Luke: A West Bend Saints Romance

by Paige, Sabrina

  Before I can say anything, he’s kissing me again, behind my ear, his lips on that place that has always been so sensitive. He sweeps my hair from my neck, pulling it to kiss the nape and arousal courses through my body.

  There are a million reasons I should say no to this. There are a million reasons I should not sleep with him, a million reasons I should find someone my own age, someone responsible, someone appropriate, someone settled.

  Someone who’s not Luke.

  But Luke’s touch, his fingers running down my arms, his lips on my skin, his hands reaching around, palming my breasts…his touch makes me weak-kneed. It makes my head cloudy, my brain shut down, and my thoughts consumed with lust.

  “I…want…you,” I choke out, my words stupid. As if it weren’t already apparent that I wanted him -- by the way my breath catches in my throat, by the way that I practically pant with the anticipation of his hands on me, by the way I moan as he slips my shirt over my head.

  He cups my breasts in his hands, kissing me, his lips on my neck, my shoulders, and I’m practically drenched. I want him now – fast and hard, fucking me with abandon. I don’t want foreplay. I don’t want anything but him inside me.

  “Fuck, Red,” he says, pushing his erection against my ass. “Do you feel that? Do you know how hard you make me? Shit, I’ve been thinking about my cock inside you since the day I looked at you.”

  A moan, louder than it should be, escapes my lips, and Luke growls again. He pulls my hair to the side, sending a shock of pain through me, intermingled with lust and desire. “Fuck me,” I beg, surprising myself with my own words. I’ve never said anything like that before to man, never been so consumed with need and want.

  Luke yanks my jeans over my hips, and I kick them across the floor, irritated by the fact that I’m still clothed. Standing behind me, he reaches between my legs with his fingers, inside me in one movement, filling me but not the way I want to be filled.

  “You’re soaking wet,” he says, his voice gravely.

  “I want you now, Luke.”

  “Shit,” he says. “Do you know how hot it is, hearing you say that?”

  I can’t think, not with what he’s doing with those fingers of his, stroking me inside, pressing against the textured wall inside me, sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body that threaten to completely undo me.

  And I don’t want to be undone right now. I don’t want to come on his fingers, or on his tongue, like before.

  I want him to fuck me. I want to come on his cock.

  “Stop,” I say, the word barely audible, more of a moan than an actual word. “Stop.”

  He pauses, slips his fingers from me, and I can feel his body stiffen behind me. Spinning me around, he looks at me, his brow furrowed. “This whole thing,” he says. “We can stop if you want to, Red.”

  I laugh, unbuckling his belt and pulling his jeans open forcefully. I want to tear them open, rip the fabric like he ripped my panties from my hips earlier. When he pulls his shirt over his head, I run my palms over his chest, down his rippled abdomen, admiring him. He’s trim and muscled and so damn gorgeous I can hardly stand it.

  “You standing there, looking at me like that, is killing me, woman,” he says.

  “Get these stupid pants off,” I whisper, as I try to pull his jeans over his hips, wanting him in a way that makes me feel clumsy and drunk and overwhelmed.

  But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls me against him forcefully, his hand at the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, mouth on me as his tongue finds mine. He kisses me hard, rough, like he can’t get enough of me. He palms my breast with one hand, his finger rolling over my nipple until I’m so far gone I think I’m going to come from his touch.

  Then he steps away from me, smiling. “Now I’ll take these stupid pants off,” he says, smiling as he strips.

  And then he stands there, naked as a jaybird.

  Naked and hot as sin, muscled from working the orchard and fighting fires and oh shit, I can’t remember what the hell else he does. Oh my God, I realize, I don’t know a lick about the man standing buck naked in the middle of my kitchen, not really.

  Buck naked, with a raging hard-on.

  A holy-shit, huge-as-hell erection.

  I stand there gaping, watching as he runs his hand over his length all the way to the tip. “Well, Red?” he asks.

