Chapter Twenty #2
His cologne, the scent of rum and sugar, winds around me, enticing and exciting.
I can see an old scar on his cheek; I haven’t noticed it before because it’s beneath his bristles.
Did he get that in the army? Up close, I can see the color of his eyes—I thought they were dark brown, but the light from the TV shows they have flecks of orange, as if they’re leaping with flame.
I hold his gaze for a moment, looking into his eyes, hoping he can see desire in mine, and how much I want him.
His expression holds a touch of bewilderment and uncertainty.
All the times he’s held back and not replied to my teasing makes sense now.
He’s been taught that desire is something to be ashamed of.
Time to change that.
At last, I lower my lips to his. As I open my mouth and slide my tongue against his, I can taste the wine we’ve been drinking. His sigh whispers across my lips, heartbreaking in its longing.
Mmm… I’m enjoying this. I slide my hands into his hair, my fingers brushing the short strands on the sides and sinking into the longer hair on top.
Dom, unwilling to let me take charge, would have grabbed me and flipped me over and already been thinking about somehow restraining me on my back.
I’m sure he was worried I might threaten his masculinity.
But Luke is apparently content to let me direct the action.
His hands rest on my hips, although as we continue to kiss, he begins to stroke my back, his fingers sliding up my spine and sending shivers through me.
His tongue plays with mine, teasing my lips, sliding into my mouth. But otherwise he lets me kiss him.
Moving up his thighs a little, I rest my arms on the back of the sofa and lean against him. My breasts rest against his broad chest, and I can feel his erection pressing between my legs. Ooh, wow, that’s impressive.
I move my hips a little, acknowledging that he’s interested, and his lips curve up under mine.
I lift my head. “Do you want me to stop?” My heart’s racing. I’m not used to playing the seductress, but hopefully I look more confident than I feel.
He stares into my eyes. I’m prepared for him to say yes, for his principles to take over his desires, because I know he has a strong moral code, and he takes his job seriously.
But instead, he gives me a helpless look and says, “If you stop, I think I’ll die.”
That makes me giggle, and I say, “Thank God,” and crush my lips to his.
This time, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. Heat sears through me as he delves his tongue into my mouth, and I give a soft moan and rock my hips against his, arousing myself on his hard length.
Mmm… now that he’s given himself permission, he’s not holding back. His fingers find the hem of my tee, and he lifts it and rests his hands on my skin before sliding them up my sides.
“Ahhh…” The feel of my skin seems to suck away the last of his resistance, and he sinks into the sofa, wrapping his warm arms around me, his fingers splaying over my back. “You feel so good,” he whispers, brushing his fingers up to my shoulders, then down my ribs. “So warm and smooth.”
In answer, I move back, cross my arms and take the bottom of my tee in my hands, and peel it up my body. I toss it away, then unclip my bra. He watches, eyes wide, as I slide the straps down my arms and drop it on top of the discarded tee.
I never thought I could be as bold as this, but Luke looks at me as if he’s found gold in the hills. I want his hot gaze on me, searing into my skin. I take his hands and lift them to my breasts, and he handles them gently.
Lowering my head, I kiss him, while he continues to tease my nipples, brushing the tips lightly with his thumbs.
“Harder,” I whisper against his lips.
He pauses, then says, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. I’m not as delicate as I look, I promise.” I cover his hand with mine and squeeze his fingers gently. They tug on my nipples, and I moan.
“Fuck,” he says, and he slides a hand to the back of my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. Ooh, I like fired-up Luke, who’s clearly turned on by my enthusiasm.
We kiss for ages, while he explores my breasts, weighing them in his palms and teasing the nipples until they’re tight buds.
Eventually, I move back a little and, looking him in the eye, wiggle my shoulders, offering my breasts to him.
His eyes brighten, and he kisses down my neck, all the way to my breasts, and closes his mouth over a nipple.
I sigh, arch my back, and slide my hand into his hair, loving the feel of his tongue stroking across the sensitive skin.
I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for him, making love with a woman who wasn’t into sex, and who didn’t respond with enthusiasm when he touched her.
So I make sure to be vocal, murmuring words of encouragement, and moaning when he does something I like.
After a while, I help him off with his tee, wanting to feel his skin close to mine. Oooh, he’s beautiful, his body sculpted, every muscle defined.
“Oh my God, look at you.” I stroke my hands up his body and over his shoulders. “You’re like a god.”
“Thank you.”
I chuckle and lean against him, and he wraps his arms around me. “I love how embarrassed you get,” I tease.
“I’m not used to compliments.”
“I have no idea why. If you were mine, I’d be telling you how wonderful you were every minute of the day.”
He doesn’t reply, but a frown flickers on his brow. I kiss it, smoothing away the lines. “You’re a good man,” I tell him, holding his face in my hands. I kiss over his eyelids, down his nose, across the bristles on his cheeks, and along his jaw, back to his mouth.
“Nobody’s ever said that to me before,” he says.
I pause for a moment and look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry she didn’t appreciate you.” I kiss his lips then to save him replying, and take my time to tease them with my tongue before sliding it against his.
Your partner should be your most vocal advocate.
The person who picks you up, who makes you feel good when everyone else is putting you down.
They should think you’re a ten, even when you feel you’re looking your worst. Why is it that we both ended up with people who put themselves first all the time?
I shudder now to think of how controlling Dom was, both in and out of bed. I don’t want that anymore.
And I’m not going to think about him now, not when I have a man in my arms who has done everything in his power to keep me safe.
Who looks at me as if he’s discovered a previously unknown Monet painting in an antiques shop.
Who touches me as if he’s restoring that painting, with the lightest touch, his eyes full of wonder.
I open my mouth to tell him I love him, the words hovering on my lips like autumn leaves waiting to fall, but I hold back at the last moment.
I don’t know where this is going, or even if he’ll be interested in a relationship once we’ve returned to Auckland.
In his eyes, this might be a ‘what happens on Evermore stays on Evermore’ situation.
And I don’t want to spoil the moment, and make him question what he’s doing.
So instead, I keep my thoughts to myself and just kiss him, and enjoy being in the moment, feeling warm and loved, even though neither of us puts it into words.