24. Chapter 24 Lucy
C lay said it so solemnly, I blinked. Like he was picturing us in our eighties, still naughty as hell.
“You’d really wear fig leaves for me?” I asked playfully. Yes, he was a goof, and he liked to play dress-up. But it was hard to imagine him taking it that far. Then again, he’d look mighty fine in nothing but a strategic leaf or two. I eyed him up and down.
“Lucifer, I have a feeling you could talk me into just about anything if it makes you happy.”
His words were too serious. Too much. I didn’t want to have that much power over someone. Not the kind of power Christopher once had over me. The possibility of that kind of influence scared me.
“Within reason,” I said cautiously.
He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “Or without reason. I love you, you know.”
A battle of fire and ice kept me frozen in place. I wanted to be good for him. Good together.
He smiled ruefully, watching the wash of emotions play over my face. “You don’t have to say it back.” He clasped my hand, pulling me into his chest and wrapping his arms around my hips.
Part of me wanted to snuggle closer, while the other half wanted to tug away. He was being so damn good, and I didn’t want to hurt him. Ever. Was this love?
My breath caught, seizing in my chest. The world collapsed in on me like a vise, twisting my ribcage, compressing until I thought I’d break. The last thing I wanted to do was cause Clay pain.
His expression slowly shuttered as I stayed quiet.
A flower of hope folding in on itself and dying as time dilated, speeding in a flash.
In that same moment, I could picture our life together.
Clay teasing, me giving as good as I got.
Us partnering on other art classes. Maybe children.
A whole lifetime together. Sure, we’d make mistakes.
But not because we wanted to. Not because we didn’t care.
My feelings for him had gone beyond lust. I should have realized it the moment I connected the dots on his moles. But I was slow. Hopefully not too slow to make him mine.
“I love you too.”
“Don’t say it just to say it.”
“I’m not ,” I insisted, suddenly desperate for him to understand. “I promised myself never again, and I meant it.”
“Never again what?” he asked, looking confused.
“Never would I go along because it was easy. Or convenient. Or because I was scared.” I laughed, the sound choked off by my frustrated need to make him believe me. “Though I’m fucking terrified right now. I love you, Clayton Robertson. More than I thought possible.”
He rocked back on his heels like I’d knocked the air out of him. For a long beat, he stared, chest rising and falling. Then his eyes lit, slow and reverent, like he was seeing our future take shape right in front of him.
“I always thought we were possible.”
“I love your smug little smiles and even your pushy marriage proposals.” When he opened his mouth, I laid my finger across it to shush him.
“No more. It’s my turn, Robertson. You had your chance.
” I huffed, gathering my courage. “We work together. Impossibly, improbably, we make it work.” He looked like he was going to interrupt me, and I wagged my finger.
“I’m not finished,” I chided. “My last relationship was awful. And I’ve carried the scars from that for a long time, trying to reinvent myself into a stronger woman.
One more worthy of love – more worthy of your love. ”
His hands roamed my back, silently offering support as I babbled my way through my confession. Each stroke gave me more courage. More certainty.
“I’m ready to leave the past behind. Ready for a future with you. I love you, Clay.”
He hauled me closer, kissing me with a mindless need that drove every last thought away.
I didn’t care where we were. Who might see.
None of it mattered, only his mouth on mine.
Reveling in the knowledge that, while we’d started in very different places, on very different paths, somehow, someway, we’d found our way to each other.
“God, I love you,” he bit out between kisses. “I really want you to—"
“Shush,” I said before he could offer again.
“Carry you out of here and ravish you at my place,” he finished with an arch look. “What did you think I was going to say?”
We waved to our friends as we hustled for the door. Part of me felt guilty, sneaking out early, but Agent Harris was here. He had the authority and skills we didn’t. Telling him about my suspicions could wait.
Every mile between us and Friday Harbor stretched, straining my control.
Clay handled his truck with practiced efficiency, not speeding or driving recklessly.
I jittered with pent-up energy, holding back the demand he drive faster.
He’d just offer up a teasing grin, enjoying my discomfort, seeing it for what it was: pure desire.
I wanted to show Clay how I felt. Needed to. Melting with anticipation, I was aware of the trickle of heat pulsing through my core as I pressed my thighs together.
