Luke says, pulling me against him. The heat from his naked body radiates against mine, and I shiver, but it’s definitely not because of the cold.
“I’m thinking about the fact that we’re standing in my kitchen naked.”
“This isn’t usually how you stand in your kitchen?” he asks playfully, sliding his hand over my ass cheek. “That’s a shame. You definitely have the body for it.”
“Yeah, right.” Now that my lust for him no longer totally clouds my brain, overriding my ability to think rationally and coherently, I’m acutely aware that I’m standing here, pressed up against a guy who’s basically the epitome of physical perfection. And I’m completely self-conscious.
"Please don't tell me you think you're not hot," he says.
I laugh nervously, trying to push myself away from him, but he holds me closer. "Uh, yeah, I’m not delusional,” I say. “I’ve had a kid.”
"Yeah, I seem to recall that fact," he says.
“I have a mom body,” I say, pushing him back as I gather my clothes from the floor and slip my shirt back on. Meanwhile, Luke just stands there, stark naked, watching as I reach for my jeans.
"Leave those off," Luke says, his voice thick.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard what I said," he says. "Don't put any more clothes on."
"I'm not staying naked," I say. "Don't you want to get dressed?"
He raises one eyebrow. "Is that a legitimate question?" he asks, with a laugh. "Because, uh, the answer is obviously, fuck no, I don't want to get dressed."
The way he says it, like it’s self-evident, takes me by surprise and I stare at him. "Oh."
"Yeah, oh," he says, crossing the space between us and reaching underneath my chin to tilt my head up to look at him. "Did you really think you were getting rid of me that easily?"
"I didn’t –“ The truth is, I hadn't thought about him staying. I hadn’t pegged him as the kind of guy who’d be interested in staying. I hadn’t thought through much of this at all.
“You know,” he says, cupping my jaw in his hand and running his thumb over my bottom lip, “That’s the thing about younger men…”
My lips part, almost of their own accord, and I resist the urge to take his thumb in my mouth, the same way I took his cock in my mouth earlier. "What's that?"
"We can keep going. It's a perk," he says. "I'm not exactly done with you yet."
"Oh," I say stupidly. Apparently, that's another thing about a younger man. They leave you so drunk with lust that your IQ drops by half.
"Oh," he says. "I don't think I'm going to get tired of hearing that come out of your mouth." He bends down, slides his hand behind my knees, and just like that I'm swept off my feet. Literally.
He carries me upstairs without another word and deposits me firmly on the bed. When I slide my hands protectively over my stomach, embarrassed to be under his gaze, he moves them.
"Don’t do that," he says. "Don't cover yourself up. There's no reason for it."
"I have lots of reasons," I say. Like the fact that the man who is currently throwing one leg over me, straddling me, has abs that are so perfect, they look airbrushed on. Coupled with an ass that's hard as a rock. And if he has an extra ounce of fat anywhere on his body, I'm not sure I can tell.
"Such as? Let's hear those reasons," he says, glancing down meaningfully at his erection. Because obviously, I have zero problems with your body."
"I have mom tummy going on," I say.
"Oh, yeah?" he asks. "Move your hands."
"No."
"Move your hands, Red," he says. "Right now."
When I move them, he takes the edges of my shirt and slides it over my head, and then looks at me carefully, his eyes running over me.
"Happy now?" I ask, my voice trembling. I feel more vulnerable than I have in ages. It's one thing to lose my inhibitions in the kitchen, but it's different now, lying here in my bed with him.
"I'm not sure," he says, pursing his lips. He cocks his head to the side. "I need to have a closer look."
He slides down, hovering just above my abdomen, applying kisses to my stomach, across the middle, the place where no amount of exercise seems to touch. "This part is definitely sexy," he whispers, pressing his hardness against my leg for added effect.