“Let me,” I tell him, and he blinks up, lips turned down as he tries to work out what I mean. “Come up here.”
It’s only now I realize how out of practice I am, and how long it’s been since I’ve actually done this. I tap his hip and guide him toward me, a leg on either side of my ribs. He reaches for another pillow and sets it behind my head and then he just waits, eyes wide and chest heaving. There’s so much skin and muscle, abs clenched tight like he’s holding his breath. His cock is perfect like the rest of him and so hard, already wet at the tip.
“Come here,” I say again, and open my mouth, watching the way his hand shakes as he holds the head against my lips. I reach out with my tongue to taste him and he whimpers. A feeling of power surges up in me and any trepidation I had seems to fall away.
Luke pushes into my mouth, so gently at first. I curl my hands around his hips and look up at him in a way I hope conveys what I want him to do. I don’t want him to think or censor himself, either.
“You want me to—” he starts to ask, and I moan around him. He starts to give himself over to it, spurred on by my sounds and the way I grip him tighter, encouraging him to use me.
His cock slips over my tongue, grazes occasionally against my teeth. Those moments seem to make it even better for him and he swears, fingers pressed against my jaw and my skull as he pushes himself in and out of my mouth.
“London, yes—oh, God, perfect,” he says, words stuttered out between shaky breaths. He braces one hand on the headboard just over my head and looks down at me as he moves. “Fuck, I’m not going to last.” His ass flexes beneath my hands and he’s shaking his head, like he’s sad it’s going to be over soon. “No. Fuck. Coming,” he gasps, and tries to pull away. “London, move. I don’t—”
I make a sound of protest and tighten my hold as he starts to come against my tongue. Up to this point he’s been so careful not to go too far but I hear him smack the wall overhead, grunting and swearing as I swallow around him.
He’s shaking when he finally falls to my side, hands greedy as he pulls me to him and kissing my chin, my mouth, and my nose. I look up to see that his eyes are closed, lashes curled against flushed cheeks. My jaw aches and my heart is pounding so hard he has to be able to feel it.
I want him to tell me he loves me again, but am also terrified of hearing it and being unable to believe him. I hold my breath as he shifts, leaning into my neck and exhaling a shaky breath. I already know it’s coming, though, and my heart seems to swell in my chest.
His voice is scratchy: “I really do love you.”
I anticipate the sensation of overflowing, of relief . . . but it doesn’t come, and I don’t know what to say.
So I tease Luke about practically collapsing after he comes, and he kisses me with sleepy lips and arms that seem to barely hold him up. He’s happy, and boneless, and falls back asleep within minutes.
* * *
I’M IN THE middle of a pretty big order when I hear someone yell his name. It’s only around eight o’clock, and a handful of his friends have been playing pool in the back for the last hour, but it’s like some group alarm has been tripped as soon as he steps into the bar and comes into view, and a bunch of them look up, shouting at him. There are a few girls I recognize now, a couple of guys I’m sure I’ve seen him with before, but only Not-Joe who I really know.
Luke waves in their direction but doesn’t stop, looping an arm around Not-Joe’s shoulder as he bypasses his friends completely and makes his way to the bar.
I put two beers on coasters as they take a seat, and line up a few wineglasses for another order. Luke looks happy and rested.
“Did you sleep all day?” I ask. Teasing him seems to be my default, and it calms the butterflies and nervous energy that have erupted since his arrival, brings me back to my baseline. His adorable, sheepish smile doesn’t hurt, either.
Not-Joe doesn’t really seem to get our inside joke, but he laughs just the same, happy to take part in any Operation Give Luke Shit he can find.
“I’m going to assume you tease me for the same reason Dylan here used to snap girls’ bras in gym class,” Luke says.
Not-Joe gives him a puzzled look. “Because she wants to see your boobs?”
Luke brings his beer to his lips and looks at me over the top of the bottle. “Something like that.”
I shake my head, feeling the resurgence of butterflies as I uncork a bottle of wine and fill the glasses. With a nod toward a waiting table, I pick up the tray and deliver the drinks, actually happy for a bit of breathing room away from his flirty smile and meaningful glances.
I don’t get much of a reprieve, however, because on my way out of Fred’s office with a spool of receipt tape only a few minutes later, I find Luke standing in the dark little hallway, waiting for me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even as he’s moving closer, crowding me into the corner.