Chapter 10 — Luke Time #3
There was nothing careful about the way she responded. No shy little gasps. No polite restraint. She moved against my mouth, hips rolling, thighs trembling, fingers tugging at my hair like she couldn't decide whether to pull me closer or climb out of her own skin.
"I knew it," she said, breathless and wild. "I knew your mouth would be unfair. I’ve been correct about so many things today."
I laughed against her.
She swore.
Then I stopped laughing and used my tongue until she forgot how to talk.
She got close fast. Too fast. Her thighs tightened around my head, her hips stuttering, and I could feel the edge coming up in the way her body started to fight itself.
I pulled back.
"No."
Her eyes flew open. "Excuse me?"
"Not here."
"I strongly disagree."
"I want you in my bed."
That landed.
The fight went out of her for half a second, replaced by something naked and bright.
"Your bed," she said.
"Yes."
"With me."
"Yes."
"Naked."
"Extremely."
She nodded once, as if approving a plan drafted by experts. "Carry me."
I got her off the island and into my arms. She wrapped around me immediately, skin to skin, breasts pressed to my chest, legs locked around my waist. Her mouth found mine as I carried her through the house, and she kissed me like the walk upstairs was an insult she intended to correct.
By the time we reached my bedroom, I was hard enough to ache.
She knew it. She ground against me while I lowered her to the bed, her wet heat sliding against the front of my jeans.
"Take them off," she said.
I stripped fast.
She watched every second.
No jokes now.
Not even from Tatum.
When I pushed my jeans and briefs down and my cock sprang free, her eyes went dark and hungry.
"There you are," she whispered.
The words should have been funny.
They weren't.
She reached for me, and I let her hand close around my shaft. Her fingers were warm and a little unsteady, her grip curious for half a second before it turned sure.
"I've wanted this," she said.
I covered her hand with mine.
"I know."
"No, you don't." She stroked me once, slow and tight, watching my face like she wanted to learn every reaction.
"I've wanted this when you drove us home.
When you fixed the dock step. When you laughed at Shay and tried not to look at my bikini.
When I fell into you and you caught me like it was nothing. It wasn't nothing to me."
My throat went tight.
I pushed her back against the pillows and kissed her before she could hide behind another joke.
The bed changed everything.
The island had been heat. Shock. A spark hitting dry grass.
This was deeper.
Her body under mine. My sheets beneath her.
Her hair spread across my pillow. Her hands on my back, my shoulders, my ass, dragging me closer.
I kissed her mouth, her throat, her breasts.
I sucked her nipples until she was writhing under me, then moved lower again, down her stomach, between her thighs.
"Luke," she breathed.
I slid one finger into her.
She went silent.
Then her body bowed.
"Fuck."
She was soaked. Tight. Hot. I worked her slowly at first, watching her face, feeling the way her body took me in and tried to pull me deeper. Her hands twisted in the sheets. Her breasts rose and fell with every ragged breath.
"More," she said.
I gave her another finger.
Her hips snapped up.
"That's it. That's. God. I need you inside me."
"Not yet, baby."
"Luke."
"I want you ready."
She lifted her head, eyes blazing. "I'm ready enough to file a complaint."
I kissed the inside of her thigh. "Denied."
"You're abusing authority."
"Probably."
I put my mouth on her again.
She forgot the complaint.
The sounds she made filled the bedroom. Open, needy, completely unfiltered.
She moved with me, against me, chasing pressure and then running from it when it got too good.
I kept her there, not letting her fall over the edge, not yet.
I wanted her wild. I wanted her aching. I wanted every part of her to know that this wasn't catching her.
This was choosing her.
When I came back up her body, she grabbed my face and kissed me like she could taste herself on my mouth and loved it.
"Now," she said.
I settled between her thighs.
The head of my cock brushed her slick heat.
Her breath stopped.
Mine did too.
For one second, neither of us moved.
Her hand slid into my hair, gentler than anything she'd done all day.
"Don't make me wait anymore," she whispered.
I lined myself up.
Her legs tightened around me.
And the whole world narrowed to the place where we were about to become something we couldn't undo.
***
I pushed into her.
Slow at first.
Not because I wanted slow.
Because the first inch nearly ended me.
Tatum's head fell back against the pillow, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut. Her nails dug into my shoulders. Her pussy gripped me so tight I had to stop, jaw clenched, every muscle in my body locked down.
"Breathe," I said.
"You breathe," she gasped.
