by Lindsey Hart
I instinctively grab the pillow and smother the cries that I can’t keep locked away. I promised I wouldn’t make a sound, so the feathers inside the pillow help me make good on it. My brain goes on hiatus, my body short-circuits, and the waves of pleasure rock through me. I temporarily check out, or maybe that’s me just about blacking out because I have a noseful and mouthful of the pillow.
I finally remember to breathe, and I can feel myself coming back down, coming back from wherever the heck I just checked out and vanished to.
“Holy. Epic. Chicken. Nuggets,” I pant out in little broken whisper.
Luke grins shyly at me, and he gets even shyer when I mumble something about him getting his rock hard, beautifully toned, and wondrously sculpted bootie up on the bed so that I can return the favor.
“I…that’s going to have to wait for another time,” he says, and it’s adorable that he’s blushing.
Another time. Meaning, we can do this again. Maybe not just tonight—maybe tomorrow, the night after, or regularly. I guess we kind of talked about that, sort of. Yes, yes, we did. I guess my brain just isn’t functioning properly. A wicked thrill goes through me—or maybe it’s more aftershocks from the best orgasm I’ve ever had—at the thought of there being a next time. I don’t feel sketchy or sneaky or weird about it. Instead, I feel like it’s…I don’t know. I’d hate to use the word natural because I’m sure that’s not right, and neither is right for that matter, but it does. And I’m excited for there to be a next time.
Because this time, we’re both in a hurry. This time, neither of us can wait. This time is going to be frantic, and maybe even the time after, and the time after that, but eventually, I think we’ll manage to pace ourselves and have the slow exploration, the taking of time, and the less fiery, more sensual, and even intimate experience.
But not this time.
This time, I want Luke inside me, not going slow, pacing himself, or even lasting more than a minute. I don’t even freaking care. I just want him and the uh…well…rather large parts of him tucked into strategic places that will drive us both insane. I want to lose it, and I want to lose it with him.
“Do you have a condom?” I ask when I realize Luke is waiting for me to tell him what I want. Not because he needs the guidance, but because he doesn’t want to push or rush me.
“No.” Luke blankly stares at me. “Shit. If I did…they’d be…never mind. Well, old and beyond expired.”
“It’s okay. I’m on the pill. If that’s okay with you, I’m okay with us, uh, not using one.”
“Are you sure?’
“If you are. If you trust me.”
He blinks. “Do people lie about stuff like that? Is that what you mean?”
I nod slowly. “I…maybe. I don’t know. Yeah, they probably do.”
“Why?!”
“I don’t know. Lots of reasons, I guess.”
Luke runs a hand through his hair. He seems totally baffled by that, and it’s actually slightly adorable though I’m beyond relieved he’s never experienced it. He probably does know why, and he’s probably heard lots of stories. Maybe he’s even read about it too, but right now, his brain isn’t going there, and my brain is basically functioning on like two cells as well.
“If you’re sure. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want…I mean, I don’t want there to be any regrets…”
“We talked about that,” I whisper, holding out my arms to him. “I’m not going to regret this. I want you, and not just because it’s in the heat of the moment. I really can’t wait, I desperately need you.”
“Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’m not…I mean, this isn’t going very smoothly.”
I laugh at that. “Smooth? Define smooth. You just gave me the best orgasm I’ve ever had in under, like, two minutes flat, so I’d say it’s pretty smooth. Don’t worry about everything else. We can work the kinks out later.” I wink, and Luke blushes even deeper. “So, yes, I’m sure. If you’d like to come here right now, that would be awesome, but if you’d rather—”
“No. No…yes.” Luke clears his throat. “I’m just going to shut up now.”
I sit up just as he kneels on the bed, and we crash together. He kisses me, and I can taste myself on him. I tangle one hand in his hair and rest the other on his shoulder. He eases me back gently and let me tell you that if your fantasies have never included missionary, then you’re not doing missionary right. There is nothing not sexy about Luke’s huge body covering my own, all power and strength and rippling muscle, but somehow so gentle. I kiss him like it’s a wrestling match, but a hot wrestling match where it’s perfectly choreographed, and no one has to come out the winner. I’m already all tingly and hot from just the kiss. Luke is a really, really amazing kisser, and tasting myself on him every time I dip my tongue into his mouth doesn’t exactly cool me down either.
Our tongues clash then glide together, and I can feel something massive and rigidly hard pressing into my stomach. It’s not the place I want it, and I definitely want him, worse than before. It’s crazy that the ache is back, so furiously and so soon.
“Please, Luke…” I rasp next to his ear. “I-I’d really like…”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” I arch my hips into him instinctively, and not just to prove a point.
“It’s…I’m kind of, uh, it’s not that small.”
“If you’re worried about fitting, we can worry about it when we actually try.”
Just thinking about it makes me curl up into him again. I’m so wet that the bed might be soaked under us. I want to take him in my hand, in my mouth, and lick and taste every single bit of him. I want to know exactly how he tastes. But most of all, I want to feel him inside me, and I want it more than just about anything ever I’ve wanted before, which is slightly mystifying and a little bit scary because I know my want for him isn’t just physical. No, I couldn’t even begin to contemplate getting to this point if it was just a physical want. There’s something else there, a hard, undeniable kernel nestling into my heart—a Luke-sized kernel.
