Chapter 10 — Luke Time #2
I kept my eyes on Penny. "The dress. Shoes. Whatever else you need. Steaks for tonight. Wine if Kiki lets Shay anywhere near the wine aisle."
"I have excellent wine instincts," Shay said.
Kiki made a sound. "You buy labels that look pretty."
"That's an instinct."
Penny still hadn't taken the card.
So I kept going.
"And I'll get each of you one. Your own. For groceries, clothes, toiletries, whatever pops up. If you're going to be here, I don't want you feeling like guests who have to ask where I keep the spare shampoo."
Kiki went very still.
Shay's mouth opened, then closed.
Tatum lifted her head from my shoulder.
Penny looked at the card, then at me, and the air between us went tight in a way that had nothing to do with money and everything to do with what it meant for a man to say: stay, take space, let me provide the ordinary things too.
I didn't say the obvious phrase.
Nobody needed me to.
Shay recovered first, because of course she did. "I need shoes."
Kiki looked at her.
"And probably a sundress," Shay added. "Possibly an emergency bikini. You never know when fabric fails."
"Fabric fails around you because you attack it," Kiki said.
"I have needs."
"You have scissors."
Tatum giggled against my neck, and the sound loosened something in the room.
Penny finally took the card.
Her fingers brushed mine. Light. Deliberate. Her eyes stayed on my face the whole time.
"Thank you," she said.
Not polished.
Not playful.
Real.
"Get the dress," I said.
"I'll."
"And steaks for dinner tonight. I’m cooking."
Shay pushed off the counter. "Ribeyes."
"Shay," Kiki said.
"What? He said steaks. I heard steaks. I'm honoring the assignment."
Penny slid the card into the back pocket of her shorts. The motion shouldn't have been hot.
It was.
Everything about her was hot right now. The white shorts. The loose hair. The little hint of fair dust on her ankle. The knowledge that my hand had been inside those shorts less than two hours ago and neither of us had come close to being finished.
She stepped closer and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
Too close to my mouth.
Too long for innocence.
"Friday," she said quietly. "My dress. Your hand on my back. Everybody looking."
My hand flexed against Tatum.
Penny smiled like she'd felt it.
Then Tatum tightened her arms around my neck.
"I'm not going shopping."
Kiki's smile turned soft and knowing. "No?"
"No." Tatum looked around at them, flushed and bright and past pretending. "I need Luke time."
Shay pressed her lips together like she was fighting for her life.
Penny didn't fight. Penny smiled.
"Well," she said, "we should probably take our time, then."
"Yes," Tatum said immediately. "But not too much time. I'll need steak later. Maybe electrolytes."
Kiki grabbed her purse from the island. "Steaks, dresses, wine, electrolytes. Anything else?"
Tatum's eyes dropped to my mouth. "Privacy."
"Already on the list," Shay said.
They moved with the quick, cheerful efficiency of women who knew exactly what they were leaving behind and were extremely pleased with themselves about it.
Kiki kissed my temple on the way past. Shay kissed Tatum's hair and whispered something that made Tatum snort.
Penny lingered at the door, one hand on the knob, the other resting over my credit card in her pocket.
"Don't break him," Penny told Tatum. “I need him whole for our date on Friday.”
Tatum smiled slowly. "No promises."
The door closed behind them.
For one breath, the house was silent.
Not empty.
Never empty now.
But quiet enough for the click of the latch to sound like permission.
Tatum turned back to me.
Her eyes were dark.
"Now," she said.
***
She moved before I could.
She didn’t climb off my lap.
I stood with her still wrapped around me, carried her across the quiet kitchen, and set her on the island.
The stone hit the backs of her thighs. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me between her legs with the decisive force of a woman who had been patient for as long as she was physically capable.
"I need you," she said.
I braced my hands on the counter on either side of her hips. "I’m all yours."
"Remember me?"
"Hard to forget with your legs around my waist for the last hour."
"Good." She hooked one heel behind my thigh and dragged me closer. "I don't want to be forgettable."
"Tatum."
"Don't say it like you're about to be careful."
That stopped me.
Her face was flushed, freckles standing out across her nose and cheeks, copper hair messy from the fair and my truck and the hour she'd spent burying herself against me like I was the only solid thing left in the world. But her eyes were steady now.
Still bright.
Still wild.
Not scared.
Wanting.
"I'm not breakable," she said.
My hands slid to her thighs. Hot skin. Firm muscle. The little tremor still there, but not fear anymore. Aftershock. Need. A body with too much feeling in it and nowhere else to put it.
"I know."
