CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Emery
The rideshare smells like leather and the cologne of whoever sat in here before me. The city slides past the windows in streaks of light I barely register.
I’m wired.
Not drunk—just loose. Warm. Buzzing in that way that has nothing to do with champagne and everything to do with the sight of Lucas Hale in a tuxedo and the way my body ached and wanted more when his lips brushed my cheek.
I replay the night over and over.
The women flirting with him.
One of their hands on his arm.
The way he didn’t pull away—but didn’t lean in either.
The look he gave me over the rim of his glass, dark and knowing, like he was daring me to blink first.
I didn’t.
I haven’t all night.
And maybe that’s why I’m in a horrible mood and antsy as hell.
A part of me wonders if he’ll go home with one of them—the women from tonight—but another part of me replays the last few weeks, considering how intentional Lucas has been in showing what he wants—me. So, why would he change his mind now?
And yet . . . I can’t stop reliving how I felt watching him tonight with other women.
By the time I reach my apartment, my pulse is jumpy and my thoughts are a mess of restraint and want . . . and a single, extremely clear truth I’ve been trying to avoid. To deny. To pretend isn’t there.
I want Lucas Hale.
The friendship is there. The respect is there. The attraction is most definitely there.
Do the risks outweigh the benefits?
I’m sick of thinking. Tired of wondering. Sick of wanting.
And I don’t want to do this halfway anymore.
I step into my apartment and within seconds of the door clicking behind me, my heels come off and my clutch lands on the counter with a thud.
I pace.
Once.
Twice.
Breathe. Sleep it off. Wake up tomorrow and the same rules will be intact and your ridiculous thoughts of breaking them will be gone.
Then I hear it.
The unmistakable sound of a door opening across the hall.
The door closing.
I freeze as my hand curls into a slow fist at my side.
This is ridiculous. Go to bed, Em.
I head toward my bedroom. Then stop.
I think of his voice in my ear at the gala. The way he said thank you like it meant something. The way his restraint has felt so much heavier than any touch.
Fuck. I close my eyes. Fight the urge.
And turn, out the door in my bare feet, across the hall.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Lucas opens the door immediately. Surprise flickers across his face. The tie and jacket are gone, his sleeves are rolled up, and his hair is slightly mussed like he’s dragged his hand through it more than once.
“Emery?”
I don’t give him a moment to think, or time for me to second guess this.
“I’m sick of pretending this isn’t happening,” I say, voice steady even as my heart races against my rib cage.
His brows knit. “What—”
I don’t let him finish.
My hands press to his chest and I push him back. The solid thud of his body meeting the wall behind him vibrates its way up my arms. The quiet, surprised exhale he emits is all I need to hear.
Then I kiss him.
Not careful. Not hesitant.
The kiss is all the frustration I swallowed down at the gala. All the restraint I’ve shown. All the moments I walked away when I didn’t want to.
His breath stutters against my mouth, and for a split second his hands hover at his sides, like he’s bracing himself.
“Doc,” he murmurs against my lips, voice rough and conflicted. “Respecting your wishes is harder when you do shit like this.”
I pull back just enough to look at him, noticing his darkened eyes and tight jaw. His control is hanging on by a thread.
I know just how to snap it.
“Disrespect me, Lucas.”
Something in his expression snaps—control giving way to want—and his hands come up fast and decisive, gripping my waist, anchoring me there as his mouth finds mine again. Like he’s done pretending this doesn’t own him too.
The kiss deepens instantly. No more restraint. No more rules. A culmination of the many things we didn’t let ourselves have and have craved.
His mouth moves over mine like he knows exactly what he wants and isn’t willing to let it go again.
I feel everything.
The heat of him.
The press of his body.
The thud of his heart beneath the palm of my hands.
The way his breath stutters when my fingers slide into his hair.
My chest arches into him without permission, and his groan vibrates through him and into me.
We break apart only long enough to breathe.
“Emery,” he says again, like my name tastes different now. Like it means something more.
I’m dizzy with it. With him.
He trails his mouth along my jaw and down the side of my neck. I suck in a sharp breath, my hands tightening in his shirt as the world narrows to just him and as my brain finally accepts the undeniable truth that I want this.
Want him.
His forehead rests against mine for a moment, breath uneven, voice rough. “This is going to change everything.”
I don’t flinch.
I don’t pull away.
“I know.” It’s an admission as much as it is a promise. One I can’t think about regretting in this moment.
His mouth traces my jaw, my throat, my shoulder, and I mewl at the way it feels—too much and not enough all at once. His hands slide along my back, drawing me closer until there’s no space left to pretend we aren’t already crossing every line that matters.
I feel the strength in him. The gentleness beneath it. The desire that’s edging around both of them. The care he’s shown me in a hundred quiet ways layered beneath the hunger of his touch.
And I realize this isn’t reckless.
This is honest.
I follow him into the dark of his apartment. The door closes behind us with a deliberate click that feels like a decision made out loud.
His mouth finds mine again. Slower this time. Deeper. Like he’s committing everything about it to memory.
I melt into the arms that held back until I asked him not to.
But now there’s no holding back.
His hands slide up my spine, more possessive this time as my fingers fist in his shirt. Our lips express all the pent-up sexual frustration.
The kisses are hungry. Desperate. Urgent. As if we can’t get enough and want to savor it simultaneously.
