Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Sadie
E verything is fine, and I’m feeling good.
Of course, it always starts out this way.
The music. The beat. The people.
It’s fun, and I’m happy.
But then the space gets too hot, and everyone is standing too close.
Familiar faces blink into the mass of people before they’re gone again.
“No.”
Someone holds my hand and pulls me through the horde. It’s Sage, and she’s smiling, squeezing my fingers until they hurt.
But then her grip slips, and she’s gone. They’re all getting too close again.
“No, no, no.”
I search the crowd for Luke, but he’s not here. A distant voice reminds me he will never be here. He doesn’t belong here. The comfort he brings, the security I feel with him, the warmth of his touch—none of that will find me here .
Someone touches my back, and I try to scream, but it comes out more like a wail.
Hands grip my arms, my legs, my hair.
They’re tearing me apart.
“Stop!”
“This is all your fault,” they say. Their voices echo in unison, over and over and over again.
I keep trying to scream, but nothing comes out.
Just wake up, Sadie. You just have to wake up, and they’ll stop.
When a hand slips up my thigh, my stomach turns, and I feel tears stream down my face. As I surrender to the masses, letting their hands take their fill of me, I call out for him.
His name comes out in a slur and more of a cry than a call.
“Luke, please.”
Rough hands shake me, and suddenly, through the darkness, he’s there.
“Sadie, wake up.”
He’s kneeling on the side of my bed, his face illuminated by the glow of the night-light plugged into the wall.
I blink a few times, trying to reconcile if this is real or a dream. I can still feel hands on my body and the moisture on my face. I touch my face to find my lashes wet and a sheen of sweat on my forehead.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, brushing my hair from my face. “You had a bad dream.”
Suddenly, I’m flooded with embarrassment. I haven’t had a dream like that in a long time. I thought those days were behind me.
Oh God, what did I say?
“I’m fine,” I say, shaking my head and trying to hide the tremble in my limbs.
He’s staring at me gravely, without moving .
“I said I’m fine,” I snap, turning away from him and resting my hand on the hard, round swell of my stomach.
“Okay. You scared me,” he says, as if I should feel bad for my subconscious scaring him.
“Sorry,” I huff, my voice shaking as I fight the urge to cry.
I keep waiting for him to leave so I can just let it all out, but the bed dips instead. Turning back, I find him crawling under the covers behind me. He’s in nothing but plaid pajama pants and no shirt. And I’m in far less—a sports bra and a pair of cotton panties.
When the bare skin of his chest touches my back, I have to breathe through the tears. His arm wraps around my midsection, tugging me closer.
“Go to your own bed,” I say, whimpering as I sob. I don’t even bother trying to hide it now.
He squeezes me closer.
“No.”
“Luke,” I whine.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs in the darkness.
“Now who’s the brat?” I say, forcing a laugh that he doesn’t return.
I don’t fall back to sleep and not because I’m being obstinate, but because I can’t. My mind is racing, replaying everything from the dream and then, of course, everything from that night the dream was an echo of. The tears eventually stop, but I lie in silence and stare through the night at the window and the gently moving curtain.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he whispers a while later.
I shake my head.
“Can I ask why you called my name?” His voice is gentle, with his hand resting on my stomach and my head just under his chin.
“I didn’t,” I argue, although I don’t know what I yelled out loud. I just know what I felt.
“Yes, you did. You screamed it.”
My eyes pinch closed tightly .
Then I feel his lips against my head as he gently mumbles, “You sounded terrified.”
My fingers find his and I squeeze his hand in mine and tighten his grip around me, but I can’t speak. Not yet.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Sadie. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You don’t hurt me,” I reply in a breathless cry. I hate to imagine him thinking he’s the reason I was so scared. It wasn’t that way at all, but how can I tell him that?
He’s not the nightmare; he’s the dream.
“It was nothing, Luke. I promise. I was just scared, and I was looking for you.”
Turning my head, I gaze into his eyes. His expression is dire, still a little frightened, but he never lets me go.
“Well, I’m here now,” he replies, pulling me closer. “So you can sleep.”