I laughed once, rough and wrecked.
Then I sank deeper.
Her laugh broke into a moan.
"Oh, fuck. Luke. You're so deep."
"You okay?"
Her eyes opened.
Furious.
Beautiful.
"If you ask me that again, I'm going to throw a pillow at your head."
"Understood."
"Move."
I moved.
Her body took me in like it had been waiting years to prove a point.
Wet, tight, hot around every inch of me.
I started slow, watching her face, feeling for the line between too much and not enough.
But Tatum wasn't built for passive. Her hips rose to meet me.
Her legs locked higher around my back. Her hands slid down to my ass and pulled.
"Harder."
I gave her more.
Her breasts bounced with the first real thrust, full and flushed and beautiful, nipples tight from my mouth and the drag of her own movement. The sight nearly took me out. Her body moved under mine with a hungry rhythm, hips lifting, thighs clenching, stomach tightening every time I drove into her.
The sound of it filled the room.
Her breathing.
My breathing.
The wet slide of my cock in and out of her.
The bed frame knocking once against the wall before I braced an arm and changed the angle.
"Yes," she said. "There. Right there."
I drove into that spot again.
Her eyes went wide.
"Again."
I did.
"Again."
I did.
She stopped making words for a while after that.
That was new.
Tatum, silent because pleasure had finally outrun her mouth.
It was the hottest thing I'd ever seen.
I kissed her hard, swallowing the broken little sounds that came back when I shifted my weight and pushed deeper. She clung to me, then pushed at my shoulder.
"Roll over."
I froze for half a second.
She bared her teeth in a grin. "I said roll over, Luke. I have plans."
I rolled.
She came with me, still impaled on my cock, hair falling around her face as she sat up astride me. The new angle punched a sound out of both of us. Her hands landed on my chest. Her head tipped back.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "Oh, that's unfair."
"You wanted plans."
"I had a plan. The plan is excellent."
Then she rode me.
Not gentle.
Not tentative.
Tatum rode me like she'd been storing motion in her body all day and finally found the only place to spend it.
Her hips lifted and dropped, rolling at the bottom, grinding until I felt her clit drag against me and her pussy clench hard around my cock.
Her breasts bounced with every stroke, full and gorgeous and flushed, and I sat up enough to get my hands on them.
She made a sound that was half laugh, half moan.
"Yes. Touch me. Like that."
I did.
I filled my hands with her, thumbs brushing her nipples, palms moving with the rhythm of her body. She rode harder. Faster. Her hair stuck to her cheeks. Sweat shone at her throat. Her face was open in a way I'd never seen, stripped of the performance she used to outrun seriousness.
This was Tatum.
Bright.
Filthy.
Brave.
Mine in the only way that mattered, because she was choosing it with every roll of her hips.
"You feel so good," she gasped. "You're so fucking deep like this. I can feel all of you."
I gripped her waist and drove up into her.
Her rhythm broke.
"Yes. Do that. Fuck, Luke, do that."
So I did.
I planted my feet and fucked up into her while she rode me down, the two of us finding something rough and perfect between us.
Her breasts moved in my hands. Her pussy gripped me on every stroke.
The wet heat of her made my vision narrow, and the way she looked down at me, wild and delighted and stunned by her own need, made the old line inside me snap clean through.
Tatum found the rhythm and then ruined it on purpose.
Of course she did.
She lifted higher, almost all the way off me, until only the head of my cock stayed inside her. Her eyes locked on mine. Her lips parted. For one suspended second, she held us there, both of us shaking, both of us feeling how close we were to losing the fit entirely.
"Watch," she whispered.
Then she sank down.
Slow.
All the way.
Every inch of my cock disappeared into her tight, soaked heat, and the sound she made when I bottomed out should have knocked pictures off the wall.
Her breasts lifted with her inhale, then bounced when she started moving again, harder this time, hips snapping down, thighs flexing around mine, hands planted on my chest like she was riding a storm she had personally started.
"That's it," I said, voice wrecked. "Take it."
Her grin flashed, filthy and bright. "I am."
She proved it.
She rode me until her legs shook, until sweat slipped down between her breasts, until the room narrowed to skin, breath, and the slick slide of her body taking mine.
She changed the angle herself, one knee shifting higher, her hips rolling in a tight circle that made her gasp and made my hands clamp down on her waist.
"There," she breathed. "Oh, God, there."
I drove up into the same spot.
She folded forward, forehead almost touching mine, and kept moving anyway.