Chapter 20 LUAN
LUAN
I wake to warmth.
Not the familiar heat of blankets piled high or the ambient temperature of climate control. Something else entirely. Something alive and pressed firmly against my back, molding itself to the shape of my body like it was designed to fit there.
An embrace.
The realization filters through slowly, my mind still thick with sleep, with the deep unconsciousness that comes from actual rest instead of the shallow half-aware state I've existed in for weeks.
I can't remember the last time I slept this well. Can't remember the last time I woke feeling this relaxed, this safe, this fundamentally at peace.
If I've ever felt this way before, the memory is lost to years of carefully constructed walls and deliberately chosen isolation.
Lily is holding me. Her body curved around mine in the most intimate configuration possible, her softer form fitting against my harder lines with precision that feels inevitable. Her arm is draped over my waist. Her breath is soft and even against the back of my neck.
She's the big spoon and I'm reveling in it. In the care implicit in the gesture. In the protection offered despite the fact that she's smaller, that I'm supposed to be the one providing safety, that the entire dynamic is reversed from what it should be.
The last time someone held me like this was the night my mother died.
The memory surfaces unbidden, sharp-edged despite the years.
I was twelve. Mira found me in my room after my father finally left me alone, after the beating that followed his anger when he saw me crying had exhausted even his capacity for violence.
She wrapped herself around me exactly like Lily is doing now, her thin arms holding me together while I tried not to cry, tried to be strong, tried to be what my father demanded even though he was the reason I needed holding in the first place.
My mother was gone. One of my only defenders, weak as she'd been, still a buffer between me and him. A distraction. A target that wasn't me.
After that night it was just me and Mira against him and everything he represented. Just us trying to survive in a house that felt more like a war zone than a home.
And then three years later, she left too.
That pain was worse. Sharper. My mother had been absent long before she actually died. But Mira was there. Always. Shielding me when she could from the worst of his rage. Nursing my wounds when she couldn't prevent them. Making sure I survived each day so I could face the next one.
When she left, it broke something fundamental in me that I've never managed to repair. Never even tried to repair because broken felt safer than whole, easier to defend than vulnerable.
And when I found out the truth about what really happened, I made sure every single person responsible paid for it. Blood for blood. Pain for pain.
But none of that brought her back.
I push the thoughts away forcibly, refusing to let old ghosts contaminate this moment. Focus instead on the present. On Lily's warmth pressed against me. On the way her body fits perfectly along mine like we were designed for exactly this configuration.
And on the fact that I'm getting hard.
Impossible to ignore with her this close, with her arm over me, with the awareness of her soft curves pressed against my back making every nerve ending fire with want.
My body responding without permission, without conscious thought, just pure physical reaction to proximity and touch and the knowledge of who's holding me.
Dawn light filters through the curtains, gray and soft and growing stronger by the minute.
I blink slowly, testing my vision the way I do every morning now.
Better. Definitely better. Shapes are clearer than yesterday.
Edges more defined. Details emerging from the blur that's been my reality for weeks.
Not perfect yet. Not fully recovered. But closer. Close enough to see the pale light painting geometric patterns across the ceiling. Close enough to make out the contrast between shadow and illumination.
I feel the exact moment Lily starts to wake.
Her breathing changes first, the deep even rhythm of sleep shifting to something shallower, more conscious.
Her body goes still against mine as awareness returns, as she realizes where she is and what she's doing and how thoroughly she's wrapped herself around me.
Her sharp intake of breath is audible in the quiet room. The small sound of someone discovering they've crossed a line they didn't mean to cross.
She starts to move immediately, carefully extracting her arm from around my waist, trying to create distance without disturbing me, attempting to retreat before I wake and find her like this.
Too late.
I catch her hand before she can pull away completely, pressing it firmly against my chest, holding it there over my heart. "Stay."
She freezes, every muscle locking. "Luan, I—"
"Stay a little longer." Not a request. Not quite a command. Something in between. An invitation she's free to refuse but that I desperately hope she won't.
"I'm sorry. I fell asleep. I didn't mean to—"
I turn in her embrace, rolling to face her, cutting off the unnecessary apology with my mouth on hers.
The kiss is immediate. Intense. Everything I've been holding back for weeks, all the want and need and desperate hunger I've been denying, pouring into this single point of contact.
My lips claiming hers with a possessiveness I didn't know I was capable of, tasting her properly for the first time since the club, since that kiss that was supposed to be performance and became something else entirely.
She makes a small sound against my mouth, surprise and want tangled together, and opens for me immediately.
