21. Luke
21
LUKE
I wake up in a cold sweat. Something is wrong. I feel around me for the delicate warmth that has been by my side every night this past week, but the bed is cold. I check my phone. Five thirty. It’s her day off. She wouldn’t have left this early. I jump up and pad over to the door, swinging it open. Where is she? I check the bathroom, but she’s not there. Then I smell the faint aroma of…pancakes?
I walk into the kitchen and survey the scene. Several mixing bowls are smeared with what looks like batter. Some of it drips down the sides. A whisk is hanging precariously off the side of the counter, caked with thick clumps of flour. An open carton of eggs lies forgotten near the sink, several shells resting beside it. Right in the midst of this chaotic display, Emory is humming to herself as she flips pancakes. There is already a stack of what looks like almost a dozen of them lying on a plate next to the stove.
“What’s going on here?” I ask, startling her. When she jumps, the spatula she’s holding flips up, and a few drops of butter splatter across her shirt.
“Shit, sorry,” I say, grabbing a dish towel to wipe the butter off. I unintentionally feel her up as I move the towel around until she takes it from me to do it herself. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” she replies. “Sorry if I woke you. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to make breakfast. This is the only thing I know how to make, and you had all the ingredients. My grandma taught me when I was six. She tried to teach me how to cook other dishes, but this is the only one that stuck. I’ll clean everything up. I promise.” Her eyes meet mine, dancing back and forth with apprehension. Is she worried I would be mad about the mess? She’s been on edge ever since she came to my door, crying and disoriented a few nights ago. She has slept in my bed, in my arms, every night since. I haven’t even had to ask her to. Every single night, she comes over right after work. Or sometimes she has a quick dinner with Allie first. Either way, she ends up in my bed at the end of the day.
We haven’t had sex since the hike. I’ve been scared to touch her like that. She seems so fragile. I noticed this side of Emory when I first saw her that day in her driveway, but then there were so many flashes of the girl I used to know.
Now she’s worse than before.
She won’t talk to me. I tried that first morning. I knew she would be up early for work, so I set my alarm twenty minutes before hers. I pleaded with her to tell me what happened, but all she would say was that it was a misunderstanding and she was fine.
“Smells delicious,” I muse, shaking myself from my thoughts. “I’ll never say no to pancakes.”
She relaxes and smiles, grabbing a clean plate and stacking a few pancakes on it before she hands it to me, along with a mug of black coffee. “There’s butter and syrup on the table.”
I take the plate and mug and head over to the kitchen table. I douse the pancakes in syrup because you can never have too much, then I cut a slice and take a bite. It’s warm and sweet from the syrup, but the actual pancake is delicious, flaky, and buttery with a hint of spice—cinnamon, maybe.
“This is the best pancake I’ve ever had,” I tell her through bites of food.
“Stop. You’re messing with me.”
“I swear, I’m not. It’s really good,” I insist.
Her lips tug into a smile, and I realize in that moment that I would do or say anything to keep it on her face. In the span of a month, this girl has gone from being someone I hadn’t spoken to in years to someone I can’t sleep without. She’s in my head all the time.
She goes back to her place at the stove, and I notice she hasn’t eaten anything. “Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask her.
“Oh, no. I already ate,” she responds quickly, and I know it’s a lie.
But what can I do? I can’t force food down her throat.
“So, what’s on your agenda for today?” I ask, changing the subject as I devour the rest of my stack.
“I’m going to try to visit Gram and then relax…read a book, take a bath.”
“Sounds good.” I stand up and wrap my arms around her waist from behind. Her hair falls in loose waves out of the messy bun on top of her head, and she has flour smeared on the side of her face. I let my eyes wander south to her plump ass that’s covered in tight black leggings. Her tank top rides up as she lifts her arm to flip the pancake in the pan, giving me a view of the little birthmark on her lower back. I’ve been nervous to imitate anything sexual since her breakdown the other day, but she’s so fucking sexy right now, I can’t help myself. “Any chance there’s room for two in this bath?” I whisper in her ear. She immediately stiffens, but then laughs it off, swatting me away. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Collins. It’s called self-care for a reason. I don’t need a man involved.”
There it is. That spark. The guts. I knew my girl was still in there. But this is the first time I’ve seen a real glimpse of her since the other night, and I don’t want to push it. Okay, okay,” I say, holding my hands up. “I’ll stay away.”
“How about later, then?” I ask. “Come over? We can watch a movie. Order Thai food.”
