At every point during the drive to his apartment, I tried to convince myself I was making a mistake—that I was leaving myself vulnerable to the risk of falling for a gorgeous guy who could easily break my heart with a single flex of his seductive smile.
But it was like throwing darts against a steel wall—none of the sharp reminders of what I’d gone through with Sean stuck. Instead, they all bounced off the solid, chivalrous armor of the man next to me.
Charming. Protective. Possessive.
And the way he firmly gripped my thigh while he drove with his other hand had this Wicked Witch melting far too easily.
“What is it?” he asked when I shivered.
I rolled my lower lip between my teeth, sifting through the million answers I could give him, but when I spoke, the bare truth came out.
“I always wondered what this would feel like.”
When I didn’t finish, he prompted with a grin, “Being seduced by Voldemort?”
I stuck my tongue out at him and replied, “Being taken home by Luke Chambers.”
The big fingers on my thigh tightened, sending a ripple of heat and a rush of moisture from my core.
“And how does it feel?”
My throat bobbed. “Like it should only happen in a dream.” I laughed nervously. “But that’s probably normal for you.”
He slowed the truck for the red light in front of the brewery, but once we came to a stop, he put it in park, and I knew I was in trouble. He turned to me, a hard expression crinkling his brow and darkening the impossible depths of his gaze.
“Let me make something clear, Sage, nothing about being with you is normal for me,” he said slowly, making sure to carefully choose each word. A horn blared behind us, but Luke didn’t even flinch. His focus was only on me as the other car drove around us. “Not the way I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”
And then he continued driving, as though it was completely normal to be able to stop someone’s heart with a few simple words.
In some ways, I wasn’t surprised at all by Luke’s apartment. It was a one-bedroom bachelor pad with a mini-fridge filled with beer in the living room that boasted an impressive flat-screen TV along with a huge leather couch.
There were two massive Red Sox posters hung on the walls, and I suddenly remembered how Luke and Callan would go into the city for games when we were younger.
The kitchen was small but clean, suggesting he was either very tidy or didn’t cook at all. And a quick glance down the hall through the open bedroom door revealed a bed with dark gray covers.
Superficially, a bachelor pad for sure. But when I looked closer, I saw understated character.
The apartment was in an older building so even though the appliances were new, two of the walls were exposed brick and the high ceilings were crisscrossed with vaulted beams and black piping.
Next to the mini-fridge was a small bookcase that overflowed with books on brewing, business development, and leadership. And the complete Harry Potter collection. On top of the shelves weren’t the numerous awards and trophies Luke had won for football, but instead sentimental photographs of his teammates and friends.
“I forgot that you and Callan used to go to baseball games,” I murmured, walking into the living room rather than toward the bedroom, my nerves starting to get the better of me.
Even if he hadn’t been with a ton of women recently, his experience vastly outweighed mine.
Very, very vastly.
“That poster I got from the first game that we went to for Callan’s birthday. I don’t think it ended up being your brother’s thing, but your dad and I had the best time,” he came beside me and said. “The other one”—we both turned—“was from the game Callan got tickets to for my seventeenth birthday.” A slow smile curved up his lips. “Your parents didn’t want us driving alone into the city, so I think Cal told them we were going camping or something.”
My mouth formed a small ‘o’ as I pressed my hands to it, recalling, “I remember that! My mom was so shocked that you guys wanted to go camping.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, we didn’t. But I guess your dad couldn’t go and my parents…” His voice faded for a second. “My parents never celebrated my birthday. Or anything else for that matter.”
My heart lurched into my throat. Now that I thought about it, I’d never heard much about Luke’s family. As a kid, all I knew was that my older brother had hot friends who were over all the time and definitely not interested in me. My teenage brain had few focuses, and why Callan never stayed at Luke’s house wasn’t one of them.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. If they hadn’t been horrible, then I never would’ve spent so much time around your family,” he replied, the shadows on his face instantly clearing at the mention of my family. “I never would’ve known what real support and love looks like.”
Love.
I jerked to the side, remembering a second too late that my face was still painted green to sufficiently hide the color rising to my cheeks.
“So, is that why you agreed to be my fake date?” I wondered softly, trying to corral my quickly spiraling thoughts.
I couldn’t even say I’d be upset if it was. It was the mark of a good person who would want to help those who’d helped him.
He faced me and cupped my cheek, the warmth of his palm encouraging me to turn into his touch.
One corner of his lips lifted higher, tipping his smile unevenly. “I wish I could say my agreement was completely chivalrous.”
The husky draw of his voice sent a wave of goose bumps over my skin, and my lips parted.
My entire body felt like it was buzzing—like it was charged with electricity only Luke could turn on and bring to life. Every fiber, every cell, they woke to the magic of his touch.
“Then what was it?” I asked, my voice hardly above a whisper as his head dipped closer to mine.
“The opposite,” he rasped, the warm rush of his breath bursting over my lips. “It was for purely selfish reasons.” My breath hitched. “After everything your family has done for me, Sage, it feels like a damn crime to want you the way that I do.”
