Lukas

by Carian Cole

  “Lindsay . . . this isn’t a strip club. Have some class,” Sam warns.

  She takes a long sip of her wine, continuing to eye Lukas like a piece of meat. If she wasn’t my best friend, I’d be annoyed, but she’s harmless so I just playfully smack her and take a seat across from them at the table.

  “Last week, we all had dinner at that new place. It’s kinda overrated. The food wasn’t that great,” Sam says, trying to divert his wife’s attention.

  “The new place in town? I went there with some guy at work a while back. It was mobbed,” I reply.

  “It was mobbed the night we went, too. We had to wait forever for a table big enough for all of us,” Lindsay adds.

  “For all of you?” I repeat.

  “Yeah . . . you know . . . all of us,” she says awkwardly.

  ‘All of us’ used to be Paul and me, Lindsay and Sam, and two other couples that we have been friends with since our early twenties.

  “Paul and Charlene were there?” I ask, my chest tightening. Why would they want to be with them and not me? They’re my friends.

  “Nice going,” Sam says, nudging Lindsay, who smiles weakly at me.

  “I’m sorry, Ivy. We thought it would be awkward, inviting you and Lukas, too.”

  “I don’t understand why you’d invite Paul over me, though.”

  “I’m still friends with Paul,” Sam says. “We golf together, with the other guys. Lukas doesn’t exactly fit into our group.” He leans closer to me, lowering his voice, like we’re talking about something taboo.

  “So?” I shoot back. “He still eats dinner.”

  They blink at me, and I continue, my annoyance growing. “So now you guys hang out with Paul and Charlene? She fits in? She’s younger than Lukas.”

  Lindsay touches my arm. “Don’t get upset. It doesn’t matter. You hated those group dinners, anyway.”

  That’s true, but I still hate that Charlene is now hanging out with my friends.

  “It just feels kinda like betrayal to me,” I say. “We’ve been friends forever, all of us.”

  Lindsay attempts to soothe me. “Ivy, it’s just because he’s . . . different. He’s not going to want to sit around with these guys and talk about boring business meetings and golf. Don’t worry about it. Have fun and enjoy him. It’s not like you’re gonna marry the guy.”

  “I know, but I would still like to keep my friends,” I mutter.

  “We’re still your friends. We love you,” Lindsay says. “Everyone thinks Paul is a douche for what he did to you. We’re on your side. That’s why we’re here.”

  I shake my head at them. “I didn’t know we had to pick sides. What are we, twelve?”

  “Stop being so dramatic, Ivy. You’re happy. That’s all that matters. He’s exactly what you needed to get out of the slump you were in.”

  Shaking my head at her, I go to the kitchen to help Lukas with the serving dishes. I still feel strange when Lukas comes to the house, and I cannot wait until the divorce details are finalized, so I can sell this house and move away from the memories that linger here.

  Lukas is unusually quiet over dinner, which is delicious as always. I wait until Lindsay and Sam leave and I have Tommy settled in bed before I approach him about his sudden distance.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him when I come back downstairs and find him sitting at the table in the dim kitchen. I wonder if he feels weird being in this house, but since I’m still living here, he has to come here if he wants to see me when I have the kids.

  He spins a quarter around on the table. “I heard what you said,” he says.

  I look at him, confused. “What did I say?”

  “When Lindsay said, ‘it’s not like you’re gonna marry the guy’, you agreed with her.”

  Shit. I did.

  “Lukas, you saw how they are. I don’t want to get into my feelings with them about you. As you can see, my friends seem to be Team Paul.”

  He scowls at me and turns his stare back to his quarter. “They don’t even know me. I’m not the one that fucked someone behind your back and left you and your kids. But he’s the acceptable one?”

  “They’re idiots. And you’re right. They have no idea how amazing you are. It’s their loss.”

  He spins the quarter some more and eyes me. “Did you mean that?”

  “Mean what?”

  “That you wouldn’t marry me.”