“I don’t know.” She pretends to think, tapping her finger against her lips. “The self-care might take all night.”
“Oh yeah? Well, in that case, I definitely need to be involved.” I inch down her body, so I have a good hold, and then I scoop her up. She squeals in surprise and starts to kick as I walk her over to the table and set her down on a chair. “But first, you need to help me eat the rest of these pancakes. There’s no way I can finish all this.”
She rolls her eyes, but grabs a pancake, rolls it up, dips it into a puddle of syrup, and takes a bite.
“Good girl,” I say, and I don’t miss how her cheeks flush a soft pink at my words.
My girl likes praise.
I’m placing a takeout order on my phone when I hear a soft knock at the door. I swing it open to find Emory standing there looking like a fucking snack. Her hair is down, falling in chestnut waves to her shoulders. Her makeup is subtle, just enough to accentuate her natural beauty. Tight black leggings wrap around her legs and—fuck—she’s wearing my gray Halpern’s T-shirt from the bar I used to work at.
“You gonna keep staring or invite me in?” she asks with a smirk that I want to wipe off her bratty little mouth.
I open the door to let her through, checking out her ass as she passes by me.
“Food will be here in thirty minutes,” I say absentmindedly. I'm still drooling as I watch her bend over in the hallway closet to get her favorite blanket.
“Sounds good. What are we watching?” she asks as she closes the closet and curls up with it on the couch. It occurs to me how natural this all feels. She said she doesn’t want anything serious, but we’ve been practically living together for the past few days. I don’t care what she says. We’re dating.
Not publicly because she still refuses to be seen with me for fear of running into Nate. But she sleeps in my bed every night. We eat meals together. She knows where everything is in my house. Sounds like dating to me. But she still won’t fucking talk to me about what’s been going on, and it’s driving me crazy. So I thought of an idea. It may not be foolproof, but it has the potential to help her open up.
I grab a couple of beers from the fridge and hop on the couch next to her. “Actually, I thought we could play a game while we wait for the food.”
“Okay…” she says, but she seems skeptical. “Why do I feel like the game is going to have the word ‘strip’ in it?”
I let out a low chuckle. “You’re smart, Emory Caldwell. Real smart. But you don’t know everything.”
She groans and rolls her eyes.
“It’s called Disrobe Truth or Dare. See, it doesn’t have the word strip in it. You either answer the question, do the dare, or remove an article of clothing.”
She looks unsure at first, but then her smile grows mischievous.
“Okay, fine. How does someone win?”
“When the other person is completely naked.”
She thinks about it for a second. “And what does the winner get?”
“Whatever he wants.”
“Or she,” Emory clarifies.
“Or she,” I confirm. “You up for it?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” she says flatly, but I can see the excitement dancing behind her eyes.
“Ladies first,” I say, gesturing to her.
“Okay. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“How many women have you slept with?”
Fuck, I was not expecting that. I’m not ashamed of my sexual past by any means, but I also can’t see anything good coming from divulging that particular piece of information to Emory. I decide to fuck with her a little instead, moving my hands gently over the hem of my shirt and pulling it up slightly. She looks at me expectantly, and I don’t think she’s even aware that she’s licking her lips. I continue to pull it up, showing a shadow of my abs, but then I pull it back down, bending down to take off a sock. I place the sock on her lap, and she looks at me like I just kicked her puppy.
“Truth or dare, Em?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes, clearly not impressed by my performance.
“Dare,” she says confidently.
I knew she would do that. Anything to keep from talking to me.
“Call Allie and tell her you threw up in her bathroom earlier.”
She laughs and shakes her head, then taps her phone, bringing it up to her ear. She tells Allie that she was in such a rush, she forgot to wipe the toilet seat after it happened. I can hear Allie's yelling through the phone from where I'm sitting. Emory finally admits that it was a dare, but Allie continues to yell until Em just shrugs and hangs up the phone.
We go back and forth a few more times, but Emory picks dare every time. She does every single one of them too. She doesn’t bat an eye at ringing Mrs. Peterson’s doorbell and running away. She winks at me before downing a shot of Tabasco sauce. She even blocks her phone number and leaves Nate a voicemail pretending to be a girl he knocked up. I would feel bad about that one, except for the fact that Emory is terrible at disguising her voice, so there’s no way Nate is going to buy it.
I switch between truth and dare, mostly picking truth. By the time the food arrives, I’ve lost my other sock and my shirt thanks to Emory’s insistence on delving into my past sex life. She, on the other hand, is still fully dressed.
