Chapter 17
Maya
The kiss ends but my hands are still fisted in Lucas's shirt, still holding him close like I'm afraid he might disappear if I let go. His forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing hard, and I can feel the tremor in his hands where they cup my face.
"Maya." My name sounds sacred on his lips.
I should step back. We're standing in full view of the windows, where anyone walking past could see us. Where Evan could be watching. Lurking. But I can't bring myself to care about anything beyond the solid warmth of his body against mine and the way his blue eyes have gone dark with want.
"Take me upstairs," I whisper, and the words surprise me with their certainty.
His pupils dilate, and I watch him swallow hard. "Are you sure? Because once we—"
"I'm sure." I rise on my toes to kiss him again, softer this time but full of lust. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
Something shifts in his expression, careful control giving way to raw need. "God, yes."
His hands drop to my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto the bar, and I gasp at the sudden change in height that brings us eye to eye. He steps between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs, and the intimate positioning makes heat pool low in my belly.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of my neck. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this?"
"Tell me," I breathe, my head falling back to give him better access.
"I used to lie awake thinking about kissing you. Touching you." His hands slide higher, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs through my jeans. "Wondering if you'd make those little sounds you're making right now."
I'm making sounds? I hadn't noticed, too lost in the sensation of his hands on my skin, his mouth working magic on my neck. But now I'm aware of the soft gasps and sighs escaping my lips, the way my body is responding to every touch like I've been starved for this kind of attention.
"We should..." I start, then lose my train of thought entirely when his lips find mine again and his hand brushes against my breast through my sweater. "Oh God."
"Should what?" he asks against my skin, and I can feel his smile.
"Go upstairs. Before someone sees us."
He pulls back to look at me, and the tenderness in his expression nearly undoes me. "You're sure? No second thoughts, no panic attacks?"
"I'm done with all that." I frame his face with my hands, letting him see the truth in my eyes. "I want this. I want you. All of you, Lucas Mason."
The last of his restraint crumbles. He lifts me off the bar, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist, and carries me toward the stairs leading to his loft. I bury my face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him, feeling safer and more desired than I ever have.
"I love you," I whisper against his ear, and feel him stumble slightly on the stairs.
"Say it again," he demands, his voice rough with emotion.
"I love you." The words come easier this time, flowing like they've been waiting my whole life to be spoken. "I love you, Lucas."
He sets me down at the top of the stairs just long enough to unlock his door, then pulls me inside, pressing me against the closed door and kissing me with a desperation that matches my own.
This kiss is different from the ones downstairs—hungrier, more urgent, full of the promise of everything that's about to happen between us.
His shirt hits the floor, and my breath catches at the sight of him. I'd seen glimpses before—when I crashed here that first night, the morning he came out shirtless—but this is different. This is Lucas letting me look, letting me touch, wanting me to see him.
My hands trace the broad expanse of his chest, fingertips mapping scars and muscle and warm skin.
"You're beautiful," I whisper, and watch his cheeks flush.
"Men aren't beautiful," he protests, but his hands are already reaching for the hem of my sweater.
"You are." I let him pull the fabric over my head, shivering slightly as the cool air hits my skin. "You always have been."
For a moment, we just stand there looking at each other, taking in the reality of what's happening. I'm standing in Lucas Mason's loft in nothing but jeans and a bra, and he's looking at me like I'm perfect instead of the curvy, imperfect woman I've always seen in the mirror.
"God, Maya." His hands hover near my waist, asking permission. "You're so fucking gorgeous."
The reverence in his voice makes me bold. I reach for his hands, placing them on my waist, then let my own hands explore the hard planes of his chest and stomach. He's broader than I imagined, solid and strong and completely focused on me.
"I've never felt beautiful before," I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them. "Not until you looked at me like that."
I lean up to kiss him again, more slowly this time, savoring the taste of him and the feel of his hands on my bare skin.
He lifts me again, carrying me the few steps to his bed, laying me down gently. The mattress dips under his weight as he settles beside me, one hand tracing patterns on my stomach while his eyes drink in every inch of exposed skin.
"We can go slow," he murmurs against my collarbone. "We have time."
But I don't want slow. I've spent years being careful, being cautious, protecting myself from feeling too much. Right now, I want to feel everything.
"I don't want slow," I tell him, my hands already working at his belt. "I want you. All of you. Now."
His control snaps at my words, and suddenly we're a tangle of limbs and desperate touches, clothes disappearing in a blur of need and want. When there's nothing left between us but heat and desire and the sound of our breathing, I feel like I'm coming alive for the first time.
"Maya," he breathes against my ear, his hands gripping my hips. "Tell me what you want."
"You," I gasp, arching against him, feeling the hard length of him pressed against me. "All of you. Please."
He reaches for the nightstand, and I hear the rustle of foil. The brief pause only heightens my anticipation, and when he settles back between my thighs, his eyes lock with mine.
I answer by wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he understands perfectly.
When he finally enters me, slow and deep, I'm overwhelmed by the sensation of being so completely filled, so perfectly connected. My body stretches to accommodate him, and the slight burn only adds to the intensity. He stills for a moment, letting me adjust, brushing a tender kiss to my cheek.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.
"More than okay," I breathe, rolling my hips experimentally and watching his eyes go darker with lust. "Don't stop."
And when we finally find our rhythm, when we're moving together like we've done this a thousand times before, I understand what I've been searching for my entire life.
Not success or validation or the perfect career.
Just this. This feeling of being completely claimed by someone who loves every complicated, messy part of me.
Afterward, we lie tangled together in the darkness, my head on Lucas's chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to normal. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder, and I've never felt so content, so perfectly right in my own skin.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest.
