33. Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
Lila
The moment our suite door closes, Luke has me pressed up against it as his mouth crashes down on mine.
“Finally,” he mutters hoarsely, “I get to taste these lips that have been tempting me all night.”
My dress falls away, and I swear he stops breathing. I’m standing before him in only midnight blue lingerie. “You’re trying to kill me,” he groans.
I reach for his tie, a wicked gleam in my eye. “ Then I guess my plan is working.”
Something primal roars to life in his eyes at my words, and then there’s no more talking—just skin and heat. As I kneel before him, the only sound is his zipper as I pull it down.
When he looks down at me, I feel the heat of his gaze. It practically smolders as he watches me reach out and cup him with my hand. I stroke him from root to tip, and his breath catches.
Bending, I lightly lick the tip of him. When my tongue finds the slot on the head of his cock, I feel his hands in my hair. Smiling, I lean forward, taking as much of him into my wet mouth as I can. Focusing on him, I begin to work him in and out of my mouth. Sucking and licking as I go. He feels like hard steel covered in taunt flesh.
In a gruff voice, Luke warns me. “Lila, babe. I…”
Ignoring his words, I suddenly deep-throat him, and I hear him give a guttural groan, his hands tightening in my hair, holding me in place while I attempt to finish the job. But at the very last minute, he pulls away. I look up at him in confusion.
His blue eyes gleam with intensity, and he grits out. “Later—I need—inside you.” He roughly pulls me to my feet.
His eyes rake over my body, still in my midnight blue lingerie, and then he’s dragging me over to the armchair. I glance down at him to see his manhood long and thick. I arch my brow, looking up into his eyes, hot with desire.
He bends me over so that my hands are on the cushion of the armchair, my ass in the air. When I start to take off my shoes, he stops me.
“No.” His voice like gravel. “The fuck me shoes stay on.”
The dirty words make me shiver almost as much as the lust in his gaze. My unbound hair falls forward, standing where he positions me—achingly waiting.
I hear him step closer, and I shiver in anticipation. I feel the warmth of his body and the feel of his hands as they grip my lush hips. He uses his finger to brush under the thong as he moves it out of his way.
Then, with no warning, I feel him enter me from behind. Filling me in one bold stroke. My arms stiffen, holding me in place as he begins to move. He pulls out and then thrusts back in. He immediately increased the tempo, pounding into me. His hands tightening on my hips—probably leaving marks.
It’s rough and wild, and I can’t get enough. I arch my back, rising up to meet him. Wanting it hard and fast—and he delivers—in spades. Our harsh breathing fills the air, and he’s relentless as he continues until suddenly, my entire body clenches around him, milking him. My orgasm is hard and unexpected. After one more thrust, Luke lets out a low groan and empties himself inside me.
His broad hands gently help me up, and he slowly turns me to face him. He quickly unclasps my lace bra, freeing my breasts and capturing them in his hands.
“Damn, Lila. You’re so perfect for me,” he raises a breast to his mouth. “So, soft and sweet—“
The warmth of his mouth makes me shiver, and I feel his smile against my skin.
After a few moments of delicious torture, he steps back, bends and scoops me up in his arms. He carries me to the king-sized bed and then slowly sets me down, letting me slide down his hard, chiseled chest. I almost sway as my legs feel weak.
He finishes undressing, taking off his pants, and I shimmy out of my thong, but when I go to take off my high heels. He shakes his head. “Leave ’em.”
“Luke?”
At my surprised look, he smirks. “We’re just getting started.” Approaching the bed, he bends down and whispers, “Rockstars like encores.”
Later, I slowly open my eyes and the room is still shrouded in shadows. It feels like early morning. I blink, wondering what woke me when I feel Luke’s breath against my neck.
“Ah, so you’re awake,” he mutters.
“Did you wake me up?” I say sleepily.
I feel his shrug. “Doesn’t matter—but now that you’re awake—“
He rolls, taking me with him, until I’m on top. His hands on my back gently guide me into a seated position. He’s already hard and wanting, and my drowsiness disappears as my heart begins to pound. He helps me position myself above him, lowering me onto his rigid shaft.
The sudden fullness makes me give a small gasp. His hands around my hips urge me to start moving. And I start to rock, slowly at first but then gradually increase the rhythm. Suddenly, his hands grab my waist, and he pulls me toward him, rolling again until I’m underneath him and he’s above me.
“Too slow,” he murmurs as he takes over, increasing the tempo until our harsh breathing is the only sound in the room. He reaches down between us and finds my swollen clit. His expert fingers know exactly where to press, and I shatter. He quickly follows and gives a hoarse shout. Then, he shifts his heavy weight to the side. His arm sneaks out, wrapping around my waist, and he pulls me tight against his body—my back to his chest.
It only takes a moment before my eyes shut, and I fall fast asleep, spent from our lovemaking.
The next morning, after a sex-filled, um… an invigorating shower, we’re still in no hurry to get dressed. Luke, of course, always hungry… in more ways than one, I’m learning… calls in a huge breakfast order via room service.