“Should we eat?” She gestures to the food that was just delivered.
“One more round?” I ask.
“Fine,” she groans.
“Truth or dare?” I ask.
“Dare,” she says, her confidence unwavering, just like every time she's uttered that word tonight. Since I'm getting nowhere trying to get her to open up, I decide to change my approach. Maybe if she won't show vulnerability through words, she'll show it in action.
“Show me how you self-care.”
“W-what?”
“You know. All the self-care you were doing earlier. Show me how you do it.”
“You want to watch me read and take a bath right now?”
A smile pulls at my lips as I inch closer to her. “No. I don’t want to watch you read and take a bath.”
“Then…” I see the exact moment realization hits her. “You want to watch me g-get myself off?”
I nod, keeping my eyes latched onto hers. The room fills with charged energy as I wait to see if she will take the bait. She’s so fearless when it comes to some things and so unsure when it comes to others.
“I don’t—” she starts speaking in a near whisper. “I don’t have the proper, um…equipment with me.”
I can’t help but let out a chuckle at her phrasing, but then her words hit me, and my insides turn molten. Suddenly, this isn’t merely a silly little dare anymore. I need to see how she comes undone when no one is looking, when she lets go of all the insecurities that surround her and takes charge of her own pleasure.
“So, get it. You live next door, after all,” I say, my voice thick with lust.
She looks down for a moment, flicking the cuticle on her thumb with the nail of her index finger.
“Uh uh, baby,” I say, lifting her chin up. “Don’t hide.”
At first, I think she’s going to flat-out say “no,” or take the scrunchie off her wrist as a show of forfeit. She might even slap me across the face, and I will have deserved it. But to my surprise, she stands up, moves across the room, and walks out the front door.
Of course, I may have offended her to the point of no return, and I’ll never see her again, but something tells me she’ll be back.
Five of the longest minutes of my life tick by before I finally hear the door unlatch and creak open. Emory saunters in, shutting the door behind her. She’s holding a black box, giving me a slight knowing smile before she heads down the hallway in the direction of my bedroom. When I don’t immediately follow, she looks back over her shoulder.
“You coming, or am I doing this alone again?”
Again. Jesus . I say a prayer of thanks to every deity I can think of.
Buddha… Zeus… that dude from Moana .
Then I follow her to my bedroom.
Emory lies on the bed, her legs hanging off the end, and I pull out the chair from my desk to sit down. I see her throat move up and down as she swallows, and her shirt slides up slightly as she bends over to take off her shoes.
She peels her leggings off next and tosses them to the floor. Then she pushes her shirt—my shirt—up and off, and it joins her leggings on the floor. Fuck, she wasn’t even wearing a bra this whole time. One missed dare and I could have been greeted by her naked tits earlier.
This is much better, though. So much better .
“I…I usually start with my underwear still on,” she says so softly, it’s almost incoherent. She reaches over and opens the black box that’s sitting on the end table, taking out a magenta-colored vibrator.
She presses a button on the side of it, and a low buzzing starts up. She brings it down slowly, flicking her eyes to me for assurance. I hold her gaze as I nod. With my silent approval, she slides it down lower, just above her pubic bone, and her eyes move down to where she holds the vibrator. I stand up from my seat, kneeling before her.
“Look at me,” I command.
She obeys, keeping her eyes glued to mine as she moves the vibrator down another couple of inches until it hovers over her clit, still covered by her panties. When she doesn’t move it down, I cover my hand over hers and push until it connects with her clit. Her breath instantly hitches, and her hips rise a little.
“That feel good, baby?” I rasp.
“Yeah,” she breathes.
I meant for her to show me how she does this alone, but I can’t seem to keep my hands off her. I reach down and move her panties to the side so the vibrator falls onto her bare clit.
“Ahh, fuck,” she whimpers.
“Tell me,” I say, continuing to hold her panties open. “Tell me what it feels like.”
“It tingles,” she gasps. “Like tiny little bursts. It…it feels so good.”
She’s rubbing the vibrator up and down her clit now, desperate noises escaping from her lips with each movement. Every time her eyes stray from mine or look down, I bring her attention back to me.
“Eyes on me, remember?”
She nods her head. “I need…”
“I know, baby. You need to come, don’t you? How bad do you need it?”
“So bad,” she whines.
“Do it then. Come for me, Emory.”
She continues the assault on her clit, her hips jutting up to meet each stroke, letting out little moans as she gets closer and closer.
“That’s it, baby. Let go for me.”
