“Except you do know better,” he said, his strong hand clasping over mine for a long second as he added, “Because I’m too fucking attracted to you for us to be related.”
He winked and took the plate from me, drying it and then declaring, “Alright, the rest can wait. Let’s go.”
I was about to protest but he gave my ass a little smack just as Rose entered the kitchen. The timing was close enough that I hoped she hadn’t seen, but when she grinned widely, I knew that she had.
“I’ll help Mom from here,” she offered and then called for her fiancé, the two of them going to finish tackling the task.
Luke thanked her and with a firm hand on my lower back, propelled me toward the doors to the back patio.
“What—Where are we going?”
I didn’t get an answer, only the firm pressure of his hands guiding me forward into the cool fall night.
We turned at the end of the pavers and that was when I saw flames crackling from a small firepit and a blanket laid on the ground.
“When did you…”
His low chuckle came from behind me. “I wasn’t talking to your mom that whole time,” he replied. “Mike helped me, too.”
It grew hard to swallow, emotion clogging even the simplest of tasks.
I was in trouble.
My dominos of denial were quickly toppling.
First, when I’d thought the kiss was a fluke. Then, when I’d wondered if the Wicked Witch and Voldemort would regret their affair in the morning. And finally, uncertain if we’d return from Portsmouth and wake from the dream.
But at every turn, Luke proved his words.
This was real… and I was his.
I gasped when we reached the blanket and spun in his arms. “S’mores?”
“Yes.” He cupped my cheek. “And s’more of you.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop myself from giggling.
It didn’t feel real to be this happy.
I sank onto the blanket, arranging my dress while Luke opened up all the ingredients. He fed two marshmallows onto a stick and handed it to me with a smile that turned me toasty.
It only took a few short minutes for me to reveal my extreme lack of proficiency at marshmallow toasting, the puffy orb going up in a tiny flame of sugar that Luke had to blow out.
“That’s marshmallow abuse,” he declared, giving it a second to cool before eating it.
“You still ate it,” I retorted, jamming another marshmallow on my stick. “We can add burned marshmallows to your list of acquired tastes.”
I looked over when he didn’t reply, his eyes searching mine like he knew what I was thinking.
“My tastes aren’t acquired.” The coarse firmness of his voice made me shiver. “I know what I like, and I’m not ashamed to take it.”
Oh my.
I sucked in a breath, and then without a second thought, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, wanting to know if his words tasted as sweet as they sounded.
But there was no such thing as a short kiss with Luke Chambers.
And apparently no limit to his possessive sweetness.
“Don’t ever question how I want you, Sage,” he said right before his tongue delved deep into my mouth, stroking along the side of mine until the ache between my legs made me rub my thighs together to try and ease the friction.
Just as I was about to release my s’more stick in favor of something harder and hotter, Luke pulled back, rumbling, “You’re skipping through your surprise.”
I exhaled tremulously. “I thought the s’mores were the surprise.”
“Not even close.” He grinned and reached for my shoulder, gently pushing me upright.
I gave him a small pout, and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I fully plan on continuing that kiss a little later,” he promised. “But right now, I have something to give you.”
I wasn’t sure why it felt like there was a giant marshmallow stuck in my throat, making it practically impossible for me to swallow or breathe. But it wasn’t going anywhere as he turned and reached for something tucked in the far corner of the blanket that I hadn’t noticed before.
Sitting up straighter, he held the surprise behind his back and met my gaze, his eyes darkening in the flickering firelight.
“I have a reason for this,” he began, his posture shifting nervously. “So, I hope you won’t be too upset to hear me out.”
My heart practically stopped.
Upset? Why would I be upset?
What could he possibly give me that—
“Oh my god.” My lungs deflated when he pulled his hand out from behind him, holding out what I instantly recognized as a book, only to then say that it wasn’t just any book; it was my book.
It was my copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone that I thought I’d lost.
“Where did you…” I gulped. “Where did you find it?”
His head ducked for a second, and then he looked at me and admitted, “I’ve had it this whole time.”
My jaw dropped and I just stared at him. Shocked. Confused. Intrigued.
“You took it?”
Again, his chin dipped in confirmation.
“Why?” My brow furrowed.
His eyes flashed with something I recognized—pain.
Clearing his throat, he began hoarsely, “Remember those baseball posters I have framed in my apartment?”
“Yeah.”
“They aren’t hanging because I love the Red Socks or because they’re signed. They’re hanging there as a reminder that the people who really care about you will never try to change you—will never try to bring you down. That they’ll love you for exactly who you are.”
“I don’t understand,” I said softly, wishing I did.
I watched the muscle in his jaw pulse like the fire beside us. It took a few seconds for him to overcome the pain of whatever he was about to admit.
“My parents weren’t like yours, Sage. They had exact plans of who—of what they wanted me to be. They wanted certain grades. Certain sports. Certain positions in certain sports. They wanted to make me into the perfect son, and I didn’t have a say in what that definition meant.”
