Chapter 58 Rae
RAE
Apple Watch Daily Activity Summary
User: Everett, Rae
Pleasure arrives first.
I’m aware of warmth. Wet heat and devastating pressure between my legs. My hips go upward of their own accord, chasing something my brain hasn’t even identified yet, and then—
“Ah!”
My eyes fly open as Lukas’s tongue drags a torturous path through my folds. The sound that escapes me is not dignified in the least. It’s somewhere between a moan and a sob, coming out as something along the lines of “OhmygodLukaswhatareyoudoingpleasedon’tstop.”
I blink my eyes enough to see his hands are pinning my hips to the mattress. I’m writhing against his mouth like a woman possessed, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the tangled sheets. That’s not enough to keep me grounded, though, so I latch onto his head instead.
He hums against me in approval—or maybe in warning for what’s about to happen—and the vibration sends sparks shooting up my spine. His tongue circles my clit, then dips lower.
“Lukas—” I gasp, tugging at his hair in a way that has to hurt, though he shows no sign of it. “Lukas, I’m gonna—”
He responds by sucking my clit into his mouth and sliding two fingers inside me.
I go boom.
One second, I’m drooling on my pillow, and the next, I’m arching off the bed with a broken cry, clenching around his fingers while I come so hard that I…
drool on my pillow. My thighs try to close around his head, but he bumps them apart and keeps going, drawing out every last tremor until I’m a quivering, gasping mess.
When my vision finally clears, he’s propped up on his elbows between my thighs, watching me with a proud smirk.
His beard is wet. “Good morning,” he says.
I stare at him. My brain is offline, so the best I can do by way of a response is: “You— That’s— You can’t just—”
“Can’t just what?” He turns his head to press a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “Wake you up properly?”
Properly. As if there’s an instruction manual for whatever the hell my life has become.
We spent all day yesterday alternating between having sex and sleeping, like whatever was coming out of our bodies was taking its toll on the way.
At some point, Lukas sent out for clothes and food for the two of us.
I don’t know what app billionaires have at their disposal for delivery of that nature and I didn’t bother asking.
Uber for Week-Long Sex Marathon Supplies is a very promising niche, though. Some entrepreneur ought to hop on that.
Every time I tried to talk about the outside world, Lukas shut me up with a kiss on the mouth—or something else in the mouth.
He is clearly ignoring his problems. I feel complicit in that, but Lukas Lazarev isn’t exactly an easy guy to talk out of something once he’s got his mind set.
So, after a few feeble attempts to discuss it, I drop the subject.
It’s easier this way. Let me handle things my way, he keeps saying, and isn’t that what I’ve spent my whole life dreaming of? I can’t exactly look this gift horse in the mouth now that it’s right here and naked in front of me.
Now that I’m a feeble, oozing mess, Lukas moves up my body. He kisses as he goes, leaving no stone unturned. Every inch gets bathed with attention. When his lips finally meet mine, I taste myself on him, salt and sticky desire.
He breaks off the kiss, but he doesn’t go far.
He’s propping himself up over me so his face is all that I can see.
He’s so ruggedly handsome, like if a lumberjack took up international finance.
His beard is a little unruly after a couple days without a trim, but I kind of like it this way.
More to run my fingertips through. Like I’m doing right now.
“I want to tell you something,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
I blink. “For waking me up with your tongue between my legs? Because I feel like that’s the opposite of something you should apologize for.”
“Not for this,” he says, shaking his head. “For the other night. In the car. When I…”
Oh. That. I mean, I could see how an apology might be justified there.
“I used you like you were nothing,” he continues. “Then I drove away as if you were meaningless to me. Like you were just another—” He stops. Swallows. “You weren’t. You aren’t. And I’m sorry.”
I… don’t know what to say.
But he’s not done.
“I was trying to make you hate me,” he explains. “I thought if I was cruel enough, cold enough, you’d finally see what I am and run.”
He takes my hand and brings it to his lips, then kisses each knuckle in turn. One. Two. Three. Four.
“If I could see you as nothing but an object and you could see me as nothing but a bastard, then it would’ve been so easy for this all to come to the end it should’ve come to a long time ago. That was the plan, at least.” He chuckles darkly. “It didn’t work.”
“No,” I agree. “It didn’t.”
He holds my gaze. He’d never show it on his face, but I can feel in his aura that he’s braced for my venom. He’d take it without shying away if that’s what I wanted. But…
“I didn’t hate you,” I tell him. “Even when I wanted to. You shoved me on my knees and… well, we both know what happened.” I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertip. “I was humiliated. But I never hated you.”
“You should have.”
“Maybe.” I shrug one shoulder. “But I’m not very good at doing what I should.”
His mouth quirks. Not quite a smile, but close. The ghost of one, maybe. The promise of future smiles to come.
“That makes two of us,” he says.
He rolls onto his back and pulls me with him so I’m sprawled across his chest like a human blanket. His hand finds its familiar place in my hair.
“I’ll spend as long as you’ll let me making it up to you,” he promises.
“You can start by feeding me,” I say with a grin. “I’m pretty sure I burned more calories yesterday than I have in my entire life combined. I’m starving.”
He laughs and starts to move. I go to sit up with him, but that proves to be an immediate mistake.
Ouchie.