At my words, her legs start to shake, and she cries out. “Shit, Luke. I’m coming.” She keeps the vibrator on her clit, thrusting and shaking, riding out her orgasm until she stills, moving it away and letting the toy fall out of her hand. I let go of her ruined underwear, and it snaps back into place.
“Such a good fucking girl,” I growl and grab the vibrator from the side of the bed. I knock her legs back open and rip her underwear off, throwing it over my shoulder. I’m done watching. Emory gasps as I bring the vibrator back to her clit. “But we’re not done yet, sweetheart.”
She seems to come out of her post-orgasm haze and moves her hand to stop me. “I-I’m too s-sensitive,” she nearly sobs.
“Shhh, I’ve got you. Trust me, okay?” I keep my rhythm slow and steady at first, gently sliding the vibrator up and down her little bundle of nerves.
“But I—ahhh,” she cries out when I click up the intensity of the vibration and start rubbing the tip in quick circles.
“I can’t,” she whines.
“You can, Emory. Are you saying red?”
She shakes her head.
“Words, Em”
“No. Green.”
“Then come for me again, baby. I know you can.”
She does, screaming as her hips buck up to chase the friction. I keep the vibrator pressed firmly to her clit until she pushes it away again. She must be so fucking sensitive now.
“That’s it, Em. Such a good girl coming for me again.”
“I’ve never—” she pants. “I’ve never used it twice in a row before.”
“Was it so bad?” I tease.
“No. It was…amazing.”
I suddenly feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get inside her right now. I pull her down and spread her legs open. She looks nervous, like I’m going to use the vibrator on her again, but then I bring the swollen tip of my cock, already glistening with pre-cum, down to her pussy. I rub it up and down a few times over her entrance, still slick with her cum, and she relaxes.
“Luke,” she whimpers. “I want to feel you.”
“Yeah? You want to feel my cock stretching you open?”
She nods frantically.
“Say it.”
“Yes, yes. I want you. Please, Luke,” she begs.
I quickly move over her and grab a condom from the bedside drawer, ripping it open with my teeth and sliding it on.
“Like this?” I ask as I push into her. I don’t stop until I’m buried so far into her tight heat, I don’t know where she ends and I begin. We both let out a relieved groan.
I pull almost all the way out and slam back into her.
Once. Twice. Three times, and she’s screaming.
“Luke. Fuck. I’m gonna come again.”
“Fuck, yeah. Give me another one. Come on my fucking cock, princess.”
I sense it before I see it. She tenses up in my arms, her muscles locking tight. Her shoulders rise and her hands curl into fists. When I look up, I see her eyes have a glazed-over look, but it's not from lust—it’s from fear. Her breathing becomes rapid and shallow, like she's desperate for a breath that won't come. Her face goes pale, her eyes widen, and tears well up and spill over.
Shit, shit, shit.
I immediately pull out, and she falls back, her head lolling to the side.
“Baby,” I say softly trying to keep the panic out of my voice, but she doesn’t respond.
“Baby,” I try again. “Look at me.”
Still nothing.
“Emory, please look at me.” Using her real name seems to do the trick, and her eyes flick to mine.
“L-Luke?” she stutters and looks at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time tonight. Her breathing is still strained.
“Shhh, baby. I’m here. Don’t try to talk. I think you’re having a panic attack. You need to regulate your breathing. Can you sit up?”
She does, but now she’s shivering, so I take the blanket and pull it up and over her, tucking the edges tight beneath her body. I once heard that someone having a panic attack benefits from being wrapped tightly. It helps ground them or something.
I take her hand and put it over my heart. “Just focus on my heartbeat, baby. Can you do that?” She concentrates, but her breathing is still erratic. “I need you to breathe with me, nice and slow, okay?”
She nods, and I take a deep breath, holding it for a second before letting out a long exhale.
I do it again, and she takes a deep breath, mimicking me.
“Good, Em. Again.”
Finally, her breathing evens out and color slowly returns to her face. She’s stopped crying, but her cheeks are still damp with tears. I wipe them lightly with my thumb.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t…” I trail off. I’m not even sure what to say. I don’t know what set her off, but I know it was something I did.
She shakes her head, unable to form words. Is she trying to tell me not to worry? Or that she doesn’t want to talk about it? Either way, I don’t want her to feel worse or start panicking again, so I drop it for now, focusing instead on making her comfortable.
“Can I hold you? It’s okay if you don’t want me to.”
“Yes,” she sobs quietly. “H-hold me.”
My heart sinks at the tremor in her voice.
