9. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Nancy
I pull the tripod out of my bag and extend the legs, setting it up on the coffee table. Luke watches the process like I’ve just introduced some advanced piece of surveillance equipment into his home.
“You really came prepared,” he mutters.
“Of course I did,” I say, unlocking my phone and clipping it into place. “I wasn’t going to risk you escaping halfway through.”
He exhales sharply, arms crossing over his chest. His usual defensive stance.
I step back, tilting my head as I scan the room. “Alright, where’s the best light?”
Luke shrugs. Completely unhelpful.
I try in front of the sofa first, adjusting the phone and stepping back to check the screen. Too many shadows. Luke looks like he’s about to give a tell-all interview about his time in the mafia.
“How about here?” I gesture toward the bookshelf.
Luke shakes his head instantly. “No.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why not?”
“Because it makes me look like I’m giving a lecture on crime fiction.”
I glance at the bookshelf behind him. The countless editions of John Brooks' books line the shelves, their spines all neatly arranged like they’re waiting for a photo shoot. I bite my lip, pretending to consider.
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
His eyes narrow slightly.
I grin. “Alright, fine. No bookshelf.”
I try by the window next, but the afternoon sun turns him into an ominous silhouette. Then, by the fireplace, where he looks like he’s about to issue a ransom demand.
Luke sighs. “We could always just not do this.”
I turn slowly to face him. “Luke.”
His lips press into a thin line. “Right. Not an option.”
I scan the room again, tapping a finger against my chin. His whole house is very Luke—clean, structured, with just enough warmth to make it look lived-in, but not enough to suggest he entertains many visitors. Then, I spot the conservatory.
Light. Bright. Full of green plants that look far too well-maintained for a man who barely seems to tolerate small talk.
I gesture towards it. “There.”
He exhales through his nose, but follows me in. I set up the tripod again, angling the phone, while he stands stiffly to one side, looking like he’s preparing for a disciplinary hearing.
“Sit,” I instruct.
He drops into the chair, arms folded, legs sprawled.
I study the screen, frowning. “Nope.”
He tilts his head back against the chair. “What now?”
“You’re slouching.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “I’m sitting.”
“Yes, but you look like you’re being interviewed for a true crime documentary. ‘He was always quiet. Kept to himself.’”
A muscle tics in his jaw, but he straightens slightly. I adjust the frame again. Still not right.
I shake my head. “No. Stand up.”
Luke stares at me like I’ve just suggested he take up interpretive dance.
I widen my eyes, lifting my hands in mock encouragement. “Come on, you can do it.”
His sigh is long and deeply put-upon, but eventually, he pushes himself up, standing like a man awaiting his sentence.
I step back, framing the shot. “Much better.”
Luke mutters something under his breath. It sounds suspiciously like never again, but I pretend not to hear.
I step back, checking the framing one last time before pressing record. Luke stands stiffly in front of the camera, his arms hanging at his sides like he’s not quite sure what to do with them.
I give him an encouraging nod. “Alright, just say something about the walk. Make it sound inviting.”
He exhales through his nose, glancing at the phone as if it personally offends him. Then, in the dullest, most uninterested voice I have ever heard, he says, “It was a nice hike.”
I stare at him.
He stares back.
A bird chirps outside.
I press stop.
“Right,” I say slowly, folding my arms. “That was… something.”
Luke lifts an eyebrow. “You wanted short and simple.”
“I wanted short and simple, not lifeless and joyless.” I gesture vaguely at him. “That sounded like a hostage reading a script under duress.”
He smirks slightly. “Well, in a way—”
“Nope.” I cut him off, stepping closer and poking him lightly in the chest. “Try again. This time, like you actually enjoyed yourself.”
He exhales, running a hand through his hair, but there’s something amused in his expression now, like he secretly likes winding me up. “Fine. One more take.”
I press record again, watching as he shifts slightly, rolling his shoulders. This time, his voice is smoother, more natural.
“The walk was great. Good company, good views. If you’re thinking about joining, you should.”
I nod, biting back a grin. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Luke shakes his head, but there’s a hint of a smile there now. “Depends. Are we done?”
I tilt my head, pretending to think. “Almost. Just one more take.”
He exhales, a mix of patience and exasperation. “Of course.”
“But before, let me—”
Without thinking, I step closer, reaching up and sliding my fingers through his still-damp hair, smoothing it down slightly.
His breath stills.
So does mine.
My fingertips brush through the soft strands, lingering for a fraction of a second too long. His eyes lock onto mine, and suddenly, the air in the room shifts.
The playful back and forth dissolves into something else. Something heavier.
My heart kicks against my ribs.
I should step back.
I don’t.
Luke doesn’t either.