Patient on the outside, dying for him on the inside.
When we were finally in his driveway, he pinned me with his gaze.
A hunger lurked in his dark eyes that matched my own, making me feel bold and reckless in the face of his sultry smile.
A faint glow from the streetlights glinted in his blue hair, burnishing his black leather jacket.
It stretched across his chest, giving him a dangerous air.
Far from the happy-go-lucky park ranger.
I liked this side of him, even if it was only a costume.
“I need a five-minute head start. Wait here.”
His voice was harsher than I’d ever heard it. Authoritative. He slipped from the truck, leaving me open-mouthed. He didn’t know me that well, if he thought I’d really wait. I reached for the handle, pausing as he loped up the stairs to his house, unlocking his front door and rushing inside.
My instinctual reaction to his barked orders was to tense up.
Pull away. I’d already watched that movie and didn’t need a sequel.
But Clay was being fussy because he wanted to please me.
Not control me. I relaxed back against the seat, watching through the window as lights flickered on and off throughout Clay’s house. I could give him five minutes.
Four minutes later, he marched toward me, eyes ablaze. He’d ditched the leather jacket, leaving him in a tight black tee-shirt that showed off his muscular arms.
Unlatching my door, he leaned into the frame, big body crowding my space as he assessed me slowly. “Lucifer?”
“Yes, Robertson.”
“Would you care to come inside with me?”
So polite. So at odds with the heat in his gaze.
I felt naked beneath his perusal. Like he’d already stripped me down to the tiny thong beneath my dress.
Shifting on the seat, I pressed my thighs together.
His attention dropped to my clenched knees, his fingers gripping the door so hard, I thought he’d dent the metal.
“I was promised a ravishing.” I kept my tone playful, the invitation clear.
His broad grin short-circuited my brain. “Only if you ravish me back.”
I chuckled, and he took it as consent, scooping me out of my seat and into his arms. He bumped the door shut with his hip and carried me easily inside, cuddled close to his chest. He toed off his shoes at the door, eyes dancing as he eyed the cleavage I’d pressed generously into his eyeline.
“How many romance points do I lose if I comment on how great your rack is?”
I snorted, holding back a laugh. “Oddly enough, you’ll be plus one. I’m in the mood for crude.”
“Noted.”
Slowly, he let me slide down his chest, my feet just touching his bedroom floor before he spun me, wrapping his arms around me from behind. I tilted, unsteady until he caught me closer, stabilizing me. He nuzzled my neck, tickling me with his breath, kicking up a fresh storm of sensation.
He’d used his precious minutes wisely, lighting candles that gave his room a soft, romantic glow.
I could hear the low beat of music from his speakers.
He’d even turned back the sheets, placing not one, but three condoms and lube on the bedside table.
I hid a smile. It was no wonder I loved this man.
He didn’t just prepare for a good time; he prepared for a long time.
Clay trickled his hands over my shoulders, sliding to my fingers, tracing each digit gently before entwining our hands, meshing our fingers together.
His nuzzling at my neck became the slow drag of kisses, intoxicating in their own way.
I sank back against him, content to let him carry me along on a tide of need.
It was a slow, gentle beginning. Conducted with infinite care.
And while I loved feeling precious, enjoying his tender side, I wanted more.
Heat pooled low in my belly. I arched back, gripping his neck at the base and urging him closer.
Each caress, each flick of his tongue along the sensitive skin at my collarbone only made me more restless.
I pressed my thighs together, rubbing my backside against his hard length.
He groaned, the guttural sound inciting me further.
He wanted me too. I could feel it. In every breath.
In every touch. While he kept his pace slow, there was an underlying edge of raw hunger that spoke to me. Urged me on.
I rippled in his arms, grinding against him. Roughly, he seized my hips, fingers spread to hold me steady. “Enough,” he barked, the sound harsh and low. All command.
A thrill of electricity scorched down my spine as he took control. He spun me to face him, eyes glittering. “You asked for this.”
I had. And the underlying tenderness in his words reassured me he’d stop any time I asked.
“You may be the king of the underworld, but that doesn’t make me your subject,” I taunted, offering him a challenging grin.
His eyes darkened. “Yield, Luce.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll fuck that pretty mouth.”
“I bite.”
His eyes glittered. “And I’ll like it.”