His lips floated like dusky clouds over mine, heavy with the promise of an impending storm of desire.
I shivered when he plucked my hat from my head. It was the least revealing article of clothing to remove and yet I felt bare. Exposed. Vulnerable to everything that was about to happen.
Thick fingers toiled in the curls of my hair, pulling out the remaining pins and letting the strands fall prey to his touch.
My tongue slid out, wetting my lower lip. I watched his jaw muscles vibrate, wanting to press my lips to the steady pulse and taste the strength of his desire.
“Sage…”
Slowly, my eyes lifted to his.
“It has to end here,” he said in a low voice.
A small sound left my throat, pain lancing my chest. “What?”
“Everything fake about you and me, Sage. It all ends right here, right now,” he explained, relief settling warmly through my bones. “When I kiss you. When I strip you. When I feast on your perfect tits, and when I fuck your perfect pussy…” His mouth curved into a wolfish grin. “I want to make sure you know it’s all fucking real, and it means you’re really fucking mine.”
My heart buzzed and fluttered inside my chest.
“Luke…”
The world seemed to come to a stop, but not in a gentle way; it stopped like a spring coiled impossibly tight with no inch left to give. It stopped because it was locked with incredible tension and immense potential—and about to snap.
“I need to hear you say it.”
My lungs inflated like it was the last breath they’d take before diving off the deep end into the unknown. But I wanted this too badly to be frightened. I wanted him.
And maybe in my fairy tale, the wicked witch lived happily ever after with the dark lord.
“I’m yours.” I heard myself whisper.<
br />
And those two little words loosed the spring that held everything suspended, casting desire into the air like it was the only kind of magic that existed.
His lips stamped over mine, hot and hungry just like they’d been earlier but even less restrained, knowing there would be no more interruptions here.
I knew I was nervous but the effects only seemed to heighten my need, knowing at every touch… at every turn… he put my fears at ease.
My mouth opened, angling to give his tongue everything it wanted—and give mine everything it craved. Long, deep strokes. His tongue cast a spell that made me a willing prisoner to his want and my own.
His hand on my face slid down over my shoulder, under the cape of my costume, to the small of my back where he pulled me hard to him.
The aching tips of my breasts flattened against the muscled wall of his chest. It seemed impossible—almost inhuman—for something to be so hard, but the low noise that rumbled from it confirmed that the very real, very hot male was not made of stone.
His hand slid lower to the curve of my ass, and his groan deepened.
Walking backward, he pulled me with him toward his bedroom, reaching out to flick on the low lights once we made it through the door.
His lips left mine, and I tried to catch my breath, but couldn’t, the air stuck like hot caramel in the back of my throat when I looked at his perfectly made bed.
Maybe I didn’t think this through.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been with a guy. There’d only been a few—okay, two—after things ended with Sean. But once I’d started focusing on my business, relationships slid to the back burner—back to where I couldn’t get burned.
What if I was bad? What if I was bad at sex?
I was already… different… from the women I’d known Luke to date. But what if I was actually terrible—
“Stop thinking,” he ordered roughly, his mouth imprinting a path of fire onto my cheek and then down my neck.
“But Luke…” I moaned, losing track of my thoughts when he sucked gently over the thrum of my pulse.
“There are no ‘but Luke’s’ here.” He nipped at my skin. “Only ‘yes Luke,’ ‘please, Luke.’”
I inhaled sharply when his hands found the corseted tie at the back of my dress, tugging until the bow came undone, so he could loosen it.
Oh my.
“Only ‘more, Luke,’ ‘harder, Luke.’” His voice grew harder.
Heat pooled between my thighs, and I trembled when he reached for the full sleeves of my dress, tugging them to the sides and allowing the material of my costume to sag in the front.
Suddenly, I remembered what I was wearing beneath the dress, and my eyes popped wide.
I’d worn a black bustier shaper underneath the dress because the fabric of the costume was so revealing. The bustier was practical, but it was also a little sexy. And instant later, the Wicked Witch costume fluttered around my feet, leaving me standing there in the bustier, black thong, green fishnets, and my black boots.
Practical, sexy, and a little wicked. Like practical magic.
Luke stepped back, his jaw pulsing with a kind of ferocity I’d never known him to have.
His eyes raked over me like a lion inspecting its prey, and I shuddered, wanting nothing more than to be caught—wanting nothing more than for him to ease the growing ache between my legs that made my thighs clamp tightly together.
Distantly, I tried to remind myself that I hadn’t chosen my undergarments for him—that they shaped all my full curves for my costume. But the way he just stared at my breasts that overflowed from the top of the tight silk, down the row of tiny hooks along the front… I wondered if it had all been for him.
“Shouldn’t you undress, too?” I caught my lip between my teeth.
His gaze flared, meeting mine. “I’m afraid if I move, I’ll realize this is just a dream.”
His words emboldened me, giving me a heady confidence to step forward and reach for the zipper at the top of his costume robe, peeling it down the tracks until the fabric split open. One shrug and it was off his shoulders.
Curling my hands into his white tee, I peeled it up his torso as high as it could go before he had to help me; it ended up on the floor with the robe.