“Okay,” Luke breathes into my ear. “But tell me if I’m hurting you or if you want me to stop.”
“Can you please start, then I’ll tell you?”
“Are you trying to be funny right now?”
I angle my face and look straight up into his. “No. No, I am not trying to be funny. If I wanted to make you laugh, I’d tickle you or something, not make jokes about how I’m going to combust on the spot if you don’t hurry up and get inside me.”
“God,” he groans. “I’m going to have to apologize for the short show here in a second.”
“You can apologize,” I groan. “When you’re inside me.”
Luke finally shifts down a few inches while I wriggle up and tilt my hips up to accommodate him. He’s right. He’s not small. Anywhere. He feels huge looming over me in a way that gives me goosebumps. I make a mental note to add Just stand there and look at Luke to the list of things I’d like to do to him later. Luke is so beautifully made; his beauty literally defies gravity or something. I know that doesn’t make sense, but whatever. Or maybe it does, because the sight of all that striated muscle, corded veins, long limbs, and latent power in his body makes me want to float right up off the ground and disappear somewhere between the clouds and outer space.
Luke enters me gently, and I gasp, which makes him stop. I have to grip his butt with one hand and curl my fingers into the rockhard granite there—it’s seriously like grabbing a tight, warm boulder—to get him to start moving forward again because, at this point, I’m totally speechless.
It’s hard to form words when you’re concentrating like crazy. Luke slowly pushes forward, stretching me so wide that it burns. I can feel him throbbing even though just the tip of him is inside me. I pulse back in response, then get tingles all over when I wonder if he can feel me doing it too.
He groans next to my ear as he pushes in another inch. He’s so right when he said he is big. I�
��m not, but it’s okay because I’m right, too, about us fitting. I knew we would, perfectly, and we do—beyond perfect. I shift my hips and curl my leg over his a little further, and as he pushes in all the way, we still fit. He pauses as if he can’t believe it. He’s trembling above me, so maybe that’s not the only reason. I take my hand off his bottom, set both palms on his shoulders, and look up at him. He’s gazing down at me, staring into my eyes.
“It’s okay. Just let go. Don’t worry about hurting me. You never could. Please don’t worry about holding back or about it being over too soon. This has all been perfect—all of it. It’s all going to be perfect because it couldn’t not be perfect.”
That seems to be all the encouragement Luke needs as he does it. He lets go. He moves slowly at first, giving me time to get used to him and move with him, but it’s only a couple of seconds until we move rhythmically and instinctually together. I thrust with him, my hips arching up and rolling into every long stroke. Luke tries to stay in control, but I don’t want that. I don’t need it. When I dig my nails into his shoulders, he pumps harder, filling me completely as we both drive each other to oblivion—giving, taking, clenching, thrusting, arching, pulsing, and aching all the way.
I have never felt this perfect with anyone. I’ve never fit with anyone like this, never wanted to fit with anyone like this. I’ve never given up my body, never surrendered the places in my chest that Luke is filling now too.
He keeps going, wildly, barely contained, and I’m just as wild beneath him until I feel my climax coming. It still surprises me again, bursting over me with a force that just about propels me straight to the nice spot I imagined before—the spot between the sky and outer space. Although, maybe I overshot things a little because I definitely see stars and maybe a black hole or a nebula or a planet or something too. It’s hard to tell because, behind my eyes, the lights are strobing violently.
Luke shudders above me just as I’m coming down from my high. He pumps hard, and the feeling of having him finish inside me is so intimate that it makes my cheeks heat up with more than just sweaty pleasure. I hold him while he shudders and groans above me, and when he doesn’t trust himself to stay quiet, he takes my lips, and we swallow each other’s moans of pleasure into complete silence while our bodies ripple and quake together.
This.
This was.
This was…wow! I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to put words together into a complete and coherent sentence again.
Especially not when Luke swings me to the side and wraps his arms around me. His chest is wet and slick, but that’s okay. I think my back might be as well. He’s overly warm, but that’s also okay because I’m on fire too. His breath is all over the place, while my lungs refuse to cooperate with my brain’s signals.
Is this the right time to confess I’m not a cuddler? Yes, yes, of course it is because I can also acknowledge that right here and now, I’ve changed my mind about that.
I imagined myself picking up my clothes, slipping into them, and leaving Luke’s room just as silently after, but I never imagined doing this—our bodies pressed together like this. Heavy limbs, hot skin, rapid breaths, happiness, and pure contentment. Feelings are dangerous, but I can’t make myself get up and leave. I promised myself I’d be gone by what? Two in the morning? Three? I know I’m a liar because I’m going to push this to the very last minute possible, and not just because I want to do what we just did. Again, and again, and maybe again. Also, it’s not just because I want to start running through items on the mental list of all the ways I’d love to learn and experience Luke’s body and how I’d like his body to learn and experience mine. Yes, because of that, but also because of this.
