TWELVE #2
I lift my chin. ‘Take off your shirt.’
His lips twitch and his fingers slowly unbutton his shirt, my eyes locked on his as he lets the navy-blue fabric drop to the floor.
‘Now, your jeans.’
‘Bossy.’
‘You like it.’
That earns me a wicked grin – and then he undoes the button on his jeans, watching me the whole time. He steps out of them and grips his length, deliberately slow, daring me to look away. I don’t.
‘Your turn,’ he says, voice rough.
I should feel shy. I should feel something other than desperately horny with a dash of identity crisis. But the way he’s looking at me – like he’s starving and I’m made of everything he gave up for Lent – makes it easy not to.
I peel off my dress and let it fall. No underwear. No bra. Just skin. Luke’s mouth parts slightly. He doesn’t move.
Then his hands slide around my waist. His forehead rests against mine for a beat – long enough to be devastating – and then he kisses me. Rougher this time – tired of waiting.
His body presses into me, hard and impossibly warm. When his mouth leaves mine to trail heat along my jaw, down my neck, I moan, helpless.
‘Tell me what you want,’ he says against my skin, voice wrecked. ‘You.’
His fingers dig into my hips. ‘Say my name.’
No.
‘Luke,’ I moan.
He doesn’t need another invitation. He spins us, lying back on the bed and settling me over his body, his hand drifting down to stroke between my legs. His fingers find me slick, ready, greedy.
‘You’ve been like this since the verandah?’ He grins against my mouth.
‘Are you done with the commentary?’ I gasp, hips grinding against him.
‘Not even close.’
And then his fingers slide inside me at the same time his mouth finds my nipple and I forget my name, my flight time and that I was supposed to leave without saying goodbye.
The reason? Luke is thorough. Devastatingly so.
And me? I’m absolutely screwed.
His fingers thrust deeper, curling just right, like he’s memorised the blueprint of my body and filed it alphabetically under ‘Ways to Ruin Jamie Hayes’. I arch into him, mouth falling open in a wordless moan that he swallows with a kiss.
‘You—’ I try to say something, probably a warning, maybe a prayer, and then his thumb presses against my clit and my hips jolt so violently I nearly headbutt him.
Luke chuckles, low and cocky. ‘You were saying?’
‘I hate you.’
‘Lies.’
I glare at him, or try to, because one of his fingers brushes that one internal spot that no other guy seems to find, and my vision goes pure white for half a second.
He shifts his weight so I’m now lying on my back and he’s sliding down my body, dragging his tongue along my stomach as he goes. My hands fist the sheets – or maybe his hair, who knows anymore – because suddenly his mouth is between my legs and Jesus Christ—
‘Luke,’ I gasp. It’s not a plea. It’s not a warning. It’s my last functioning brain cell firing its final message.
He hums, tongue flicking and curling. I come embarrassingly fast. I’m not even sorry about it. My body seizes, legs trembling, back arching off the bed.
Luke doesn’t stop. Not when I come. Not when I whimper. Not even when I try to pull him up by the shoulders.
‘I swear to God—’
‘Say it again,’ he says, voice gravel-thick against the inside of my thigh.
I breathe a laugh, dizzy and wrecked. ‘What, that I hate you?’ ‘Say my name.’
No.
‘Luke,’ I gasp again, as his tongue finds me once more and yeah –
okay, maybe he has a point.
When he reappears, face smug and lips wet, I push him onto his back with the last ounce of strength I have left. He grins like he expected nothing less.
‘You’re insufferable.’ Another lie.
‘And you’re obsessed.’
‘Get a condom,’ I growl, straddling him again.
He reaches blindly for his bag, rips the foil open with his teeth, and rolls it on with practised ease.
‘Ready when you are, boss.’
I lower myself onto him in one slow, torturous slide and feel everything in me shatter.
‘Fuck,’ I whisper.
Luke’s hands clamp down on my hips. ‘Told you.’ He grinds out the words. ‘Obsessed.’
I roll my hips once – slow, torturous, intentional.
Luke groans beneath me, his fingers flexing on my thighs like he’s this close to losing it. And honestly? That’s the goal.
He tries to thrust up with his hips, but I press my palms to his chest and grind down, keeping him right where I want him – deep but not deep enough. He huffs, frustrated, and the sound makes me clench around him like I’m addicted to his annoyance.