  “Well, what?” I try to sound casual, like it’s every day that I have a hot-ass naked man in my damn kitchen, and fail terribly.

  “Tell me what you want,” he says, crossing the space between us. His cock is so close to my body, and all I can think about is wrapping my hand around it. But I don’t. I seem to have completely forgotten how to move, and now he wants me to articulate what I want?

  I can barely remember how to breathe.

  And no one has ever asked me what I want, let alone told me to say what I want.

  "Tell me," he says, his voice low. Demanding. "I want to know, exactly.”

  When I try to reach for his cock, he wraps his hand around my wrist. "Not so fast. Tell me."

  "I want you," I say feebly.

  He reaches up, traces his finger down my chest, between my breasts, his eyes never leaving mine. "I already know that,” he says. “Tell me what else you want."

  I'm self-conscious, tongue-tied. "I want you to ... fuck me."

  "Yes, I know that too," he says, as he slides his finger over my clit. He kisses me, drawing my bottom lip between his teeth, and this time he doesn’t stop me when I reach for his cock, wrapping my hand around his thickness. "How do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me down on my knees, my tongue licking your pussy until you come on my face, before I carry you up to your bed and fuck you, so slowly until you're begging me to let you come?”

  My breath hitches in my throat as I slide my hand up and down the length of his hard cock, my thumb grazing the head, already slick with his pre-cum. "Yes," I whisper, but he stops moving, his finger pressed against my clit.

  "No," he says, his eyes examining me so intently that I feel vulnerable under his gaze. "That's not it. You don't want slow and gentle. You've had that before. That would only disappoint you."

  I inhale sharply, my hand moving more quickly over his cock.

  Luke smiles. "Tell me," he says. "Do you want me to pick you up, fuck you on the kitchen table? Put your hands on the kitchen counter, bend you over and take you from behind?"

  When I bite my lip, Luke chuckles. "That's it, yes?" he asks softly. "You want me to bend you over, fuck you so hard that --"

  He stops abruptly, as I sink to my knees on the kitchen floor in front of him. His cock is close to my lips, almost touching, a gossamer thread of precum hanging from the tip. Gripping the base of his cock, I open my mouth, and catch it on my tongue.

  And I suddenly find my voice. “Yes,” I say. “But first, this is what I want.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Luke

  This woman is on her knees in front of me, her mouth open, the tip of my cock an inch away from her as she looks up at me, her eyes hooded, heavy with desire.

  If she only knew how absolutely fucking excruciatingly painful it was to not come, just looking at her like this...

  Then she wraps her lips around the tip, and it's heaven. It’s pure, warm, velvety heaven as she takes me into her mouth.

  And she moans.

  She fucking moans, like this is what she's wanted forever.

  What she does with her mouth is like magic. I push her hair back from her face, threading my fingers through it as she moves up and down on my length, practically swallowing me, moaning with each pass down my cock.

  I've had a lot of head in my life. A lot of shitty head, from college girls who didn't know jack about giving head.

  This is on a whole different level.

  I don't want her to stop. She sucks me for I don’t know how long – forever, it feels like. And I want her to keep going, to keep working me with her mouth. It’s the best thing
I’ve ever felt in my damned life. I want to let go, to give in, release everything that I’ve had pent up since I saw her.

  When I look down at her, big green eyes looking back up at me, pupils dilated large because she's so turned on, it nearly pushes me over the edge. I almost come in her right then and there, and I have to yank her head back, pulling away from my cock by her hair with more force than I intend.

  Autumn makes a sound under her breath.

  "Shit, I'm sorry," I say, loosening my grip. But I don't let go. I can't let go. She’s kneeling at my feet, while I grip her hair in one hand, the other wrapped around my cock. But I tell myself that I can’t come yet, not like this. It’s crass, classless, the kind of thing that Luke Saint, part of the trashiest damn family in West Bend, does. It’s not something a woman like this does.

  "Do it," she says, like she can read my thoughts. Her eyes remain trained on mine, and she arches up, her breasts in the air. "Come on me. Now."