"How different this feels." I press a kiss to his sternum, tasting salt and satisfaction. "I've had sex before, obviously, but this... this felt like making love."
His arms tighten around me. "That's because it was. I love you, Maya. All of you. Your brilliant mind, your sarcastic mouth, your beautiful body, your stubborn independence that drives me crazy."
I laugh softly. "Even when I'm being difficult?"
"Especially then." He shifts so he can look down at me. "I don't want to change you. I want to love you exactly as you are."
The words hit something deep in my chest. Derek always had suggestions for how I could be better—less sarcastic, more social, more focused on practical things instead of my "weird" tech obsessions.
But Lucas loves my sarcasm, encourages my work, makes me feel like being myself is not just acceptable but perfect.
"I want to stay," I whisper against his skin. "Not just tonight, not just until I figure out my next move. I want to build a life here. With you."
"Yeah?" There's hope and wonder in his voice, like he's afraid to believe it.
"Yeah. I want morning coffee in your kitchen and festival committee meetings and Mrs. Henderson's unsolicited relationship advice." I lift my head to meet his eyes. "I want to belong somewhere, and I think... I think I already do."
He answers by pulling me up for another kiss, slow and sweet and full of promise.
We talk until the sun starts to creep through his windows—quiet confessions about fears and dreams and the future we're tentatively beginning to plan together. But as morning light fills the room, reality starts to creep back in.
I catch sight of myself in his dresser mirror—hair wild, lips swollen, wearing nothing but his oversized shirt—and suddenly I'm aware of what we've done. What it means. How public our relationship has become and how many people have expectations.
Lucas notices my shift in mood immediately. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, exactly." I sit up, pulling his shirt down to cover more of my thighs. "It's just... last night was perfect. But now it's morning, and I'm wondering if I've just made everything more complicated."
"How so?"
"Everyone in town is invested in us. They're expecting this grand love story, and what if I mess it up? What if I'm not good at being someone's girlfriend? What if—"
"Hey." He sits up too, reaching for my hands. "You keep going round in this circle. What if we're amazing together? What if this is exactly what it's supposed to be?"
I want to believe him. I do believe him, mostly. But there's this nagging voice in the back of my head, the one that sounds suspiciously like Derek, whispering that I'm not built for this kind of happiness.
"I should probably head back to Harper's," I say, already reaching for my clothes. "She'll worry if I don't show up before she heads to work."
"Maya." Lucas's voice is careful, controlled. "Are you running away?"
"No," I say quickly, then pause. "Maybe a little. I just need some space to process this. To figure out how to be us in the real world."
He nods, but I can see the hurt he's trying to hide. "Okay. But Maya? This doesn't change anything between us. You're still mine, and I'm still yours, no matter how much space you need."
***
I'm almost to Harper's when I decide to stop at June's bakery for coffee and her famous blueberry scones. I need sugar and caffeine and maybe some friend wisdom about navigating the morning after with the love of your life.
But when I walk through the door, the first person I see is Jess Donahue, sitting at the corner table with a perfectly crafted latte and a sharp smile.
"Maya," she says, loud enough for the entire bakery to hear. "Don't you look thoroughly satisfied this morning."
Heat floods my cheeks as every head in the place turns toward us. I can feel June's concerned gaze from behind the counter, can see Mrs. Patterson's shocked expression, can practically hear the gossip mill spinning to life.
"Jess." I force my voice to stay steady. "I didn't know you were in town again."
"Oh, I'll be dipping in and out leading up to and through the festival.
Wouldn't want to miss the big romantic finale.
" Her smile widens, predatory and sharp.
"Though between you and me, I wouldn't get too attached.
Everyone knows Lucas doesn't do serious relationships.
You're just the latest in a long line of women who thought they could be the one to change him. "
The words hit hard. Each one designed to find my deepest insecurities and twist. Around us, the bakery has gone silent. Everyone pretending not to listen while hanging on every word.
"That's not—" I start, but Jess cuts me off.
"Honey, I was with Lucas for two years. I know how this goes. He's all intense and devoted until the novelty wears off, then he finds some excuse to pull back." She takes a delicate sip of her latte. "Trust me, you're just this month's distraction."
The casual cruelty in her voice makes my stomach clench, but it's the possible grain of truth in her words that really cuts.
"Actually," June's voice cuts through the tension, sharp with protective anger, "Maya's the woman Lucas has been in love with since high school. The one he's been waiting for. So maybe save your theories for someone who doesn't know better."
Jess's perfect composure cracks slightly, but she recovers quickly. "Oh, sweet June. Always the romantic. But childhood crushes don't usually translate to lasting adult relationships. Trust me, I learned that the hard way."
"Maybe that's because you were never the right woman for him," I find my voice finally, stronger than I expected. "Maybe some of us don't have to try to change him because we love him exactly as he is."
For a moment, something raw flickers across Jess's face—hurt, maybe, or genuine regret. But then her mask slides back into place.
"We'll see," she says, standing to leave. "The festival's only a couple of weeks away. That should be plenty of time to see if this little reunion romance is the real deal."
She brushes past me on her way out, and I catch a whiff of expensive perfume and something bitter underneath.
The bakery stays quiet for a beat too long after she leaves, then everyone starts talking at once. I can feel their eyes on me, their curiosity and concern and probably a few people wondering if there's truth to what Jess said.
"Maya, honey," Mrs. Patterson approaches with worried eyes. "Don't you listen to that girl. Anyone with eyes can see how Lucas feels about you."
But as I accept June's offered coffee and try to smile at the reassurances from various townspeople, I can't shake the feeling that Jess just planted seeds of doubt that are going to be very hard to uproot.