‘Jamie,’ he says between gritted teeth. ‘You’re going to kill me.’
I tilt my head, mock-innocent. ‘What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you not being in control.’
His hands slide up to my hips and he tries again – another sharp thrust from below – but I brace myself, hips circling with an infuriating slowness that has him cursing under his breath.
‘You’re a menace, you know that?’
I lean in, lips brushing his ear. ‘Still want me to be quiet?’
Luke groans again, then – without warning – flips us.
One second, I’m on top, and the next I’m on my back with him braced over me, his blue eyes wild and dangerous.
‘Never,’ he says. ‘You want to play dirty?’
‘Always.’
He grabs my leg and lifts it over his shoulder, his mouth finding my calf as he kisses a path up the inside of it. My breath catches, because this is not where I expected this to go – and then—
He plunges into me.
Deep.
Hard.
Full.
My mouth falls open, but no sound comes out.
Luke doesn’t stop. Doesn’t ease up. He drives into me again, hands gripping my hips.
‘You like being in charge?’ he asks, snapping his hips forward.
I claw at his shoulders. ‘I was thriving, thanks.’
He thrusts again, impossibly deep. ‘Noted.’
I’m writhing now, lost in sensation, every inch of me alight. The new angle has me spiralling, his chest gliding against mine as he pounds into me, his free hand sliding up to press between my breasts, fingers finding the thud of my pulse.
His mouth is on my ankle, then my shin, then kissing the inside of my knee as if he owns it – and honestly, right now, maybe he does.
And then I break.
There’s no warning – it’s a blinding rush, a full-body tremor that spirals out until I’m gasping, gripping Luke’s shoulders, which are the only solid thing keeping me from floating straight off the planet.
‘Fuck, Jamie,’ he mutters, hips stuttering as I clamp around him, pulsing hard, still riding the wave when he groans and thrusts once – twice – and then stills, buried deep as he comes with a low, wrecked sound that somehow makes me clench again.
We collapse.
He doesn’t crush me – he catches himself on trembling arms, forehead pressed to mine, breath hot and uneven.
I blink up at the ceiling. ‘Okay,’ I pant. ‘That was … inconveniently good.’
Luke laughs, soft and hoarse. ‘Inconvenient?’
I nod, breathless. ‘I had a whole plan. Leave early, no goodbyes, make a clean getaway.’
‘There’s still time.’
‘I know.’ I sigh, still recovering. ‘I blame your face. And your dick.’
He grins, eyes flicking down between us. ‘Thanks, I guess.’
I slap his chest. ‘Don’t make me regret this.’
He leans down, presses a kiss to my bare shoulder. ‘Too late.’
We lie there in silence, hearts still pounding in sync, sweat cooling between us. In the distance, a bug buzzes and the wind rattles the gum trees outside. His room smells of eucalyptus, red dirt and something warm I can’t name.
I close my eyes, let my fingers drift over his back. And for a moment, I imagine what it would be like if I didn’t leave tomorrow. If we weren’t a one-night, wedding-fuelled mistake wrapped in sexual tension and banter.
A door opens in the next cabin, followed by the sound of footsteps outside.
I swallow hard. ‘I should probably go.’
Luke lifts his head to look at me. ‘You don’t have to.’
‘I know.’ I force a smile. ‘That’s why I probably should.’
He searches my face, trying to read between the lines of something I haven’t said out loud. And maybe I haven’t. See, the thing about rules is they only matter if someone’s around long enough to remember them.
And I don’t do long enough.
I press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, slide out from under him and start collecting my clothes.
Behind me, I hear him ask, ‘So this is it?’
I turn enough to glance back at him. ‘Yep. That’s the whole show. Hope I lived up to the ticket price.’
He props himself up on one elbow, hair a mess, lopsided grin in place. ‘I’ve had worse.’
I shake my head, shimmying into my dress. ‘You’ll forget about me by next week.’
He laughs. ‘I hope so.’
‘Shut up and go to sleep, cowboy.’
I turn, hand on the doorknob. I don’t look back. Not really. But I catch it anyway – that small wrinkle between his brows, his grin fading. It’s the look of someone realising they’ve accidentally caught feelings.
And the worst part?
I feel guilty.