I pulled my lower lip between my teeth, afraid to say anything, afraid to move, even though I wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull him into my arms.
“From my very first memories, punishments and rewards were tied to exactly how close I came to meeting their standards.” He placed a hand over his mouth like he hated even admitting to what he’d gone through. “But it didn’t stop there,” he continued with disgust. “They decided who I could and couldn’t be friends with, and thank god, Callan was a beast of a receiver for the team or I never would’ve been allowed to spend as much time with him as I did.”
I shifted onto my knees, my hands balling into fists in my lap.
I watched his jaw shift side to side, working up the coordination to confess to what came next.
“They even made it clear who I was allowed to date. They gave me a warped definition of the girls it was okay to be attracted to. Popular. Pretty. Mostly cheerleaders.” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Don’t get me wrong. I was a fucking teenager, so it didn’t take much for me to be attracted to anything with tits.”
A ghost of a smile crossed my face.
“But my reputation… the reason I dated a lot was because I was never really dating for myself. I made the mistake once of telling my parents I liked this girl, Annie, who played violin in the orchestra; we had algebra together. Not only did my dad use his fists to convince me that was the wrong girl to be attracted to, my mom said Annie’s transcripts for college would get lost in the mail if I didn’t stay away from her.”
I wasn’t into sports at all, but all I’d ever heard about Coach Chambers was that he was tough but got good results, so the school tended to look the other way. And as for his wife, Luke’s mom worked in the registrar’s office at the school, so she could certainly derail som
eone’s application process, but it was still shocking to hear that she would.
“What?” I gasped, my mind reeling with the knowledge that I’d had no idea about the abuse he’d suffered at home.
“It was so twisted—so fucking hard to tell which parts of my life… my feelings… were real and which were only there out of self-preservation.” He reached up and speared his fingers through his hair. “And it was why I spent so much time at your house because your parents liked me no matter what. I saw the way they encouraged Callan to do whatever he wanted, whether it was football or being involved with the orchard or none of those things, and that was the most incredible thing to me.”
My eyes burned as I willed them not to cry though I knew it was inevitable.
“If it wasn’t for your family, Sage, I wouldn’t have even thought to stand up for what I wanted.” Emotion clogged his voice like thick fog. “But this…” He tapped on the cover of the book. “There’s a reason Callan didn’t take you to the store that night, and it’s not because we were playing video games.”
My heart sank like a fear-laden stone.
“That day I’d told my dad that I didn’t want to play football in college—that I wanted to turn down the scholarships I’d been offered because I knew it wasn’t for me,” he explained slowly. “And he beat the shit out of me.”
My hand flew in front of my mouth, but it couldn’t hide my strangled cry.
“It was bad. He’d knocked me around before but never like that. Broke my football trophy from states over my head—thank fuck they don’t give out metal ones in high school. But he was my dad… they were my parents. And I was a fucking teenager who…” He let out a sad laugh. “Let’s face it, I didn’t know what the fuck to do.”
Tears dripped from the leaky faucets in the corners of my eyes.
“Callan took me to urgent care where they patched me up and then brought me back to your house. Thankfully, no broken bones.” A sick smile twisted his face. “Anything broken would’ve really killed their pro-football plans for me.”
“I’m so sorry,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying. “I’m so sorry your parents were like that—that you had to go through all of that.”
I couldn’t even find the right words to describe the kind of people who treated their child that way.
“Don’t be sorry, Sage,” he rasped, running his fingers over the cover of my book before they reached for my hand, clasping it tightly in his. “I went to take a shower and saw this on the floor in the hall. I was going to bring it back to you and apologize for keeping Callan busy, but I went to turn on the water first, to let it warm.” His thumb rubbed over my knuckles. “I remember wondering what was so great about the story that made you launch it at your brother’s door because he wouldn’t take you to get the second one.”
I couldn’t help but smile a little bit, and he returned it. “Now you know.”
“I thought I’d read the first few pages, but I couldn’t stop. Ended up washing my hair in the sink real quick and hoped your brother wouldn’t know the difference.”
I laughed. The fire popped and fizzled in the background, waiting as impatiently as me for his answer.
“I read through chapter three,” he rasped, releasing my hand to pick up the well-read older edition of the book. “I read through all the times Uncle Vernon tried everything in his power to stop Harry from reading those letters; Harry didn’t know what was in the letters, but he knew it was important—knew he was important. And that’s why I had to keep reading… because I felt the same way: trapped by my family from discovering who I really wanted to be, not knowing exactly what I wanted, but knowing it should be up to me to decide it.”
Tears sped down my face and dropped to the blanket below.
“And just like that night, the truth finally hit home with a loud thump on the door.” He lifted the book. “My very own Hagrid.”
“Luke…” My heart sped.
“I realized I couldn’t rely on my parents anymore—that I needed to become self-reliant if I was ever going to have the kind of life I wanted. Hell, if I was even going to have the chance to figure out just what that was.” He set my book on my lap, holding it there like it was the very first seed of this bond between us.