Reaching up, I gently traced my fingers along his bearded cheek, enjoying how the soft stubble sent waves of tingles through my blood.
My heart hammered, but I smiled a little when my thumb reached his lips.
“Your mouth is green,” I murmured, brushing over where my green face paint had stained his skin.
He chuckled low and then angled his head to my ear, murmuring, “Green with jealousy over all the men who’ve kissed you.”
I shivered, my thighs growing slick with want.
It was a dangerous kind of desire that could be stoked so strongly with the sincerest of compliments.
I flattened my palms on his chest, looking for support, and finding all that muscle that, skin to skin, seemed harder than marble.
My fingers bumped over the ridges of his abdominals, losing count of how many he had though it seemed far more than any man should have.
“You’re perfect,” I murmured, absorbing every inch of masculine perfection all the way down to my hands on the waist of his jeans.
Taking hold of my wrist, he dragged it to the front of the zipper once more, and what I felt seemed even larger than before.
It seemed thicker and harder, too. And to grow underneath my touch.
“I’m yours.”
I let out a small, uninhibited moan at his promise and gently closed my grip.
With a hiss, he yanked my hand up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the center of my palm. “And I’m going to be spent far too soon if you keep that up.”
I felt my skin flush with pride and promise and the kind of confidence I savored whenever I felt it.
Pulling my hand free, I traced my fingers along the bearded edge of his jawline and down the thick cords of his neck and over the ridge of his collarbone to press my palm flat against the layer of curls dusting the hard muscle of his chest.
“Mine,” I repeated, scraping the green tips of my nails down over the little bumps of his nipples, savoring the way his breath changed; it grew rougher, more ragged.
It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “Yours.”
I shivered, my nipples pebbling so hard that no matter how smooth the fabric of the bustier was, it hurt the sensitive peaks.
Skating my hands lower, I reached the edge of his jeans. His stomach muscles tensed as I carefully undid them. The stiff fabric didn’t give much or sink far, held snug to his hips by the thickness of his cock.
I hooked my fingertips underneath the waist, but before I could pull them down, his hand snaked around the back of my neck and his mouth claimed mine with dizzying, erotic pressure and hard, demanding strokes of his tongue.
It didn’t take long before I forgot my task, the kiss scrambling what was left of my brain.
“Mine,” he swore when his other hand spread over my chest, dragging it slowly down until he sank two fingers into the tight crease between my breasts.
With a low groan, he stroked through my cleavage, mimicking with his hand what his cock would be doing soon.
“Luke,” I exhaled, my head tipping back when his lips searched out the crook of my neck.
“One day, I’m going to fuck you here,” he rasped, teasing the swells of my breasts with his fingers once more. “I’m going to push my fat cock between your beautiful tits and cover them with my cum.”
My throat went dry.
No one had ever talked dirty to me before. Not that there were many men who’d had the chance. And I loved it.
It made me feel beautiful and wanton enough to tempt this man with his sweet mouth to utter very wicked things—wicked things that made this wicked witch melt.
From there, Luke turned into this dream man as he undid the clasps of the bustier with the swift fl
ick of his thumb, baring my heated flesh to him inch by inch until the black fabric was discarded with the rest of my costume—with the rest of my defenses—to the floor.
He sucked in an audible breath, making my nipples pull even tighter.
“Jesus, Sage,” he said in a strangled voice.
For a single heart-stopping second, he reached out and clasped my sides, holding me like he was trying to get ahold of himself.
“Beautiful.”
The single uttered word felt like the dawn. Warm. Bright. Unstoppably true.
He pulled me with him toward the bed until he sat on the edge, working me forward until I straddled his lap, the position wedging his demanding hardness right where my body wanted him.
I gasped when he cupped my breasts in his big hands, filling them with the heavy weights. Mesmerized, I watched as he tested and kneaded, his tanned fingers standing in contrast to my pale skin.
My hands gripped the thick muscles of his shoulders, letting my head fall back and arching into his delicious grasp. Heat spread like a growing fire through my body.
“Please, Luke,” I moaned, squirming against him.
I heard his soft, ragged chuckle a second before I felt the warmth of his breath at the base of my neck.
My eyes popped open, my head tipping forward just in time to see his quirked grin disappear as his head bent to my chest.
He dragged his tongue along the seam of my breasts, raising goose bumps to their surface. I pushed harder into his hands and his fingers plucked at my nipples as his mouth stamped a hot path to one begging peak.
A wanton whimper burst from my throat as he caught the budded peak between his lips and sucked hard, sending a flaming firework of want straight to my core that erupted in a rush of heat.
My body moved in a symphony of jerks and arches and shivers, possessed by a passion that had total control.
The velvet weapon of his tongue raked over my nipple, teasing, swirling, devouring it like it was a never-diminishing delicacy.
Single moans melted into a stream of sultry sounds over the next several minutes as he gathered my breasts together and hungrily browsed along every inch of them, brushing, kissing, tormenting, until I felt as flimsy as a piece of paper about to catch flame.
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