Everything is breath and movement and the sound of his name on my lips.
No thinking.
No rules.
No space.
Just this.
Just him.
He walks me backward without breaking the kiss, urgency in every step. We bump into the doorframe of his bedroom. Our kisses turn to laughter while my pulse pounds everywhere.
In the bedroom he barely pauses. His mouth is back as his hands skim under my dress, over my hips, up my ribs, like he can’t decide where to touch first. It makes me feel sexy. Desirable.
Clothes become obstacles, coming off in between kisses and touching. It’s awkward. It’s fast. Our fingers fumble but we don’t care. Every brush of skin sends heat racing through me like my body has been waiting for permission and now has free rein.
“Let me look at you,” he says as he tugs on my earlobe with his teeth before stepping back and groaning in appreciation.
Normally, I’d feel self-conscious at the request, but I’m so mesmerized by the way he looks at me, by the sight of him standing naked before me, that the only thought I have is how much I want this.
He stands feet from me with broad shoulders and a trim waist, a man who has dedicated his life and his body to perform grueling physical tasks. And yes, while I admire every delicious inch of his honed perfection, I’m fixated on his sizable cock that stands at full attention.
He steps forward now, his hand brushing over my cheek and framing my face. “You’re gorgeous, Em.” He drags his thumb over my bottom lip. “Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to do this? You. Here. Like this?”
The quiet reprieve is over. I want this man and I want him now.
I reach down and stroke my hand over his cock. “Then show me.”
His grin is sexy as he lays me back on the bed. I spread my legs as he reaches toward his nightstand, grabs a condom, and protects us before settling between my legs.
His hands run up my calves to the inside of my thighs. I arch my back when he touches me, when his fingertips part me, find me wet, and then spread my arousal around and up to my clit.
He spends time there. Gentle friction with one of his hands while his other softly strokes back and forth on his cock.
It’s an intoxicating sight—him between my thighs with a gaze that keeps shifting from watching his fingers pleasure me up to meeting my eyes. If desire was ever personified, it would be this right here, right now.
“Lucas,” I moan as my body coils tighter and tighter from his touch. Reflexively, I move my hands to my breasts and begin to tease my nipples. It’s an outlet for the sensations he’s causing. It’s a means to help me get there faster.
“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he groans as he dips his fingers lower and pushes into me. My hips buck and I cry out at the feeling. At the sensation. As he curves his fingertips up and pleasures the rough patch of nerves just inside.
“Just like that, baby,” he says as I ride his fingers. Over and over. His eyes holding mine. His fingers owning me. His teeth biting his bottom lip.
I’ve never been this close to coming so quickly in my life. My jaw aches from clenching, and my thighs tremble as I will the orgasm to come.
Every slick, practiced curl of his fingers. Each slow circle on my clit. Every shallow breathed moan that fills the room.
I begin to unravel. Second by second. Tease by tease. My vision goes spotty as I grip the comforter, and a ragged gasp falls from my lips.
He slows his sensuous assault, and I lift my hips to beg for more as my body vibrates with tension.
“Lucas,” I pant as my skin tightens and body tenses.
He smiles and withdraws his fingers with an agonizing deliberation, knuckles brushing over my slick skin.
“Please.” The word is breathless as my heart races and the ache burns bright.
He leans over and kisses the inside of my thighs, his chuckle triggering my rioting nerve endings.
“Not yet. I want you wrapped around me when you come.” He sits back up. “I want to feel you take every inch of me.” He lines the head of his cock up at my entrance as need turns to greed. “I want you to soak me when you do.”
My cry matches his guttural groan as he pushes his way into me.
He’s thick and hard and fucking hell, he feels so goddamn good.
He fills me so completely that everything else—air, words, the world, my thoughts—are impossible to fathom.
He rocks into me with a relentless rhythm, reducing my only focus to the slick friction between us.
His touch. The sight of him. The feel of him. Everything about him pushes me over the edge in a blinding surge. A shockwave that starts in my toes and then crashes through me with a ferocity that has my skin prickling and body burning.
Lucas grips my hips and grinds into me so that the aftershock of my orgasm ripples down the length of him.
His fingers dig deeper as he denies himself his own needs so I can find mine. But restraint can only last so long, and when I lift my hips and move them back and forth, riding his cock, every last bit of his control snaps.
His growl fills the room as he begins to fuck me. With long slow strokes at first, one after another, but with each pull out and push back in, the pace quickens.
Faster.
Deeper.
Every pounding thrust has his cock scraping deliciously over the hypersensitive nerves inside me. He presses the heel of his hand against my clit so that with each connection, each thrust, I’m thrown once again into the sensations.
Into him. Into us.
“Come again for me,” he groans as he moves. His jaw is clenched. His body trembles over me. The tendons in his neck are taut and sweat mists his skin. His cock swells and pushes me back over the edge.
I cry out as my nails score his thighs, and my body absorbs every drive until Lucas is calling out my name with his hips jerking recklessly as he claims his own climax.
“My God,” he says as he collapses on top of me, teeth grazing my collarbone, as he runs his hand up and down the one side of me his body isn’t covering.
His heart races against mine as our fingers link and breaths slowly shift from pants to even.
“Definitely better than orange slices and Gatorade,” he says.
And then we both laugh, because let’s face it, he’s not wrong.