Chapter Eighteen Luke
Eighteen
Luke
Luke’s world narrowed to nothing but the feel of Sophie’s lips, her hands.
The sound of her moans. The taste of her.
As she reached for the buckle on his belt, nearly snapping what remained of his restraint.
He wanted her with a passion that frightened him, wanted to lay her down among the spring blooms and make her his in every way possible.
He should have just left it at that kiss under the cherry tree the night before.
That was what a smart man would’ve done. A man who hadn’t spent years rebuilding walls that a British bookshop owner with mischief in her eyes seemed determined to scale. A man who didn’t know how badly these things could end.
But something snapped inside him. Five years of self-imposed isolation since Claire left, five years of keeping everyone at arm’s length, and this woman had walked straight past all his defenses like they weren’t even there.
And now he was tasting her, all cherry soda and possibility, her mouth soft and yielding beneath his.
He’d meant to be gentle. Meant to give her an out, a chance to back away.
But Sophie made a small, hungry sound against his mouth, her hands fisting in his shirt, and every good intention evaporated like morning mist on the lake.
He tilted her head to deepen the kiss. The boards rocked gently beneath them, the motion somehow intensifying everything—the heat of her mouth, the press of her body against his, the quiet, desperate sounds she made when he nipped at her lower lip.
He pulled back just far enough to see her face, to make sure this wasn’t his imagination running wild. Her lips were parted, her breathing uneven, her eyes dark with want. The sight of her undid him completely.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice barely recognizable. “Tell me now or I won’t be able to.”
“If you stop,” she whispered, “I’ll push you overboard.”
Her dress hiked up to reveal soft thighs that fit perfectly against his hips.
Her warmth pressed against him, making his blood sing and his control fracture.
His hands found her waist, steadying her as the platform shifted with their movement.
Water lapped quietly against it, the rhythm like a heartbeat beneath them.
The thin fabric of her dress clung to every curve, outlining the swell of her breasts, the gentle dip and rise of her stomach, the perfect indent of her waist where his hands spanned easily from front to back.
The tops of her breasts rose and fell rapidly, the skin there flushed pink.
The sight of her like this—breathless and wanting—was driving him half out of his mind.
When she rolled her hips experimentally against his, Luke couldn’t hold back a deep groan. He had to pull away from their kiss and take a beat.
“Christ, Sophie,” he said, struggling for control. “You’re killing me.”
“Good. Seems only fair since you’ve been driving me crazy since I fell into your lake.”
“My lake, is it?”
“Certainly acting like you own it.” Her fingers traced his jaw, her touch leaving trails of fire on his skin. “All broody and territorial.”
“Not territorial.” His hands slid up her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, feeling her shiver against him. “Protective.”
“And what are you protecting now?”
The question hit him harder than it should have. What was he protecting? His heart? The lake? The town’s history? Or was he just hiding behind all that because he was scared of feeling something real again?
Instead of answering, he captured her mouth again, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. His hands explored the curves of her body with fierce hunger, memorizing every soft sigh, every shiver, every place that made her breath catch.
Need clawed at his insides, raw and demanding. He wanted to lay her down right there on the deck, to feel every inch of her against him, to lose himself in her warmth and forget everything else. Luke began to slide Sophie’s dress up her body.
Her back arched as the fabric cleared her head and fell forgotten to the deck.
His mouth went dry at the sight of her. She was wearing a pretty lace combo, the delicate white fabric of her bra leaving little to his imagination, the sight of her nipples pressing against that material sending waves of want through him.
There was a mole by her belly button, a small scar on her hip.
He wanted to trail his lips over them; over all of her.
Her hands were on him instantly, tugging at his shirt, nails scraping lightly across his chest as she pushed the fabric from his shoulders.
The first contact of skin against skin sent electricity surging through his veins.
He’d been with women before, but never like this, never with this bone-deep recognition that shook him to his core.
Their mouths found each other again, teeth grazing lips, tongues sliding together. He just about lost his mind at the throaty moan she made when he dragged his mouth from her lips to her throat, to the pulse that hammered wildly beneath her skin.
His hands found the clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts and God, they were beautiful.
Full and soft. Luke couldn’t resist tasting her then, his tongue circling one hardened peak while his thumb grazed the other.
Sophie’s head fell back, her spine bowing, fingernails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
The small pain only fueled his need, transforming into pleasure that pooled low inside him.
He dragged his mouth lower, tasting the salt of her skin, the subtle changes in texture as he moved from her ribs to the soft plane of her stomach. His hands slid beneath the elastic of her underwear, easing them down her legs, leaving her bare beneath the spread of hazy clouds above.
Luke paused then, taking in the sight of her splayed across the bench seat, her dark hair against the light cushions, her chest rising and falling with each sharp breath. The need to taste her, to know her completely, overwhelmed any remaining restraint.
His mouth found the inside of her knee, then higher, leaving a trail of heat along her inner thigh.
The first taste of her was electric. Salt and sweetness and pure Sophie.
Her hands found his hair, grip tightening as his tongue explored her most intimate places, learning what made her gasp, what made her thighs tremble, what made her hips rise desperately from the bench.
He worked her with his mouth and fingers until her body went taut beneath him, until she shattered with a cry that echoed across the still water. The sound of his name on her lips as she came apart was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.
Before she’d even caught her breath, Sophie was pulling him up, her hands urgent on his belt, pushing his jeans down his hips.
The cool air against his heated skin was a shock quickly forgotten when her fingers wrapped around him, testing his length, learning his shape.
Luke had to grit his teeth, had to focus on the distant shore to keep from finishing at her first exploratory touch.
He grabbed for the emergency kit in the picnic basket, finding the foil packet by feel alone, unwilling to take his eyes off her for even a second. Her gaze burned into him as he tore it open, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, her legs shifting restlessly against the cushion.
The raft rocked gently beneath them as Luke positioned himself above her, his pulse thudding in his throat so hard he was certain she must feel it where their chests pressed together.
The movement of the water seemed to guide them, an ancient rhythm that felt more right than anything he’d ever known.