When he notices my wide eyes, he gives me a rueful grin. “I have a huge appetite.”
Smirking, I reply, “I’m glad I’m a chef.”
He laughs. “Me too.”
When breakfast arrives, we sit in our robes around the table and enjoy quietly being together. Luke is fun to be around, and the morning passes quickly.
Luke’s phone buzzes, and he answers. “Hi, Emily… In an hour? Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Boss Lady.” He looks over at me. “The limo leaves for the airport in one hour.”
Nodding, I ask. “That private jet is something.”
“Yeah, sure beats the hell out of taking the buses.” He grins.
“You only take the buses when you’re on tour?” I ask curiously.
Luke shrugs. “Yeah, they’re great when we’re touring. We can sleep while we’re driven to the next venue. Close quarters, though.”
“When’s the band’s next scheduled tour?” Dreading the answer already.
“We had this time off because we were recording the new album.” He glances over at me with a frown. “Now, with all the publicity over the award. I’m sure Emily will have each of us doing interviews and guest appearances.”
“So you won’t be on tour for a while?”
“Once the new album launches, in about six months, we’ll be back on tour.” He gives me a direct look. “Knowing Emily, she’ll also schedule us for more performances to ride the PR wave from getting Album of the Year.”
Swallowing, I try to keep my expression neutral. “I see.” Standing, I turn toward the bedroom to begin packing. But Luke’s fingers close over my wrist, and he gently pulls me toward him and onto his lap .
“Hey, we’ll make this work. Okay?”
I smile as he nuzzles my neck, pushing my robe’s collar out of his way. “I know. It’s just… I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”
“Maybe you could come with us?”
“And do what? Cook?” I laugh, enjoying his lips warm against my collarbone.
He abruptly raises his head. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“Luke, I was only joking,” I protest.
“I know, but think about it. Pixie—“
My fingers over his mouth stop his words. “Pixie was just being… well, Pixie.”
Grabbing his hand, I pull him to his feet. “We better get moving if we don’t want to be late.”
The whirlwind of the awards show, the after-parties, the flashing lights, and the endless camera clicks already feel like a dream. A heady, intoxicating one filled with glamour, late nights, and stolen moments with Luke—but still, just a dream.
Now that we’re back in Jacksonville, reality sets in.
That reality includes the way my business has slowed down.
With all the time I took away, my private chef schedule isn’t nearly as packed as before. And the media and bad press? It certainly hasn’t helped. While some clients love the idea of hiring Luke Sterling’s girlfriend, others... well, they preferred when I was just Lila, the chef who stayed in the background. Maybe they’re wondering if I’m still serious about being a chef. Whichever it is, people are hesitant to hire me.
I glance down with a frown as my phone buzzes with yet another cancellation. That’s three this week. Turns out, being tabloid fodder isn’t great for a private chef business.
I try not to let it bother me.
I tell myself it’ll pick up soon, and the right opportunities will come in.
But after living in Luke’s world for those few days—flying on a private jet, staying in five-star hotels, sitting at a VIP table with celebrities, I can’t deny how… quiet things feel now.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to be home. I love my kitchen, my routine, my normal life. But stepping into Luke’s world, even briefly, made me realize just how different our lives really are.
And then there’s Luke himself.
The way he pulls me in and tempts me—at least when he’s around.
He’s been in and out but mostly out, as Emily has all of the band members doing guest appearances. I’m still not used to the rush of excitement from seeing Luke on TV.
But he got home yesterday morning, and we spent the day on the beach. He’d made me laugh despite my worries. “Put on some sunscreen,” he’d said, stretching out on the sand.
I’d reached for the bottle, but he’d stopped me. “No, do it slowly. Like, really slowly.”
“What? Why?”
His grin had been pure sin. “Because watching you with a bottle of suntan oil, touching yourself drives me crazy.”
I’d blushed scarlet but played along, turning the simple act of applying sunscreen into something that had him dragging me back to the house before I’d even finished my legs.
Now, running my fingers over the lingering tan lines, I smile at the memory. Everything about life with Luke is different—bigger, brighter, more intense. The five-star hotel, the red carpet, the private flights... it’s all been indescribable.
But it’s the small moments that matter most. The way he brings me coffee in bed. How he insists on taste-testing everything I cook, even though half the time he burns his tongue because he’s too impatient to wait for it to cool. The proud look in his eyes when he catches me singing off-key to one of his songs while I work.
My business might be slower, but I’ve never been happier. Besides, glancing at the notebook where I’ve been sketching out ideas, maybe it’s time for a change. Maybe this is the universe’s way of pushing me toward something new.
Something that combines my love of food with this crazy, beautiful life I’ve stumbled into.
I just haven’t figured out what that is yet.
But for now, I hear Luke’s footsteps, probably drawn by the smell of coffee and whatever he thinks I might be baking. And I know, with absolute certainty, that I wouldn’t change a thing.
Well, maybe one thing—I should probably start keeping suntan oil in the bedroom.