“What happened?” I asked, hating that I couldn’t remember—hating that this had been going on while I was right here… a few doors down the hall… and I had no idea.
“I stayed up all night reading, and in the morning, I told my parents I wasn’t coming home.” He nodded with the same kind of finality that happens at a funeral. “I was eighteen at that point, so there wasn’t much they could do—would do unless they wanted to risk me going to the police.”
This time, my tears landed hotly on the back of his hand, prompting him to raise it and dry my cheeks.
“Don’t cry, beautiful,” he pleaded. “I’m alright. I got out. Got my own place. Worked in your parents’ orchard that summer while things got sorted. Realized I loved brewing—wanted to learn how to be a brewmaster.” His thumb brushed away another wet drop. “Most importantly, finished the rest of the Harry Potter series without stealing the books from you.”
A watery laugh bubbled past my lips.
I looked to the fire, collecting myself—collecting my thoughts for a second.
“It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to one’s enemies,” I told him thickly, quoting one of the many famous lines from the series.
Luke nodded sadly and then added an altered ending, “Even more so to one’s own family.”
“But you did.” I turned my face into his palm, kissing it squarely in the center like he’d done to mine so many times.
“Because of you.”
I shook my head, refusing to believe that. “Because of Harry. I just threw the book.”
“Well, whatever it was… it was magic.”
“Books usually are,” I murmured, picking up my very first copy of Harry Potter from my lap, weighing the small version in my hand, though it held far more significance now than ever before.
“So, can you forgive me for keeping it?”
My head snapped up and I stared at him, wondering if he really thought I could be mad at him right now.
“I think I could forgive you for just about anything right now,” I told him honestly, lifting my hand to the side of his face, feeling the coarse mat of his beard under my palm. “Although maybe not for turning into Lord Voldemort.”
“I think I can get you to forgive me for that, too,” he said confidently, his sure smile sealing hotly over my lips once more.
I sighed into him, sliding the book from my lap and winding my arms around his neck. His tender kiss teased my mouth before coaxing my lips apart and dipping his tongue inside.
His kiss tumbled pleasure through my body for long minutes under the star-studded sky until my back was on the blanket, and I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there.
But I wasn’t complaining.
He grunted, his hands working under my dress, and I was grateful that instead of tights, tonight I’d worn knee-high socks, giving his fingers quick access to where I wanted him most.
“What about the s’mores?” I murmured between unsteady breaths as he pushed a finger inside me, stroking my G-spot until I was fairly certain the stars I was seeing above me weren’t actually real.
“I found something sweeter.”
I opened my mouth but no reply came out, his touch coaxing me higher.
I pressed my hand to his chest, feeling the heavy beat of hard male. Dragging it lower, I didn’t stop until I reached the front of his jeans, undoing and pushing them down with a little help until the hot weight of him settled in my palm.
“Sage.” He hissed my name as I stroked him firmly from root to tip.
I’d learned a few tricks over the last couple of days about how to torture this man as exquisitely as he did me. And as soon as I swirled my thumb around the velvety blunt tip, his hips jerked forward and he groan
ed.
“Wicked,” he rasped, kissing the corner of my neck.
I moaned and arched into his hands when his fingers began to rub over my clit, making my core clench with instant want.
“Luke, I need you.” I shuddered, feeling as flimsy as a burning ember taken up by the night breeze. “Please.”
He pushed himself up, grabbing a condom from his back pocket and expertly working it over his thickness.
“I’m yours,” he said, capturing my gaze as he kneeled in front of me.
One smooth shift had him cradled between my legs, my dress hiked up to my waist, the gentle touch of night air teasing my bare thighs above my socks.
Crickets and a crackling fire disguised the soft moans that drifted up from the blanket as he thrust into me. Deep, firm drives buried his cock through my clenching muscles all the way against my womb.
Friction built the unmistakable swell of pleasure inside me until I was holding on to Luke for dear life. Our hips rocked together, keeping a strange kind of sync with our unsteady breaths until even those gave way.
He kissed me hard right as I came, drinking in my cry as my body seized around him in hungry contractions.
Every time.
Every time he made me feel like this, I knew he had to be magic. The way he brought me pleasure and erased my pain. The way desire consumed me and my doubts faded. The way I could so easily want to give more of myself to him and not for a second worry that I wouldn’t be in good hands.
His muttered curses traced over my lips and his rougher thrusts made my release even sweeter knowing it set off his own.
I felt him jerk forward—felt his cock widen inside me before he erupted. Goose bumps radiated over my body with the vibration of his groan, his big body shuddering with the strength of his orgasm.
I’d never felt power like this before. Weak for him and powerful over him at the same time. It was breathtaking and intoxicating, and I didn’t think there would ever come a day that I would tire of it.
“Mmm, Sage,” he murmured, sliding his big body off me. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
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