Chapter 29 #5
When I turn my attention to his leaking cock, thumbing the swollen crown, Luke practically starts begging.
His face is so fucking beautiful that I could lose myself to it, and every sound he’s making is like music to my ears, our ragged breathing matching in perfect rhythm to create a brilliant symphony.
Luke drops his hand to the bed and grips the sheets beneath him like he’ll disappear without something tethering him to this reality, the name of god repeatedly falling from his lips in ever-growing urgency.
He’s so close, but I’m losing the battle to keep myself from erupting before he’s done, swirls of pleasure rippling through my lower back.
I would gladly stay in this moment if I could keep this going forever.
But with a loud and breathy moan, Luke comes first, the white streaks of his release spilling over his chest and stomach.
His body involuntarily tightens around me with it, and I’m instantly lost to the sensation, my orgasm rippling through me near the point of pain.
I ride out the aftershocks as Luke kisses me through it until I collapse onto his chest, completely spent.
It takes a few minutes for me to come back to myself after that.
Luke’s fingers lazily brush over my scalp, and I listen to his thrashing heart as it slowly settles back to a natural rhythm, and our breathing steadies.
Neither of us speaks; the need for words is unnecessary in this space.
But when I am finally capable of moving again, Luke makes an involuntary noise as I slide free of him, his eyes shuddering slightly with the final vestiges of his pleasure.
Then he chuckles, the sound breathy and mixed with an unmistakable twinge of disbelief. He extends a lazy hand and puts it to my cheek, brushing his thumb back and forth, and he twists his lips into that little half-smile that I adore. He shakes his head.
“And you were worried you’d fuck that up,” he says lightly.
“Hm.” I smirk. “So we both agree. I’m just an idiot.”
“Nothing wrong with a himbo,” he teases, biting his lower lip playfully.
“A himbo?” I snort.
“Affectionately, of course.”
I grin, shaking my head. “If you didn’t just rock my world, I would probably put in some effort to be more offended.”
Luke laughs, the sound as sweet as music. Then he pulls me down for a soft and tender kiss, all his previous heat thoroughly dissolved. “Thank you,” he says.
“For what?”
Luke shakes his head slightly, then sighs, unmistakably happy. “For being you.”
I blink, taken aback by the simple statement.
I search his face in stunned silence, the meaning of his words covering me like a thick blanket on a winter’s night, the truth of it easily read between the lines.
I feel how my heart beats faster in my chest as the idea that I’ve truly been seen—beheld in all my flaws and imperfections—and still found worthy threatens to take me under.
I can feel the words ‘I love you’ wanting to bubble up, burst from my lips, and try to express even a fraction of the untamable emotion I feel for this man.
For others, it might be a natural reaction, but for me, it feels like broken glass in my mouth.
A confession that threatens pain and strikes fear into my soul.
Fear of rejection. Fear of loss. Fear of suffering.
So, the words that are clearly right there are still firmly off-limits, and a loud voice reminds me, it’s too soon.
Instead, I don’t say anything with words. I leave a soft kiss on his lips, the kind that speaks more than words ever could, and Luke seems satisfied with the response, his smile lighting up his entire face.
We clean ourselves up, then settle under the covers and revel in each other’s warmth, watching the hypnotic galaxy of lights swirl on the ceiling.
We stay like that for a while, my body eventually tipping toward the edge of sleep, but then Luke sighs and sits up before I can fully drift off, and I feel a pang through my chest to realize he’s leaving.
Again. Like tonight was no different for him than any other night.
Part of me feels an irrational swell of anger to think he’s always so willing to leave, even when I can tell he’s exhausted, swaying slightly as he stands to get dressed.
Another part of me is afraid to admit that I want him to stay, a vulnerable part of my soul afraid to give in to the thought, as if it’s a weakness to desire that kind of comfort.
Although, I suppose it wouldn’t change anything if I asked him to stay.
Whatever reason Luke has for keeping this arms-length distance between us must be worth more than giving in to the solace of remaining with me.
Even as he comes back to the bed to kiss me goodnight before he slips out of the room, it feels far too casual, like the end of a business transaction.
It’s lonely, but I would never admit that out loud.
But tell me why my first thought is that this is Luke’s way of making it easier for himself when he inevitably decides to break up with me and catch the next plane to New York.
Tell me why my chest aches every time I think it might be true.