  I feel trapped by this loaded question. We’ve never talked marriage. We’ve talked love and soul mates. We’ve talked about commitment. We’ve talked about our amazing sensual connection. But marriage?

  Now that he’s brought it up, my mind and heart are going round and round like a Ferris wheel.

  “I’m not even legally divorced yet. How can I think about marriage again?” I say defensively, which probably isn’t the best answer, but now it’s out there.

  He raises an eyebrow at me. “We’re sleeping together, and you’re still legally married.”

  “We’ve never talked about anything like marriage, though,” I say, nervously. Could he actually want to marry me?

  He shakes his hair and stands up, shoving his quarter in his pocket. “I wouldn’t be dating you if I didn’t want it to eventually lead to that,” he says. “But now, I want to know if you think that way, too.” He stands in front of me and backs me up against the kitchen island.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  He leans down into me and kisses my neck. “Yes, what?”

  My eyes flutter closed, and I lean into his kisses. “Yes, I’d marry you.” I run my hands up his muscled arms as the butterflies manifest in my stomach again.

  “Is this a proposal?” I ask him.

  He pulls away a little. “Hell no,” he says, and my hopes quickly dash. Why did he even bring it up then? Disappointment seeps through me, my brief flash of hope distinguished quickly.

  “When I propose to you,” he says, lifting me up and carrying me over to the kitchen table, sitting me down on top of it. “It’s going to be romantic, and not in this house, of all places.”

  “Oh,” I say as he pulls my shirt off. In the middle of the kitchen!

  “Where are the kids?” he whispers.

  “Tommy is asleep, and Macy is staying at a friend’s house.”

  He unhooks my bra and places it on the table next to me. “Good, because I’m going to fuck your still legally-married-ass on your ex-husband’s table, and hopefully ram some sense into you.”

  He unbuttons my jeans and pulls them and my panties down. I open my mouth to protest, but he puts his finger over my lips.

  “Shh . . . I have another question,” he says. I watch as he pulls his shirt off. Seeing him half-naked in my kitchen makes him look even more sexy, because I know he’s so out of place here. “I want to know if you’re going to say yes first,” he continues, unbuttoning his jeans.

  “To what?” I’m so enthralled with watching him undress that I can’t remember what he’s asking me.

  “When I propose. I don’t want to go through all that, get my hopes up, and have you say no. So I’m going to cheat and ask for your answer first.”

  Hot damn, he’s adorable. “Yes,” I say breathlessly as he kisses my breasts, leaning me back against the table. “I would say yes a thousand times.”

  “Once is enough.” His kisses move back up to my neck, then to my lips. “What’s your ring size?”

  I smile against his lips. “The same as my shoe,” I tease.

  He grins impishly and picks my shoe up off the floor. “Six?” he says, and I nod, rubbing my foot up his leg.

  “That will make my life easier, for when I want to buy you shoes and rings.”

  He scoops me up into his arms. “I have a better idea for this room, though.” He sits me down on one of the breakfast stools.

  “There’s something I’ve been wanting from you for a while now,” he says, moving my hair away from my face and staring down into my eyes. His cock is huge and hard, level with my face whi
le I’m sitting on the stool, and I know what he wants.

  “What’s that?” I ask softly, reaching up to stroke him. He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes for a few moments as I run my fingers along the length of him.

  “Your mouth . . . on me,” he says. “You can’t use a fork for this one, Ivy. I’m sorry.”

  I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it.

  “Can you do that for me, or is it too hard for you with your weird mouth aversion?”

  “That question is so full of innuendoes,” I tease, continuing to stroke him.

  “I know, and none of them were even intentional.”

  I hate things in my mouth. I have a bad gag reflex. But this guy . . . how can I say no to him?

  “If I say no, is it a deal breaker for the marriage proposal?”

  He caresses my cheek and opens his eyes to meet mine. “No. I’m going to marry you no matter what.”

  I can’t deny him what he wants. He is too sweet, too giving. I slowly suck him into my mouth. He’s huge; there is no way I’m even getting half of him in my mouth, but I hope it’s enough. I run my tongue over his head and wrap my fingers around his shaft, as I suck him as far as I can into my mouth, all while he watches me, his eyes filled with lust, his hand on the back of my neck.