Pain lances through my core, sharp and immediate. It’s not bad pain, exactly. It’s more like a reminder. A deep, pleasant ache that radiates from muscles I didn’t know I had, cataloging every single thing he did to me yesterday in vivid, throbbing detail.
Lukas’s face darkens when he sees me wince. “Don’t move,.”
Out of pure, stubborn instinct, I start to protest—“I’m not made of glass, you know”—but he pushes me back down gently into the pillows with one broad hand against my sternum.
“Stay. I’ll bring it to you.”
He doesn’t wait for my agreement before he rises from the bed in all his naked glory and strides toward the door.
I watch him go. Because duh, obviously, I watch him go.
The man is built like a Greek statue that someone forgot to put in a museum, all broad shoulders and scarred back and an ass that flexes in four dimensions.
The scars on his back are almost glowing in the morning sun, and every muscle shifts under his silky skin as his stride carries him out of the room.
The door shuts behind him, and I flop back against the pillows with a dopey grin spreading across my face.
I just had sex with Lukas Lazarev.
Multiple times.
And now, he’s downstairs making me breakfast.
Booty.
Ass.
Naked.
I stare at the ceiling and try to imagine the scene I’m missing: him padding around that dusty kitchen in nothing but his birthday suit, muscles flexing as he reaches for a pan.
Maybe he’ll burn himself on the stove and swear in Russian.
A grunted, masculine Blyat’ that will sound almost exactly like he sounded when I looked him in the eye yesterday afternoon and told him to cum inside me again.
I’m becoming a kept woman, and I wish I hated it more than I actually do. But that’s the problem: I don’t. My brain is officially empty. I am made up of nothing but happy static and easy warmth and the delightful ache between my thighs.
I could get used to this.
Soon, the door swings open and Lukas returns. He’s bearing a carved wooden tray, on which rests the most decadent feast anyone has ever assembled in fifteen minutes.
Eggs, scrambled to creamy perfection. Toast with butter pooling into golden lakes. Fruit—strawberries, blueberries, slices of mango—arranged in the shape of a flower. Like he watched a TikTok tutorial on five-star plating while the eggs were cooking.
“Did you just make this?” I ask stupidly.
He sets the tray across my lap and settles onto the edge of the bed. “I have many talents.”
“I’ll say.”
Before I can reach for the fork, though, he picks it up himself. He scoops a bite of eggs and holds it to my lips.
I gape at him.
“Open,” he commands.
“I have functioning hands, for your information.”
“Let me spoil you, sweetheart. Open.”
Twist my arm, why don’t you? Blushing, I open.
The eggs are disgustingly good. Light and buttery with a hint of herbaceous chives. I make an embarrassing sound of appreciation, and Lukas’s eyes darken with satisfaction.
He feeds me another bite. Then another. I quickly get over the ridiculousness of it and decide to lean into the actually, this is kinda hot-ness of it instead.
It’s not often in a girl’s life that a man like Lukas Lazarev lets his finger graze your lower lip after putting a slice of honey-drizzled mango in there. I’d have to be a fool to not appreciate it.
But they haven’t yet invented something so good that I can’t still find a way to ruin it.
So, between bites, a question that’s been bothering me comes blurting from my lips.
“I know you really don’t want to talk about it, but I have to ask.” Lukas’s face screws up in a scowl, but he lets me continue. “Why did you really do it? You just walked out of the boardroom without a fight. Kir’s gonna take everything, isn’t he?”
Lukas sighs and sets down a half-eaten piece of toast. His gaze is aimed out of the window, but I get the feeling he’s not seeing that at all. He looks at me before he finally speaks.
“I saw your face.”
I stop. “… What?”
He pulls my hand into his lap. “I looked across the room and saw you watching me. And I knew… I knew, that if I fought Kir, I’d win.
There was never any doubt about that. But I couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.
And to me, that risk wasn’t worth the reward.
I said to him what I meant: He can have the company. Just so long as I get you.”
Oh, this smooth-talking son of a bitch.
Just when I thought I couldn’t melt anymore, he makes me gooey all over again.
I grab him, my two hands not enough to fully encircle his wrist, and drag him into bed with all my might. Toast crumbs go flying everywhere, but I don’t care. I’m too busy pushing him on his back and climbing on top.
His eyes go dark as I straddle his hips.
I can feel him rise up beneath me. He’s already hard, straining toward me like we didn’t have sex five or six times yesterday.
Everything they say about the sexual stamina of older men is a lie, I’m learning.
No little blue pill required—Lukas Lazarev can’t get enough of me.
Nor I of him.
When I sink down onto him, we both groan. The stretch is almost too much. He’s so fucking big, and I’m still really sore from yesterday, but the delicious fullness overwhelms everything else. I start to rock back and forth, up and down, grinding to settle onto and around him.
His hands flex against the sheets. Every muscle in his body coils. He’s letting me lead, I realize. Letting me take what I want.
Lukas Lazarev sharing control… I never thought I’d see the day.
We make love like that. I find a way to ride him that makes the veins in his forehead pulse. He palms my breasts and strokes my clit, and when we cum, we do it almost at the exact same time. I get one glimpse of the eyes rolling back in his head before mine do the same.
When I come back to myself, I’m collapsed on his chest. Both of us are breathing hard. He grazes his knuckles tenderly over my cheek.
I look up at him and grin. “You know something? I think I kinda like this whole ‘sex’ thing.”
He laughs, pushes me onto my back, and we fall into it all over again.