Nestling into the pillow and focusing on the cadence of his breath and the beat of his heart, I finally manage to drift off.
Waking up in Lucas’s arms is agonizingly wonderful. The lean muscles of his arm are still wrapped around me and our bodies fit together like they were made to.
How is this fair? Why does he have to be so perfect for me, except for that one minor flaw—he hates the idea of relationships or kids?
Count me out.
We’ve grown so close over the past couple of months. I wonder if he’ll even look back when he leaves. Will it tear him up the same way it will me? I bet he’ll board that plane and take off to live his dreams without an ounce of remorse or heartbreak.
How the fuck is this fair?
I blink my eyes open, slowly waking up as he shifts behind me. As his grip on my waist tightens and he lets out a sleepy groan, my eyes pop open wide.
His impressive length is hard and poking my backside. Suddenly, my body is thrumming with excitement.
Is he awake?
He freezes for a moment, and I wait to see if he’ll do it again.
“Sorry,” he mumbles sleepily. “I’m not used to waking up with a beautiful woman next to me.”
Shifting my hips back an inch, I reply, “It’s okay.”
He tightens his grip on my side. “Stop it.”
“What if I don’t?” I say. Biting my bottom lip, I rub my ass against him some more.
He buries his face in my neck, growling deeply right into my ear. I laugh, reaching back to bury my hand in his hair.
“Then I’ll have to punish you again,” he says, but there’s not an ounce of severity in his tone. He’s grinding himself against my backside now.
Briefly, in the back of my mind, I wonder when we got here. The spanking, the touching, the classroom, our relationship has evolved so strangely since we met, but no matter what our dynamic is, the comfort is there. Is he my friend? My Dom? My boyfriend?
All of the above, or maybe none of them at all. No words can quite describe what we have, and I love that.
As he groans in my ear, I close my eyes and smile. His right hand drifts down, slipping into my underwear and finding my clit as if he’s already memorized the landscape of my body.
“Some punishment,” I say with a hum.
“I changed my mind,” he mutters darkly. “This is a reward.”
“I like rewards too.” My voice is high-pitched as he grinds against me faster, massaging my clit in fast, tight circles.
I wish he’d tear down my underwear and fuck me, but it’s the wanting that makes this so good. We are so close to sex without quite having it yet, and it makes it that much more decadent.
His groans mingle with mine as we use each other to get off like we’re recording over the events of last night. He dismisses my nightmares with his touch. Luke is not taking something without permission. I’m giving him my body with a mind full of trust and a heart full of hope.
I already told him—I’m his.
“More,” I whine as he cants his hips up and down against my panty-covered ass, seeking friction for his own pleasure.
“I’m gonna fucking come,” he rasps.
Our bodies are tangled as we both find our climaxes, coming together for the first time.
He moans loudly in my ear as I whimper through my own orgasm, getting off on the reminder that I’ve made him come in his own pants. And something about that is so hot.
“Fuck,” he murmurs into my hair.
“What a way to wake up,” I reply with a smile.
Another day, another line crossed.
As he melts into the mattress to catch his breath, rolling onto his back, I stretch my body out next to him.
Softly, he mumbles, “I need to clean up?—”
I gasp so loud he startles.
“What?!” he shrieks, looking at me with terror.
My hand flies to my stomach. “I felt something.”
It was a tiny pulse, like a flinch but more than a flutter. Quickly, I grab Luke’s hand and bring it to my belly, gently pushing his fingers where I felt the movement.
We stare at each other in anticipation. And after a moment, another tiny bump drums inside me.
“Did you feel that?” I ask excitedly.
Luke’s eyes grow wide as his mouth hangs open.
“Oh my god,” he says in awe.
After another moment, it kicks again. Luke lies back on the bed, apparently unbothered by the mess in his pants, as we lie together, our hands pressed against my stomach.
The moment is quiet and intimate, but I know in my heart that this moment is also cosmic and unforgettable .
Perhaps stuff like this is worse than sex when it comes to lines we shouldn’t cross. Because sex is easier to walk away from. But this will be impossible.
If he keeps letting me get this close to him, he won’t just break my heart—he’ll obliterate it.