  “That feels amazing,” he whispers.

  I move him in and out of my mouth, fisting him with my hands, and his breath quickens, his chiseled ab muscles flexing near my face.

  Suddenly, he pulls out of my mouth, picks me up, and puts me back on the kitchen table, on my stomach. Pulling me up into the doggy style position, while he stands at the edge of the table, he grabs my hips and slides into me from behind. Oh my God. On my kitchen table. That Paul’s mother gave us!

  He reaches beneath me and rubs my clit in perfect timing with his thrusts, and it’s not long before I can’t take anymore.

  “Lukas . . .” I moan lowly, giving in to the cascade of pleasure that flows over me, arching my back against him, taking him deeper.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispers, running his hand down my spine, and I feel him jetting inside me. “I love you so much.”

  My mind spins in the midst of orgasm. It’s the first time he’s ever said those words, and the fact that it just came out of him naturally when he felt it, and he didn’t make some sort of event out of it, means the world to me. I don’t care that he said it while he was making love to me on the kitchen table. All that matters is that he said it, and I know with all my heart that he meant it.

  I love him, too. Without a doubt.

  “I feel really weird having sex with you here, in this house,” I say as we’re getting dressed.

  “I’m not a big fan of it either.” He zips his jeans up. “It feels way fucking awkward.”

  “I’m sorry. We’ve been talking to the lawyers and trying to figure out what to do with the house. I can’t really afford to live here alone much longer.”

  He hands me my shirt. “You could move in with me.”

  Pulling the shirt over my head, I look at him like he’s got five heads. “What? With you?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Lukas, I’ve got the kids.”

  “So? I have two extra bedrooms. There are three bathrooms.”

  “It’s on top of a tattoo studio. It was a church.”

  “Why does that matter? That’s where I work. I own the building and everything in it. Do you know how bad I’ve always wanted a unique place like that? Me finding it when Vandal and I were looking for a place for the shop was a friggen’ miracle.”

  “I know . . . and it’s a beautiful place. But there’s no yard for Tommy to play in.”

  “There’s a park right across the street that we can take him to.”

  “There’s also a cemetery right next door.”

  He shrugs. “So? It’s not spooky at all. It’s grounding. Where there’s life, there’s death. We can’t hide him from it, Ivy.”

  “Don’t you have half-naked women in that place?” I ask him, churning the pros and cons in my head.

  “Ivy, I have customers that come in to get tattoos. They don’t come in naked. It’s not a sex club.”

  “I don’t know,” I say skeptically. “I’m not sure if it’s a good place for a child to be.”

  “The bedrooms are huge, so is the living room. Tommy can teach Ray new words. There’s a finished basement you haven’t even seen, with another bathroom, and it could either be a playroom or another bedroom down there.”

  “You have gargoyle statues everywhere. It’s a bit creepy for a little boy.”

  He pulls me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. “Is that what you think?” he asks.

  I lean my chin against his chest and look up at him. “A little bit, yes.”

  “Do you want to know why I collect gargoyles?”

  “Of course. I want to know everything about you.”

  He weaves his fingers through my hair as he talks, making my scalp tingle. “When I was really young, I had nightmares. I’ve always had problems sleeping, like insomnia, night terrors, that sort of thing. My great-grandfather gave me an old statue of a gargoyle and put it on my dresser, and he told me it would protect me while I was sleeping, so I’ve collected them over the years and keep them in the bedrooms.”

  Whenever Lukas talks about his past, I want to crawl inside him and find that little boy who still lives there and just hug him. His childhood, although sad, has truly made him the wonderful man he is today. I’ve never met a person with so much depth, who is so in tune with who they are and where they came from.

  I wind my arms around his neck and pull his head down to me. “You are an amazing person,” I tell him. “Being with you is like reading a book that I can’t put down, and every page gets better and better.”