I lie down behind her, rolling the condom off and throwing it onto the floor before snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her in close to me. The only comfort I have now is feeling the rise and fall of her chest as she drifts off to sleep.
I wake up to something warm and wet on my face. My chin. My lips. My chest. When it starts to go lower, my eyes snap open. Emory . She’s perched between my legs, kissing a trail down my stomach. I hold her head, attempting to guide her back up, but she doesn’t budge.
“Emory,” I rasp softly, sleep still inhabiting my voice.
“I need you, Luke.”
“We need to talk first, baby.”
“I don’t want to talk,” she says in between kisses.
“Emory,” I warn again.
“Please.” There’s desperation in her voice, and I don’t know how much longer I can resist giving her what she wants. What she needs .
“What do you need?” I ask as my cock starts to thicken.
“I need—I need to be in control,” she admits.
“Fuck, I can’t say no to you. Take what you need, Em—use me.”
She lifts her head, crawling up my abdomen and hooking a leg over my waist. She straddles my still-naked body, reaching down, grasping my now rock-hard cock, and lifting herself to line it up with her opening. Then, she sinks down slowly—so fucking slowly—and I feel every inch of my length plunging into her wetness. A muffled cry escapes her as she fills herself up.
She starts to move up and down, gaining more momentum with each pass. I try to hold back, but my hips start moving of their own accord, matching her thrust for thrust. She shakes her head, placing a firm palm on my chest to stop my movement.
I still, giving her what she wants.
She continues to move, spearing herself on my cock.
Over and over.
It feels so fucking good that I’m the one coming undone now, panting and grunting and moaning. She looks over to her abandoned side of the bed and picks something up, balling it in her fist. Then her eyes turn dark.
“Open your mouth,” she commands, and I obey without a second thought. Fuck, this girl can have anything she wants. She could ask me for an organ right now, and I’d rip it out of my body and hand it to her, still dripping blood.
She stuffs something into my mouth, and the scent of her, warm and sweet and earthy, fills my nostrils. Her panties. Holy fuck . She just stuffed her panties in my mouth.
“That’s better,” she muses. I understand now. She doesn’t want to hear me. She doesn’t want me to move. She wants to use me. She needs to take back the power she lost.
Who took it from you, baby?
I try to stay quiet, but she circles her hips, and I let out a muffled whimper. She needs to come. I’m not going to last much longer.
“Do you want to come?” she asks, reading my mind. I nod eagerly.
“Soon, baby,” she coos. “I need you to hold on a little longer.”
Fuck, I don’t know if I physically can. But I know what she needs to push her over the edge. I bring my thumb up to where we’re connected and start rubbing little circles on her clit. That does it. She screams out and shatters all around me, her legs convulsing on top of me. I follow immediately, her panties catching my muffled moans as I spill inside her.
“Fuck,” I rip the panties out of my mouth and exhale as she slides off me. We both take several minutes to catch our breath, and then she goes to get up, probably to clean off, but I stop her.
“Let me,” I say as I drop my bare feet to the cold floor. I grab a towel in the bathroom, dampening it with warm water before returning to her. I gently rub the cloth between her legs, and she hisses at the contact.
“I’m starving,” she says, and I chuckle, feeling my own stomach rumble. We never ate dinner. I check the clock. It’s two in the morning.
“Come on,” I say, holding out my hand. I pull on a fresh pair of boxer briefs and hand her a clean shirt.
I flick the light on in the kitchen and spread out the takeout containers I put in the fridge earlier. I grab two plates, handing her one, and we both pile them up with cold noodles and chicken satay.
“Want me to microwave that for you?” I ask.
“No, this is perfect,” she says, twirling noodles onto her fork and taking a bite.
We eat in silence for a few minutes before realization gradually hits me. I was so disoriented from everything that happened tonight, I didn’t even realize it until now.
We didn’t use a condom.
Fuck.
I’m never that reckless. I use a condom every single time I have sex. I mean, I didn’t for a while in high school when I was sort of dating this cheerleader, but we were exclusive, and I knew she was on birth control. I used to watch her take it.
I haven’t been with anyone else in months, and Emory said it’s been a while for her too, but…she said she wasn’t on birth control. I decide not to say anything. She’s been through enough tonight. I know we need to talk. About what happened earlier. What happened just now. The unprotected sex. But neither of us is in the right headspace for that conversation. I bring my fork to my mouth. All I can do right now is eat cold noodles and hope to God that Emory lets me in sooner rather than later.