  I’m not going to. I’m going to pull her to her feet, roll a condom onto my length, and fuck her the way she should be fucked. But she reaches out, strokes her fingers lightly along my balls, mouthing the words again: Come on me.

  Fuck, I can’t help it. The fact that someone like her is begging me to do something so dirty right here in her kitchen is too much.

  I do it. I let go, all over her tits.

  After, she looks up at me, grinning, her expression triumphant.

  “Shit, Autumn, I’m so sorry.” I scramble to the sink and wet a towel with warm water, all the while feeling guilty as sin.

  When I turn around, she’s standing, and as I wipe the towel over her breasts, she looks up at me, her mouth parted slightly. “Sorry for what?" she whispers.

  I trace the towel slowly over her skin. "Sorry for...that."

  "Are you?" she asks, her voice breathy. The way she speaks makes my cock jump again. "Because I'm not sorry."

  "Hell, Autumn." I don't know what to think about this woman. She's smart and funny and full of sass...and thirty seconds ago, she was kneeling in her kitchen while I came on her tits. "I just came all over you. That's not how I pictured things happening with you."

  "Oh?" she asks, wrapping her hand around my cock. "Wow, you're still hard."

  "Yeah," I say. "It's because of you."

  “I’m sure,” she says, laughing. “Thanks for saying that.”

  She thinks it’s because I’m young, that I’m just rock hard all the time for any chick. I can see it in her eyes. How do I tell her that’s not the fucking story, that she’s absolutely the hottest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on?

  “Don’t believe me?” I ask, running my palm over her breast. Her nipple is hard as a rock against me. I lean down to cover it with my mouth, swirling my tongue round and round until she’s moaning, little sounds that are primal, that make me want to bury my cock in her pussy right now. When I finally take my mouth away to look at her, I press my hard-on against her leg. "This is all because of you."

  “I’m so wet,” she says, and when I reach between her legs I discover that’s a fucking understatement. She’s soaked, her pussy lips swollen to my touch.

  "Your pussy is so ready for me," I say.

  "Yes," she says. Then again: "Yes."

  I’ve held out long enough. I grab a condom, unrolling it onto my length before coming back to her, pushing her against the kitchen counter where she’s standing, and bringing my mouth down on hers. “Why don’t I take you upstairs?” I ask.

  "Just fuck me," she says. "Fuck me now, Luke."

  I turn her around, the way she told me she wanted it, reaching for her hands and placing them on the counter while I trail mine over her arms and down her back, until I reach her hips. "This is a gorgeous ass," I tell her, teasing her with my fingers until she’s moaning my name softly again.

  When I pull her hips toward me, guiding my cock inside her, she exhales, making this long sound under her breath like this is everything she’s been waiting for. I fuck her, slowly at first, with long languid strokes, almost afraid I'm going to break her if I fuck her the way I want to. But then she encourages me when I grab the length of her hair, twisting it around my hand as I drive deeply into her. "Like that," she says, whimpering. "Yes.”

  "Is that what you like?" I whisper, thrusting inside her. "This is what you've been wanting?"

  "Yes," she moans. "Like that. Exactly like that."

  I thrust deeply inside her until my balls are pressed up against her pussy, my hands firmly on her breasts, stroking her nipples. I order her to touch her clit, and she braces herself on the counter with one hand as she reaches between her legs, stroking herself, and I know she wants to come. I know she wants to, but I’m selfish and I want to stay inside her. I can’t help it.

  "Oh my God, Luke," she moans.

  "This is what you wanted?" I ask, fucking her harder. "I've been cooking dinner for you and you've been thinking about me bending you over in your own kitchen and taking you from behind?"

  "Yes," she gasps. "Yes, yes."

  I slap her ass cheek, listening to the crack against her flesh. "This pussy is so tight," I say. "So fucking tight and unsatisfied. Until now."

  "Shit, Luke," she says. Her muscles clench down around my cock, but I'm not ready for her to come. I want her to hold off. I want to deny her. I want to fuck her until she's crying, begging for sweet release.