"Do you?" Her fingers worked at the buttons of my shirt, fast and clumsy and not at all interested in patience.
"Because everybody catches me. Everybody laughs when I fall, or holds my drink, or tells me to slow down, or says that's just Tatum.
And I love them. I do. But I don't want you to catch me right now. "
She got the last button open and shoved the shirt off my shoulders.
Her palms landed on my chest.
"I want you to want me."
The words were simple.
They hit harder because of that.
I took her face in both hands and kissed her.
Hard enough to end the conversation.
She opened for me with a sound that went straight down my spine.
Her hands slid into my hair. Her thighs tightened around my hips.
The kiss turned rough fast, Tatum giving as much as she took, biting my lower lip, pushing her tongue against mine, rocking herself against the front of my jeans until I had to grip the counter to keep from taking her right there.
"Clothes," she gasped.
"Yours or mine?"
"Both. Eventually. Mine first. I want you to look at me."
There it was again.
Not performance.
Not chaos.
A request.
I pulled her shirt up slowly.
She raised her arms, impatient but trying to let me have it, and I dragged the cotton over her head. Her hair fell wild around her shoulders. She wore a white bra under it, plain and pretty and straining against her full breasts as she breathed.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I said.
Her smile flickered.
For once, she didn't turn it into a joke.
I kissed the hollow of her throat. Her head tipped back. My mouth moved lower, over the warm line of her collarbone, down to the swell of her breast straining against the cup. Her fingers dug into my shoulders.
"Luke."
"Let me."
"I am. I'm letting. I'm extremely letting."
That made me laugh against her skin.
Then I reached behind her and unhooked the bra.
The straps slipped down her arms.
I took my time pulling it away.
Tatum Bell never stopped moving. Not in restaurants, not on docks, not at parties, not in the middle of conversations that didn't require choreography. But she went still when I uncovered her.
Her breasts were gorgeous. Full and high and heavy enough to more than fill my hands, pale skin flushed pink from heat, nipples tight from the cool air and the way I was looking at her. Her breathing changed when my palms closed over them.
"Oh," she whispered.
I watched her face as I touched her. Thumbs circling, hands weighing, learning. Her eyes went hazy. Her hips rolled against me. The woman who could turn an entire fair into a contact sport softened for half a second under my hands, and the tenderness of it almost knocked me out.
Then she grabbed my belt.
"Don't get poetic," she said, voice shaking. "I'm naked from the waist up on your kitchen island and your hands are on my tits. This isn't a museum."
"Noted."
I bent and took one nipple into my mouth.
She jerked against me, sharp and immediate, a broken little sound punching out of her. Her fingers clamped in my hair. I sucked her harder, and she arched, breasts pushing into my mouth and hand like she had no interest in restraint and no ability to fake it.
"Yes," she said. "Fuck, yes, do that."
So I did.
I used my mouth until she was panting, until her hips were grinding against my belt, until the island creaked under the restless rhythm of her body.
Then I kissed my way down her stomach, tasting salt and sunscreen and the warm clean skin of her.
She braced her hands behind her, watching me with eyes gone wide and dark.
I unbuttoned her shorts.
She lifted her hips before I asked.
I slid them down her legs and let the denim fall to the kitchen floor.
Her panties were pale blue, damp at the center.
I stared.
She blushed.
Tatum actually blushed.
"What?" she demanded.
"Nothing."
"That isn't a nothing face."
"It's a trying-not-to-lose-my-mind face."
Her mouth opened, then closed. Her legs widened another inch.
The offer was so honest it hurt.
I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her panties and drew them down. Slowly. Over her hips, down her thighs, past her knees, off her ankles.
And then she was naked on my kitchen island.
Tatum Bell.
All bright hair and flushed skin and gorgeous breasts, restless thighs, strong legs, bare pussy already wet for me, looking at me like every ridiculous thing she'd ever done had been leading us here.
I stepped back enough to see her.
Her chin lifted.
"Okay," she said, too fast. "Looking has occurred. Touching can resume."
"I'm still looking."
"Luke."
"I know."
I did.
I knew she was nervous because this mattered.
I knew she was turned on enough to shake.
I knew she was still Tatum, which meant if I let the moment get too solemn, she'd light it on fire just to prove she could.
So I put my hands on her knees and spread her open.
Her breath caught.
"Better?" I asked.
"Much."
I lowered my mouth to her.
The first touch of my tongue made her whole body jump.
"Oh my God."
Her hand slapped down against the countertop. The other went into my hair. I licked her again, slower this time, and she made a sound that I felt everywhere.