  He kisses my nose. “Think about moving in with me. I would love to have you and the kids there.”

  “Are we really talking about marriage and living together?” Things are happening so fast, but everything feels so right with him.

  “Yes, Ivy, we are.”

  I let out a deep breath and stare up at him, thinking.

  “What?” he asks me. “You have doubts? About me? Still? We’ve been dating for months. ”

  I chew my lip and contemplate my answer. “No, not you really. You’re just young. It’s a lot all at once . . . marriage and two kids all of a sudden.”

  “You and this fucking age stuff, Ivy.” He shakes his head slowly. “You need to get over it. I’m not a kid. I grew up a lot faster than most guys my age. I know what I want. I’ve wanted to have my own family for a long time. I want to be married. I can take care of you. I have money and a successful career. I don’t fuck around. I love kids, and I love you. I can’t change my age. What do you want to do? Wait until I’m thirty? Thirty-five?”

  “No, no, of course not. I want you now. I’m just worried . . . I’ll be forty when you’re twenty eight.”

  “So? You don’t look or act thirty-six. You’re cute, you’ve got a great body, and you’re fun. You actually look closer to my age than you think. You have a warped perception of yourself, and you’re stuck on numbers. We get along great, and we want the same things . . . our ages aren’t going to change that. Let it go. I’ve gone slow with you like you asked, but at this rate, I’ll be old and gray myself before you finally just accept our age difference.”

  I try to pull away from him, but he holds on to me tightly. “No running away.” It’s a soft command, but I know he’s serious. “Let me be a man, Ivy. You gotta take me as I am or not at all. I’m always gonna be younger than you. Sorry, but it’s true. I’m always gonna have tattoos. I’m always gonna be an artist. I’ll probably always have long hair.” He runs his hands up my arms and squeezes my shoulders. “And I’m always going to want what I want. I want to be married, and I want it to be with you. I know myself. I’m not going to change. I’m not gonna take off with some young chick. Accept that I know myself. Your he
art will always be safe with me.”

  “You always say the right thing.”

  “They’re not just words, doll. It’s all real. You just hafta let yourself accept it.”

  God, this man, where did he come from?

  IVY

  BZZZ

  Bzzz

  I sit up in bed, my brain foggy with sleep, and reach for my cell phone on the nightstand. Lukas’ name is lit up on the screen. I squint at the blue neon numbers on my digital click—two-thirty A.M.

  Grabbing the phone, I swipe my finger across the screen, wondering why he would be calling so late.

  “Lukas?”

  “Ivy . . .” His voice pitches and cracks. “I need you . . .” He takes a deep shuddering breath, and my heart drops to my stomach. He’s crying.

  “What’s wrong? Where are you?” I throw the covers off and turn on the bedside lamp, grabbing my clothes off the chair in the corner.

  His breathing is heavy and congested, muffling the phone. “At the hospital . . . there was an accident . . .” He sniffs and chokes. “Oh my God, Ivy . . .” He whimpers my name, agony stripping his voice of its usual deep rasp.

  Cold fear rips through me as goosebumps break out on my flesh. “Are you all right? I’ll leave now . . .” I yank my jeans on, cradling the phone against my shoulder.

  “It’s Vandal . . . he was in an accident. Katie’s gone . . . Ivy, she’s gone . . .” He sobs into the phone. I freeze, horrified, and grab onto the dresser to steady myself. Katie . . . Oh, dear God, no.

  “Sweetie, I’m on my way there. Okay? I’ll be there as fast as I can.” I fight back the tears that well up in my eyes and try to keep my voice level. “I’ll be right there.”

  He doesn’t say goodbye, but I hear a thump, as if he just dropped the phone.

  I finish dressing as quickly as I can and run to Macy’s room.

  “Macy, wake up.” I shake her gently.

  “Mom? What’s wrong?” She wakes quickly, and her eyes go wide with worry as she focuses on me in the dark room.

  “Vandal’s been in an accident. I need to go to the hospital. You have to stay here with Tommy, all right? Do not leave this house until I come back home.”