I break away after several seconds that feel simultaneously too long and nowhere near long enough. Pull back just far enough to give her space. Give her time. Give her the opportunity to end this before it goes further than either of us can take back.
She's breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, her blue eyes wide and dark in the growing light. Looking at me like she's seeing something she didn't expect to find.
Then she closes the distance herself. Eliminates the space I created. Kisses me again with a hunger that matches my own, her tongue sliding against mine, her hand fisting in my hair and pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.
I roll us, using my weight and leverage to position her beneath me, bracketing her body with my arms, caging her in without crushing her. Letting her feel my size, my strength, everything I'm barely holding back.
"Are you sure?" My voice comes out rough, strained with the effort of maintaining control. "Because if you don't leave this bed in the next three seconds, I won't be able to stop."
The words are fair warning. Honest assessment of exactly how close I am to losing the iron grip I maintain on my self-control at all times. How much I want this. Want her.
She looks up at me. Nods once, sharp and certain.
Not enough.
"My vision isn't great these days." I force the admission out, self-deprecating. "I need you to say it. Need to hear you."
"Yes." Clear. Certain. No hesitation coloring the single word. "Yes, Luan. I'm sure."
The permission detonates something inside me that's been compressed too long, held too tight, denied too consistently.
I kiss her again, harder this time, all pretense of gentleness abandoned in favor of raw need. Possessive. Claiming. Everything I've been denying myself finally given free rein.
My hands find the hem of her thin pajama top, the fabric soft under my fingers. I pull it up and off in one smooth motion, breaking the kiss only long enough to clear her head before my mouth is on hers again.
I force myself to slow down. To take my time even though everything in me is screaming to rush, to take, to claim without preamble or patience.
Kiss down from her mouth to her jaw, following the delicate line to her ear, learning the taste of her skin, the way she shivers when I find sensitive spots, the small sounds she makes when I do something she likes.
Down her neck, feeling her pulse racing under my lips. Her collarbone, sharp and delicate. Her breasts, taking time with each one, using tongue and teeth and suction until she's arching into my mouth, her hands fisted in my hair, her breathing ragged.
The taste of her skin is intoxicating. Salt and sweetness and something fundamentally her. The texture differs depending on where I'm kissing, smoothness giving way to different kinds of softness, variations I catalog automatically even as I lose myself in sensation.
I can't see her face clearly, my vision still too compromised for that kind of detail in the dim morning light.
But I can feel everything. The warmth of her skin under my lips.
The way her breathing changes when I do something she particularly likes.
The small gasps and moans I'm pulling from her.
The way her body moves beneath mine, seeking friction, seeking more.
My other senses compensate for what sight can't provide, sharpening until every touch is amplified, every sound crystal clear, every scent and taste magnified beyond normal perception.
I kiss down her body, slower now despite the urgency thrumming through my veins. Deliberate. Worshipful. Mapping every inch of her with my mouth while my hands follow, learning the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the softness of her thighs.
My fingers find the waistband of her pajama bottoms. I pull them down as I continue my descent, dragging the fabric over her hips and down her legs before tossing them aside without looking to see where they land.
She's not wearing anything underneath. Completely bare. Completely mine for this moment.
I settle between her legs, spreading them wider, making room for my shoulders. The scent of her arousal is overwhelming this close, making my mouth water, making my cock ache with the need to be inside her.
Not yet. Not until she's ready. Not until she's desperate for it.
I taste her properly, my tongue sliding through wet heat, finding the bundle of nerves that makes her cry out. Use my mouth and my fingers together, learning what she likes, what makes her gasp versus what makes her moan, what makes her thighs tremble and her hands pull at my hair.
She's responsive. Uninhibited. Making sounds I want to record and replay later when I'm alone. Her hips moving against my mouth, chasing pleasure without shame or self-consciousness.
I work her higher, relentlessly, adding pressure and speed as her sounds get more desperate, as her body starts to tighten, as she gets close to the edge.
When she comes, it's with my name on her lips and her hands fisted in my hair hard enough to hurt, her thighs clamping around my head, her whole body arching off the bed as the orgasm crashes through her.
Bukur. Beautiful.
I kiss her inner thighs as she comes down, gentling her through the aftershocks, working my way back up her body with deliberate slowness. Savoring every inch. Every small shiver. Every gasping breath.
When I reach her mouth again, I kiss her deep and thorough, letting her taste herself on my tongue, sharing the evidence of her pleasure.
"Open the nightstand drawer." The command comes out rough, my voice scraped raw with need barely contained. "Take out a condom. Put it on me."