9. Mila
MILA
I'm losing my goddamn mind.
That's the only explanation for why I keep telling Luke Blackwood things about myself. Little details I swore I'd keep locked away after Helena. After my piece of shit ex and the scandal and realizing I'd spent three years with someone who never actually saw me.
But Luke sees me.
That's the problem.
He notices when I'm rambling because I'm nervous. Remembers I take my coffee with too much cream and not enough actual coffee. Doesn't flinch when I'm chaotic or loud or wearing his stolen hoodies like they belong to me now.
He's never once made me feel like I'm too much.
And God, that's dangerous.
Because I want him. Desperately. In a way that makes my chest ache and my hands shake and my common sense evaporate completely. I want to crawl into his lap and make him forget about vendor contracts and booking confirmations and every single responsibility he's carrying alone.
I want to be the person who takes care of him for once.
Which is absolutely terrifying because the last time I wanted someone this much, I ended up blamed for the scandal I didn't commit and single in a city that suddenly felt hostile.
I'm sitting at my desk pretending to work on guest confirmations when really I'm just spiraling through this entire internal crisis for the hundredth time. The office is quiet except for the heater rattling and my own thoughts screaming at me to get a grip.
This is Sadie's fault.
I'd been doing so good at keeping my distance before she forced me into this job.
Sure, I thought Luke was attractive in that quiet, competent way that shouldn't work for me but absolutely does.
But I could've ignored that. Could've kept him filed under "nice guy I see occasionally at the ranch" instead of "man I'm falling for despite my better judgment. "
Except now I'm here every day. Watching him work himself to exhaustion. Noticing every small kindness he extends without expecting anything back. Seeing exactly how much he carries and how little he asks for himself.
It's too much.
I can't keep doing this. Can't keep holding back when everything in me wants to close the space between us and?—
The office door opens.
Luke walks in and my entire train of thought derails.
He looks tired. Hair slightly mussed like he's been running his hands through it. Flannel rolled up to his elbows showing forearms that have absolutely no business being that distracting. Those warm brown eyes land on me and something flickers across his face before he schools it back to neutral.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey."
The tension's immediate. Thick. Like the air pressure changed the second he entered.
I watch him move to his desk, setting down his coffee and pulling out his chair, and every motion feels weighted. Deliberate. Like he's as aware of me as I am of him and it's taking active effort to pretend otherwise.
This is ridiculous.
We're adults. We can handle whatever this is without imploding.
Except I'm not handling it. I'm barely functioning. My skin feels too tight and my heart's doing something complicated in my chest and I swear if I have to sit here one more second acting like I don't want to climb him like a tree, I'm going to lose it completely.
I stand abruptly. "I should—I need to go."
"Mila." His voice stops me halfway to the door.
I turn back and he's standing now too, hands braced on his desk like he needs the support. His jaw's tight. Expression unreadable except for his eyes which are doing that thing where they see straight through me.
"What?" It comes out shakier than intended.
"I don't—" He stops. Tries again. "I can't keep doing this either."
The confession hits like permission.
Like maybe I'm not the only one drowning here.
We stare at each other across the office and I can feel my resolve crumbling. All the very sensible reasons I should keep my distance are dissolving under the weight of how badly I want this. Want him.
Fuck it.
I cross the space between us in four steps and kiss him.
His response is immediate. Devastating. He makes this low sound in his chest and his hands come up to frame my face, angling my head so he can kiss me deeper. Harder. Like he's been holding back just as much as I have and now that permission's been granted, he can't remember why he was trying.
I grab fistfuls of his flannel, pulling him closer until there's no space left between us.
He tastes like coffee and something darker.
Richer. Entirely him. His tongue slides against mine and I make an embarrassing noise that I'll probably be mortified about later but right now I don't care because holy shit, Luke Blackwood can kiss.
He breaks away just long enough to move, backing me toward the door. His hand finds the lock, twisting it with a decisive click that sends heat straight through me.
"We shouldn't—" he starts, but I cut him off with another kiss.
"Stop thinking."
"Mila—"
"Please. Just—" I press closer, feeling how hard he already is against my hip. "I need this. I need you."
Something in him snaps.
He picks me up like I weigh nothing, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically. I bury my hands in his hair and he walks us across the office, kissing me the entire time until my back hits the couch cushions and his weight settles over me.
"Fuck," he breathes against my mouth. "Are you sure?"
"So sure. Are you?"
His answer is kissing me again, one hand sliding under my sweater to find bare skin. His palm is rough and warm against my ribs, thumbing skating up toward my breast. I arch into the touch, wanting more. Wanting everything.
We shed clothes in frantic movements—my sweater hitting the floor, his flannel following, my hands fumbling with his belt while he works on my jeans.
Everything feels urgent. Desperate. Like if we slow down even slightly, common sense might reassert itself and we'll remember all the reasons this is complicated.
But I don't want complicated right now.
I just want him.
His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping against sensitive skin while his hand cups my breast through my bra. I'm making noises I didn't know I could make, everything in me wound tight and aching.
"Luke—"
"I know." His voice is wrecked. "I know, sweetheart."
The endearment does something to me. Makes my chest feel too full and my eyes sting with unexpected emotion. Because he means it. This isn't just physical for him either.
We finish undressing each other with shaking hands. When his boxers finally join the pile of clothes on the floor, I get my first full look at him and holy hell. He's gorgeous. All lean muscle and tanned skin and that trail of hair leading down from his navel that makes my mouth water.
I reach for him but he catches my wrist, kissing the inside of it with devastating gentleness.
"Come here," he says roughly, sitting back against the couch and pulling me into his lap.
I straddle him, feeling his cock hard and hot between us. His hands span my waist, holding me steady while I position myself. Our eyes lock and I see everything reflected there—want and nervousness and something deeper that neither of us has words for yet.
I sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch until he's fully inside me.
"Oh fuck," I breathe.
He groans, head falling back against the couch. "Jesus, Mila."
I start moving. Testing. Finding a rhythm that makes both of us gasp. His hands guide my hips but he lets me set the pace, watching my face like I'm the most important thing he's ever seen.
It's intense. Raw. More than I expected.
I brace my hands on his shoulders and ride him harder, chasing the pleasure building low in my belly. He thrusts up to meet me and the angle changes, hitting something inside that makes me cry out.
"There?" he asks, voice strained.
"There. Right there. Don't stop."
He doesn't. Matches my movements with perfect precision, one hand sliding between us to find my clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming. I'm close already, everything wound impossibly tight.
"Luke—"
"I know. Me too." His thumb circles faster and his other hand fists in my hair, pulling my mouth down to his. "Let go, sweetheart. I've got you."
The words break something open.
I come hard, clenching around him while pleasure whites out everything else. He follows immediately, thrusting up into me with a groan that I swallow with my kiss. We ride it out together, bodies locked and shaking until we finally still.
I'm still straddling him, my forehead pressed to his, both of us struggling to catch our breath. His hands are gentle now, stroking my back in soothing patterns.
"That was—" I start.
"Yeah."
We stay like that, wrapped around each other on the office couch, and I realize I'm in so much trouble. Because this wasn't just scratching an itch or satisfying curiosity.
This felt like something starting.
Something I'm not sure I know how to protect myself from if it ends badly.
But looking into Luke's eyes—seeing the wonder and vulnerability reflected there—I think maybe it's worth the risk.