As if he understands what I’m saying and feeling without a single word passing between us, Luke’s arms tighten around me just a little bit more.
CHAPTER 20
Luke
There’s an aching hole in me, and it’s like a bottomless pit—a black cavern. One of those scary, mystical holes that people are both fascinated by while instinctively shying away from, except it’s not fascinating. It’s just painful. It’s awful and terrible. I never imagined it would even start to close up, and I almost can’t remember a time when I didn’t know it was there.
But now?
Now there’s something starting—a change taking place.
I thought it would be big and gaping and empty forever.
But now, it’s like a little bit of goo, something mushy, or a sort of plug has started to form over a fraction of the hole, and it doesn’t seem so big and gaping and endlessly empty anymore.
Now, it doesn’t seem so bottomless.
That’s it—just that.
CHAPTER 21
Feeney
I don’t mean for it to happen every single night, but of course, it does. The nights become ours, where our bodies grow familiar with each other, and touch comes to me like second nature. Luke is patient, and he’s always gentle. I’m always silent, whispering his name at the very end, just for him, into the darkness of the room. I’d call them stolen hours, but they don’t feel stolen. They were a conscious decision. I don’t feel like I’m doing anything wrong or that all I live for are those hours either. I don’t let it become all of me. I’m still me, and Luke is still Luke. We’re still two separate people. Even if we are changing on the insides—our hearts softening, the sensation of comfort greater, and a new sense of ease and weightlessness in our steps—we’re virtually unchanged on the outside.
I don’t have many bad habits, so if this is one, then I guess I can afford it.
I’m not going to New Year’s Resolution my way out of it.
At midnight every night, I tiptoe into Luke’s room, close the door, lock it, climb into his bed, and let him hold me. He also lets me hold him, and for a few hours each night, we banish each other’s loneliness. Maybe we share more than that and like each other a little, even if we don’t talk about it. We had our big talk about feelings and where we stood before we started this, so we’re both carefully avoiding having another.
After, when the yearning, aching, searching, sweating, whispering, soaring, crashing, and coming down is over, and we’re both sated, I sleep, wrapped in Luke’s arms and entangled in sheets and heavy, warm limbs until four in the morning. I said three, but that was an ungodly hour, so four it is. His phone alarm vibrates on the nightstand next to my face, always silent, but it wakes me up immediately. Most of the time, Luke doesn’t even wake up. I always shut the alarm off, reset his for six, and slip out of bed. My room is waiting for me every time, dark and quiet. The sheets are usually cold when I slip in between them, and sometimes, I’m able to fall back asleep while other times, I just lay there with my thoughts, missing Luke until I hear him get up for the day.
I don’t go into the kitchen and make him breakfast because I don’t even think he eats breakfast. The coffee pot is never used when I do crawl out of bed after he leaves the house, and I don’t tell him to have a good day. I don’t text him during the day. Ever.
I don’t do anything that would give us away.
And no, it’s not because I’m ashamed. I thought I’d feel a lot of guilt, but I don’t. It’s not because we’re so worried about giving ourselves away that we walk on eggshells. It’s just…I know I’m not Luke’s girlfriend, and I’m not his wife. I’m not not his girlfriend, but the word sounds hollow and silly. I feel like so much more and so much less that I don’t know what word to use. I hate labels and definitions, and so does Luke. What we’re doing can’t really be defined. I can’t just throw a few cheap words out there to describe my feelings, and I know Luke can’t either, so we don’t name it. For now, we don’t change what we’re doing. I’m there for him at night, and he’s there for me. During the day, I’m there for Shade, and when Luke is home, he’s there. It works.
Surprisingly, I’m happy, Luke seems happy, and Shade is happy. I don’t feel like we’re a family, but I feel like we know we all found so
mething good.
And that is maybe why Luke turns to me in total shock when I burst into tears on the couch. He’s actually not playing games for once. He’s watching sports, which in my books is worse. Shade went to bed hours ago, and I was reading a book. We sat apart, as we always do, but not uncomfortably apart. The silence between us wasn’t strained, but rather, it was nice. We were doing our own thing but doing it together.
“What’s wrong?” Luke snatches the remote off the coffee table and flicks the TV off. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I sniffle and brush the hot tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand. I’m more embarrassed than anything, so I hold up the book. “Stupid. It’s dumb, so don’t mind me. Just…this is…”
“You miss your parents, don’t you?”
I nod because my throat is all closed up and thick, and the tears are threatening to keep pouring on. I swipe at my cheeks again, and I’m not surprised to find them freshly wet. I was reading, and the book had some sappy, tender moments between a family, and I can’t say I would have found it particularly touching or engaging if I weren’t already thinking about my parents when I didn’t have time to keep my mind from going there. It’s been nearly a month, and every single day, I think about calling them. Yet, every single day, I don’t. When I was at boarding school, I still called them just about every other day.
Luke shifts on the couch. He’s not coming to hug me, though, or tuck me into his arms, but he does pass his phone over to me with a sorrowful look that says he knows all about loss and missing people. Usually, he tucks it away in his heart, and he never wears it on his face.
“Call them.”