  This is not the kind of sex I have, not with the boring-as-hell college chicks I fuck, the ones content to lie on their backs or bounce on top of my cock, oohing and ahhing because they think it’s sexy. Autumn is sexy. She’s bent over, struggling to hang on to her last shred of composure, struggling to not come completely undone, her pussy swollen around me, and I fucking love it. I can’t get enough of it.

  "Do not fucking come," I say, my voice gruff. "Do you understand me? You don't come until I say you can come."

  "Oh God," she says, her tone ragged. "I can't. I don't know if I can wait."

  Reaching up, I pinch her nipple between my fingers, causing her to cry out, a mixture of a yelp and a moan. "You are going to wait," I tell her, my tone firm.

  My voice is a hell of a lot firmer than it should be for someone who has his cock buried up to the hilt in the sweetest pussy he's ever felt, someone who's absolutely on the verge of coming and can barely hold back.

  "Yes," she says, her hand moving more quickly between her legs as I fuck her deeply. "Please."

  That word. Please.

  "Please, what?" I ask.

  "Please let me come," she says.

  "Shit." I can't hold off, when she says that. She clenches hard around me like a vise, and I swear her pussy must have been made to fit my cock. "Come for me, sweetheart."

  When she comes, it's wild. I have to cover her mouth to mute her, burying myself balls deep inside her as I let go of everything, filling her up. She bites down on my finger, her muscles clenching around my cock again and again. She goes weak and I have to I hold her tightly against me for I don't know how long, until I finally open my eyes.

  I hadn't even realized they were closed.

  My hands are wrapped around the top of her chest, my face buried in her neck. Our breath is still ragged, and I stand there listening to it and holding her, wondering why the hell I don’t feel the impulse I usually do, the one where every part of me is screaming “run like hell!” to get away from the chick in my bed.

  Instead, I’m standing here, not wanting to let go. She moves against me, and I catch a whiff of her scent, laced with perfume – something warm that suits her – and it makes me want to stay here.

  “Hey,” I say, my arms around her more tightly. I feel like the biggest scum of the earth for fucking her in the middle of the kitchen the way I just did. “Are you okay?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Autumn

  “Are you okay?” His breath on my neck sends a shiver up my spine, and I press my ass against him.

  Am I okay? The fact that he asks makes me giggle. />
  Hell fucking yes I’m okay.

  I just broke a two-year drought by having the filthiest sex I’ve ever had – I’ve lived a sheltered life – in my kitchen with a man a decade younger than me.

  And he’s asking if I’m okay.

  Damn it, I’m probably not okay at all. I’m out of my mind.

  He slips out of me, his back turned as he disposes of the condom. I feel the sudden need to look him in the eye, to know whether he really just wants to get the hell out of my house, but he speaks with his back still turned to me.

  “You’re laughing,” he says, stating the obvious.

  “You’re the one who asked if I was okay.” I cross my arms over my breasts, the evening air cold.

  Luke walks to me, sliding his arms around me, looking at me with an intensity in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “And?” he asks. “There’s something funny about that?”

  “I’m very okay,” I say, laughing. I’m giddy, drunk with the afterglow of orgasm and sex and doing something wild and out of character. Okay isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe it.

  Fucking spectacular might be a more appropriate term.

  “You’re thinking about something,” Luke says, pulling me against him. The heat from his naked body radiates against mine, and I shiver, but it’s definitely not because of the cold.

  “I’m thinking about the fact that we’re standing in my kitchen naked.”

  “This isn’t usually how you stand in your kitchen?” he asks playfully, sliding his hand over my ass cheek. “That’s a shame. You definitely have the body for it.”

  “Yeah, right.” Now that my lust for him no longer totally clouds my brain, overriding my ability to think rationally and coherently, I’m acutely aware that I’m standing here, pressed up against a guy who’s basically the epitome of physical perfection. And I’m completely self-conscious.