Chapter 23
twenty-three
. . .
Jess
His lips crash against mine, demanding and insistent in a way that sends electricity racing through my entire body. This is Lucas unleashed, and he’s commanding, intentional, and utterly hot.
Before I can process what’s happening, he’s backing me against the wall, with one hand tangling in my hair while the other grips my hip with possessive urgency. The controlled PR executive I’ve known all these months has vanished, replaced by something primal and hungry that makes my knees weak.
“I’ve wanted to do this for weeks,” he growls against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip in a way that draws a gasp from my throat.
“What took you so long?” I challenge, even as my pulse races wildly.
His answer is to press his body fully against mine, pinning me to the wall with delicious pressure. The hard planes of his chest against my softer curves send heat pooling between my thighs. This commanding side of Lucas is unexpected and embarrassingly arousing.
His hands are everywhere, sliding beneath the hem of my dress and skimming up my thighs with deliberate slowness that makes me squirm against him. When his fingers graze the edge of my underwear, I nearly whimper.
“Tell me what you want, Jess,” he demands, his voice rough with desire as his lips trail down my neck.
The question momentarily startles me. I’m used to leading interviews, not answering questions. But there’s something intoxicating about relinquishing control to him, just for tonight.
“You,” I manage, my voice breathier than I’ve ever heard it. “All of you.”
He smiles against my skin, and I can feel the curve of his lips as he sucks lightly at the junction of my neck and shoulder. “That wasn’t specific enough, Mrs. Lexington-Carmichael.”
The formal address, combined with his thumbs now circling just shy of where I need them most, sends a shudder through me.
“Not fair,” I gasp.
“I never claimed to play fair,” he murmurs, his hands sliding higher, pushing the fabric of my dress up as they move. When his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts, I arch into his touch.
“Touch me,” I demand, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand to my breast. “Properly.”
His eyes darken at my directness, and a flash of approval crosses his features before he complies, cupping my breast through the thin fabric of my bra. His thumb circles my nipple until it hardens beneath his touch, and I can’t stop the moan that escapes me.
“God, the sounds you make,” he groans, his control visibly fraying. “I’ve imagined this so many times, but nothing compares to the reality of you.”
His confession sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with physical pleasure. Lucas Carmichael, master of careful words and measured responses, admitting he’s fantasized about me? It’s a heady power all its own.
I tug at his shirt, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine. “Too many clothes.”
He steps back just enough to pull his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, and I take the opportunity to remove my dress, letting it pool at my feet. His eyes track the movement, and there’s an urgency in them as they take in the black lace of my bra and matching underwear.
“Christ, Jess,” he breathes, the reverence in his voice making me feel more powerful than any byline ever has.
I reach for him, running my hands over the defined planes of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm. “Not so bad yourself, Mr. Carmichael.”
A flash of satisfaction crosses his face before he captures my mouth again, and his tongue slides against mine in a dance that mimics what I desperately want him to do elsewhere.
His hands grip my thighs, lifting me slightly as he presses between my legs, the hard length of him evident through his pants.
I wrap my legs around his waist, using the leverage to grind against him, relishing his sharp intake of breath. Two can play at this game.
“You taste incredible,” he murmurs against my jaw before trailing kisses down my neck to my collarbone. “I wonder if you taste this good everywhere.”
I tangle my fingers in his hair and tug slightly to bring his gaze up to mine. “Why don’t you find out?” I arch an eyebrow in challenge.
The groan that escapes him is deeply satisfying. In one smooth motion, he drops my legs and sinks to his knees before me. He looks up with such raw desire that I nearly come undone on the spot.
“Is that an invitation, Mrs. Lexington-Carmichael?” he asks as his hands slide up my thighs with torturous slowness.
“It’s a demand,” I correct, my voice husky with want.
His smile is pure wickedness as his fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear and slowly drag the lace down my legs. I step out of them, expecting him to toss them aside. Instead, he deliberately folds them and tucks them into his pocket.
“Souvenir?” I ask, amused despite the heat building inside me.
He responds by putting his mouth on me, hot and insistent, and coherent thought becomes impossible.
His tongue traces my center with devastating precision, finding the bundle of nerves that makes my knees buckle.
Only his strong hands gripping my thighs keep me upright as pleasure courses through me.
I look down at him. Lucas Carmichael is on his knees before me, his eyes closed in concentration as he tastes me, and the sight is nearly as arousing as the sensation itself. My fingers tighten in his hair, guiding him where I need him most.
“There,” I gasp as his tongue flicks against my clit. “Right there.”
He hums in acknowledgment, and the vibration adds another layer to the pleasure building inside me. One of his hands leaves my thigh, and I feel his finger circling my entrance before slowly pushing inside and curling to hit a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
I’m making sounds I’ve never heard myself make—desperate, needy noises that would embarrass me if I weren’t so utterly lost in sensation. My hips move of their own accord, seeking more of his mouth, his fingers, anything he’ll give me.
“Lucas,” I breathe, not even caring that it sounds like pleading. “I’m close.”
He responds by adding a second finger alongside the first and sucking gently on my clit. The dual sensation pushes me right to the edge, and my entire body tenses as pleasure coils tighter and tighter at the base of my spine.
When I shatter, it’s with his name on my lips. My body arches against the wall as waves of ecstasy crash over me. He works me through it, his touch gentling but not stopping until I’m trembling from oversensitivity.
Only then does he pull away, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh before looking up at me with an expression of such raw hunger that it steals my breath. I expect him to stand, to seek his own release, but instead, he rests his forehead against my hip, his breathing ragged.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are when you come,” he says, his voice strained.
I reach down to pull him up, intent on returning the pleasure he’s given me, but he shakes his head.
“Too late,” he admits as a flush spreads across his cheekbones. “Just watching you, hearing you. I couldn’t help myself.”
The realization that he found his release simply from pleasuring me, without even being touched, sends a fresh wave of heat through my body. There’s something profoundly intimate about it—and more vulnerable than anything I expected from the always-composed Lucas Carmichael.
“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell him honestly.
Laughing, he rises to his feet and scoops me up in one fluid motion. “Next time I’ll show more restraint.”
“Next time?” I arch an eyebrow as he carries me to the bed.
“Unless you have objections, Mrs. Lexington-Carmichael?” There’s a hint of vulnerability beneath his confident tone.
I should have objections. This complicates our arrangement beyond measure. But with my body still humming from his touch and the promise of more nights like this, I can’t bring myself to care about the consequences.
“None whatsoever, Mr. Carmichael,” I murmur as he lays me gently on the bed.
He disappears briefly before returning with a warm washcloth to clean us both up. The tenderness of the gesture contrasts sharply with the intensity of moments before, revealing yet another layer to this man I thought I had figured out.
As he slides into bed beside me, pulling me against his chest, I realize how perfectly I fit against him, how his heartbeat seems to sync with mine.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my shoulder.
“That you’re full of surprises, “ I say honestly.
He laughs softly and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Get some sleep, Jess. We’ve got a long weekend ahead of us.”
As sleep begins to claim me, I can’t help but wonder if this is what it could be like all the time. Not just explosive passion, but genuine connection. Not just six months of pretending, but something that outlasts contracts and arrangements.