Chapter 19 #2
This is Luke’s thumb stroking along my jaw while his other hand anchors in my hair. This is the way he tilts my head to deepen the angle, to taste me more thoroughly. This is three days of fear and stress and barely restrained want finally finding an outlet.
He pulls me up onto his lap. I straddle him without hesitation, and the position brings our bodies flush. I feel him—hard and ready beneath me—and the knowledge sends heat pooling low in my belly.
His hands find bare skin at my waist where the flannel has fallen open. Calloused fingers that should feel rough but somehow don’t. They trace my ribs with infinite care, like he’s discovering territory he’s wanted to explore for days.
I gasp when his thumb brushes the underside of my breast.
He groans when I rock against him, grinding down on his shaft, testing, exploring what makes his control fracture.
“Ember.” My name comes out gruff. A warning or encouragement; I can’t tell which.
I kiss him harder in response. Drag my nails down his back, feeling muscles tense and shift beneath my touch.
The fabric between us becomes unbearable. Too many layers. Too much distance.
We shed clothes with urgent movements. I’m careful of his injured shoulder, but he doesn’t seem to care. My borrowed pants kicked are aside until I’m wearing nothing but the flannel shirt, hanging open, barely covering anything.
He stares at me. Intently. His eyes trace from my face down my throat to where the shirt gapes, revealing skin I’ve never let anyone see.
“You’re—” He stops. Swallows hard. “You’re perfect.”
The words shouldn’t affect me. But they do. Because he says them like he means it. Like I’m not too young or too inexperienced or too much trouble.
He rises smoothly, his hands beneath my ass supporting me, my legs wrapped around his hips. We move toward the narrow cot against the wall. Refusing to break contact.
Luke lays me down on blankets that rasp my skin. Settles his weight over me. Careful not to crush, but close enough that I feel every inch of him against every inch of me.
His mouth finds my throat. Traces the line from my jaw to my collarbone. Teeth graze skin—not hard enough to hurt, but enough that electric sparks tingle all the way through me.
I trace my fingertips down his back. Track scars and muscle and the places that make him tense. There’s a mark below his left shoulder blade, raised tissue from some old injury. I draw my thumb across it lightly.
He shudders.
“Does it hurt?” I whisper.
“No.” His voice is wrecked. “Nothing hurts right now.”
His hand slides between my thighs. I freeze for half a second, surprise and want warring in my chest. I’m no chaste little virgin; I may have been sheltered, but not enough to completely stop me exploring. But this… this is nothing like those early experiments. This is… electric.
When he cups my mound, fingers sliding between the slick lips of my pussy, thought becomes impossible.
I’ve touched myself before. Late nights alone in my room when magic burned too hot and I needed release. But my own hand is nothing like this. Nothing like Luke’s fingers moving against me with sure, deliberate pressure that makes my whole body tighten.
“Luke—” His name breaks from my lips. Not a word so much as a sound.
He watches my face. Eyes dark and focused. Reading every reaction like it’s intelligence he needs to survive. When I gasp, he does it again. When I arch, he increases pressure.
“Tell me.” His mouth hovers over mine. “Tell me what you need.”
I can’t form words. Can only rock against his hand, chasing sensation that builds and builds until I’m shaking with it.
His other hand slides the flannel off my shoulders. Bares me completely. His mouth closes over my breast—hot and wet and perfect—and the combination of his mouth and his fingers sends me spiraling toward an edge I’ve never reached with another person. Certainly not those inexperienced boys.
Close. So close.
My fingers dig into his shoulders. “Luke… Oh, God… Yes!” The heat between my legs coils tighter, tighter—
I can’t think straight. Can’t think at all.
“I-I need… Need you. Inside…” My hands slide down his sides, reaching for the top of his pants.
And then he freezes.
Pulls back. Breathing ragged. “We have to stop.”
My eyes fly open. The world snaps back into focus, cool air on overheated skin, the loss of his touch, confusion flooding through the haze.
“What?” I’m breathing hard. “Why?”
He sits up. Moves further away.
“Because this—” He gestures between us, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m naked except for the flannel pooled around my waist while he’s still mostly dressed. “You deserve more than—”
Anger flares hot and sudden. Chases away the vulnerability. I yank the shirt closed.
“More than what?”
Luke runs his hands through his hair. Won’t meet my eyes.
“More than being taken in a hunting lodge while running for our lives. More than me.” He rises, takes five steps away, his back to me.
I pull the blanket around myself. Suddenly cold despite the fire.
“I’m not a child, Luke. Stop treating me like one.”
“This isn’t about age—”
“Then what?” My voice shakes. “Your guilt? Your fear? Or do you just not actually want me?”
He wheels on me. Eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them.
“I want you so much it terrifies me. That’s the problem.”
Silence crashes between us. Thick and painful.
“Then why did you stop?” The words come out quieter. Wounded.
“Because I can’t be another mistake you regret when this is over.”
I stare at him. Hurt morphing into fury. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“Someone has to think clearly—”
“I am thinking clearly.” I’m on my feet now. “For the first time in my life, I’m thinking clearly.”
“Ember—”
“No.” I yank the thermal pants back on. Pull the flannel closed. “You saved my life. You came back for me. You kissed me like you meant it.”
“I did mean it—”
“But not enough to actually follow through.” My hands shake as I button the shirt. “Not enough to let me make my own choices.”
Luke stands. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is this.” I turn away. Settle on the cot with my back to him. Wrap the blanket tight. “Neither is you deciding what I deserve.”
He doesn’t respond. Just moves to a seat by the fire. Gun on his lap. Watchful despite the emotional wreckage between us.
Silence settles.
Hours crawl past.
Neither of us sleeps.
The only sounds: crackling fire, wind through pines outside, our too-careful breathing.
I stare at the wooden wall. Count knots in the grain. Try not to think about how his hands felt on my skin. How his mouth tasted. How close we came to something I wanted more than I’ve wanted anything.
He saved my life. Twice. Three times. More.
But he won’t let me save him back.
Won’t let me choose him the way he chose me.
The fire burns low. Predawn lightens the windows. And the distance between us feels like miles instead of feet.