His eyes darken, flickering over my face, his jaw tight, his breathing just slightly uneven. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s holding himself still.
I know that look.
I feel it, too.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
And then we do.
At the exact same time.
His hands find my waist as my fingers curl into his hair again, pulling him closer. His lips meet mine in a kiss that is not hesitant, not uncertain. It is urgent, electric, like we’ve both been waiting for this longer than we’d like to admit.
A quiet sound escapes me, something between a sigh and a gasp. He responds instantly, deepening the kiss, one hand sliding to my lower back, pressing me closer.
Before I can even process it, he lifts me effortlessly, and instinct takes over. My legs wrap around his hips, my arms tightening around his neck.
A quiet gasp escapes me, swallowed instantly by his mouth as he deepens the kiss even further, his grip steady as he carries me through the room.
The world narrows to the heat between us, the press of his body against mine, the slow, controlled strength in the way he moves. I can feel his hard cock press against me, and I almost claw at him to get my hands on it.
I barely register when we reach the living room until the soft cushions of the sofa press against my back, Luke settling over me, his weight deliciously solid.
His lips leave mine, trailing along my jaw, and I tip my head back with a sharp inhale.
This is happening.
And I don’t want it to stop.
Luke’s weight presses me into the sofa, his body solid, warm, utterly in control. His lips move from my jaw down to my neck, slow and deliberate, like he’s taking his time to learn how I react.
And I react far too easily.
My breath hitches as his mouth brushes the sensitive spot just below my ear. His hands roam, strong and steady, skimming the curve of my waist before sliding beneath the hem of my top. His fingers are warm against my skin, exploring, teasing.
I arch into his touch, gripping his shoulders, feeling the way his muscles flex beneath my hands.
His eyes flick up to mine, dark, searching.
A silent question. A moment of pause, giving me the chance to stop this if I want to.
I don’t.
I tug at the back of his shirt in answer, slipping my fingers beneath the fabric, dragging them across his skin. His breath stutters against my neck before he pulls back just enough to yank the shirt over his head.
My hands roam over his chest, tracing the soft outline of his muscles.
Luke watches me, his expression unreadable, but his hands say everything—sliding up my sides, pushing my top higher, his fingers grazing the edge of my bra.
He leans down, his breath mingling with mine. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice low, rough.
I shake my head, my fingers curling around the back of his neck, pulling him down.
Stopping isn’t an option.
Luke’s breath is warm against my skin, his lips trailing just below my jaw before capturing mine again. His hands move with slow precision, pushing my top higher until the fabric bunches under my arms.
I shift, lifting slightly to help him, and in one smooth motion, he pulls it over my head and tosses it aside.
His gaze sweeps over me, dark and intense, a slow flicker of something unreadable in his expression. His fingers skim along the lace of my bra, tracing absent patterns, making my skin tingle under his touch.
I swallow hard, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Luke leans in, pressing a lingering kiss just above my collarbone, his hands roaming down to my hips, his thumbs brushing along the bare skin at my waist.
I arch instinctively, pressing closer, feeling the steady warmth of him, the way his breath stirs against my skin.
His fingers trail lower, toying with the waistband of my jeans. He pulls me into another kiss, slower this time, like he’s savouring every second.
I grip his shoulders, fingers pressing into warm muscle, feeling the restrained strength in the way he holds me.
His hands still for a fraction of a second, his forehead resting lightly against mine.
I reach for the button of my jeans, guiding his hands to help.
Luke exhales sharply, his grip tightening just slightly before he moves, he nibbles on my bottom lip as he slowly, deliberately undresses me.
Luke’s fingers move achingly slow, teasing along the waistband of my jeans. He watches me carefully, like he’s waiting for the smallest hesitation.
I give him none.
A quiet breath leaves him as he tugs the denim lower, his hands trailing down my thighs as he works them off.
The movement rocks me back into the sofa, and a soft breath escapes me, my skin prickling under the steady drag of his fingers.
His hands skim back up my legs, fingers tracing bare skin, warm and firm. He leans down, brushing his lips along my hipbone. “You’re beautiful. So beautiful.” The words are barely above a whisper, but they settle deep, heat curling in my stomach.
His mouth trails lower, lips soft, teasing, taking his time like he wants me to feel every second of this. My fingers slide into his hair, my breath coming faster.
I want more.
I press up into his touch, my hands trailing down the bare expanse of his back, feeling the shift of muscle under warm skin. He groans softly, gripping my hips, pressing me deeper into the cushions.
He pushes my knickers aside and finally, his lips mould themselves around my clit. I cry out as he sucks and licks on the little nub. But just as he gives me what I need, he stops and moves back up to me.
His tongue explores my mouth and the way he kisses me has me melt into him.
That man is driving me crazy.