Chapter 38 Can I have some of your taco?
Can I have some of your taco?
We cook dinner together—homemade tacos—and the conversation flows so easily, especially now my walls are slightly down.
He flirts with me without holding back, touching me every chance he can. When he licks some salsa off his thumb and raises an eyebrow at me like he knows what it does to me, I nearly choke.
We take our dinner to the lounge room, we settle onto the couch.
The cushions feel closer than usual, like the space between us is magnetic.
He puts on Vampire Dairies—even though we’ve both seen it before, he knows I love it and it also means we can talk through most of it anyway.
We start to eat our dinner. Leaning toward each other just a little more every time. He catches my lingering stares.
“What?” he asks, a slow smile tugging at his mouth. I shake my head and sip my wine. “Nothing. You’re just… being a bit quiet.”
He shrugs, eyes on the screen but not really focused. “Just… soaking it in, I guess.”
“Soaking what in?” I nudge his knee with mine, casual, like I’m not dying to crawl into his lap and fuck him again.
He turns his head toward me, eyes steady. “You. Here. Us. This… weird little version of life we’ve got going today.” It’s disarming, the way he says it—like it’s nothing and everything at once. I don’t know how to respond, so I go for deflection, the easiest kind of amour.
“You make it sound like we’re a couple in a romcom.” I laugh.
“We kind of are,” he says, not missing a beat. “You, the emotionally guarded but gorgeous heroine. Me, the guy with excellent hair and a power drill.”
I laugh, pressing my hand to my chest in mock awe. “A power drill, huh? Be still my heart.”
“It’s a metaphor,” he says, then shrugs. “For how I fix things. Physically. Sometimes emotionally…”
He’s teasing, but there’s a softness under it, something that makes my throat tighten.
“You think you can fix me, Lucas?” I ask quietly. Interested to see what he says.
He pauses. His gaze flicks to mine, more serious now. “That’s not what I mean. I just like making things feel whole again. Even just for a minute.”
Something in me twists. Because I know what it feels like to be broken. To need someone who won’t run from the sharp edges that I’ve been cut into. I look away and stare at the screen, where Elena is yelling at Damon, again.
“I don’t need fixing,” I say eventually, voice barely above a whisper.
“I know you don’t,” he says, gently. “But if you ever need someone to hold things together… I’ve got two hands. All of your bruises and scars are what make you human. You don’t need fixing. But all of your broken edges… could fit into mine. You can trust me Camille.”
And just like that, I forget what’s on the tv, my food, the mess inside my head, the walls I swore I’d keep up. All I can feel is the warmth of him beside me and the way my heart won’t stop racing.
I feel myself falling, and I trust he will catch me. I still don’t trust myself to catch him back. I don’t know if I’m strong enough yet.
I look at him and go to say something, and lose that train of thought when I see how he’s looking at me. The flicker of the tv lights his face in this soft, dreamy glow, and when I see the way his eyes drop to my mouth, I stop breathing.
He leans in slowly. His lips brush against mine, tentative and warm, and it’s like something inside me exhales for the first time in years.
I know we’ve kissed so many times already today, but something about this kiss is caressing against the broken pieces inside of me.
Our pace picks up and we start to touch each other everywhere, needing to feel closer.
He pulls back a bit and looks at me, like he sees the real me, and likes it. A lot. I like him a lot too. I smile back at him unashamed. He puts his hand against my cheek and I lean into it, closing my eyes.
He moves his mouth against my ear and whispers. “Can I please have some of your taco?”
We both start to laugh.
“Depends which one?” I quirk an eyebrow at him.
He moves his hand to cup me between my thighs and I gasp. “This one.”
“Sure.” I nod. “If you were asking for some of my food, I would have said no.”
He lays me down on the couch and spreads my legs apart, putting himself between them.
He slowly pulls my underwear down my legs slowly, then looks at me bare before him. His eyes darken.
“Fuck. Cam. You have the prettiest pussy.” he says as he starts to play with me. Rubbing slow circles over my clit, then slips a finger inside.
I moan. He’s so good at this.
I remember the first time he did it, how amazing it felt and my memory was definitely correct.
He slips another finger inside and hooks them up, pumping them in and out, while rubbing my clit.
I squirm underneath him, feeling close already.
“I could come just from watching you, the way you sound and the way you feel. It fucking does something to me Cam.” His words make me moan louder.
He brings his head down close to me, then replaces his finger over my clit with his tongue instead. The feeling is perfect.
He only swirls his tongue over me a handful of times before I start to tighten around his fingers, coming loudly.
“Luc, luc, luc. Fuck!” I scream. When my body stops shaking he pulls his fingers out and brings them into his mouth, sucking my juices off his fingers.
“I love how you taste,” he says, like he just ate a meal.
Then he kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips.
“Can I please return the favour?”
He nods, my pulse still racing as I push him back until he’s sitting against the couch cushions. He watches me with hooded eyes as I crawl between his legs, the air thick with heat and anticipation.
My hands go to his waistband, undoing his pants slowly—teasing.
“I want to taste you, now,” I whisper. My mouth practically watering at the idea of taking him in my mouth, pleasing him.
He groans low in his throat. “Please.”
I free him from his briefs, and he’s already hard, thick and flushed.
I wrap my hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip while my mouth hovers just above.
His breath catches.
I lick the head gently, swirling my tongue around it before taking him into my mouth inch by inch.
His hips jerk slightly, and one of his hands finds my hair, not guiding, just resting there like he needs the anchor.
“Fuck, Cam,” he rasps. “You have no idea how good that feels. You look so hot.” I moan around him, letting the vibrations run through him as I start to bob my head.
I take him deeper each time, stroking with one hand and cupping his balls with the other.
“Fuck, your mouth takes my cock so well.” He’s breathing heavily now, cursing softly under his breath.
His other hand clutches the edge of the couch.
I pull back to tease him, licking up the length before taking him in again, faster now, letting spit and pleasure blur everything else.
He’s close—I can feel it in the way his thighs tense, the way he groans my name like a prayer.
“Camille—fuck, I’m gonna—” I hum in approval and keep going until he stiffens, coming hard in my mouth.
I swallow, licking him clean before kissing up his stomach and chest until I’m curled beside him on the couch.
He looks dazed and beautiful and totally wrecked.
“Holy shit,” he breathes.
I grin against his neck. “I told you I wanted to return the favour.”
He kisses my temple, still catching his breath. “Come to bed with me? I’m not done with you yet.”
“Okay,” I whisper. He stands and lifts me into his arms without warning, carrying me down the hall.
I curl into him, warm and soft, and for the first time in a long time, I feel something that terrifies me a little—love.