by Noelle Adams
That had been after a year of their marriage, and it might have been the first time she’d realized Luke cared about her as a person. Not that he’d ever treated her badly before, but she’d assumed he could take her or leave her, according to his own needs.
But he had really helped when her father died.
She’d needed him then, even just to sit beside her.
She needed him now too. She felt shaky and needy and confused about everything, and what she really wanted to do was cuddle up against him and seek comfort and security.
She didn’t. Their relationship had never been like that, and it would only further blur lines that were already becoming too fuzzy for her.
Luke was slumped against the back of the sofa, his eyes on the wall-mounted, high-end television. He’d finished his glass of wine and had pushed up the sleeves of his shirt. He looked rumpled and incredibly tired, those dark circles under his eyes standing out even more starkly than before.
She wondered if he’d gotten any sleep at all this week.
“Are you okay?” she asked out of the blue, putting her own wine glass on the coffee table.
He looked over at her, his brows drawing together. “Of course.”
“You look tired.”
His lips parted for just a moment before he said, “I am tired.”
“Do you want to go to bed?” Worry tightened in her chest. He had a bad tendency to work himself to the bone, and he really didn’t know how to relax. He didn’t always take care of himself like he should.
At the question in his expression, she hurried on, “I mean to sleep. You don’t have to sit up with me if you want to go to bed.”
His mouth tilted up at the corner. “I’m not ready for bed yet.”
“Okay.”
There was no sense arguing with him. She turned back to the television, fighting the ridiculous urge to stroke him, to cradle him. He might have had just as bad a week as she had.
She wondered if he needed her like she needed him tonight.
They sat up for another hour watching the movie, but eventually Molly got drowsy. She curled in the corner of the couch with a cashmere throw, trying not to remember how warm and secure it had been when she’d cuddled up against Luke in bed that night in New York.
She and Luke weren’t like that. They didn’t cuddle. Cuddling was what you did in a romantic relationship. Not a strange fake marriage where you happened to have occasional sex.
“Molly,” Luke said in a low voice.
She looked over at him, loving the sight of him sprawled out on the couch beside her, like he was in danger of going to sleep too.
“Did you want to find something else to watch?” He nodded toward the television.
She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn’t been paying much attention, but the movie they’d been watching had ended. Since she didn’t care what was on the television, she picked the remote up off the coffee table and handed it to him.
He reached to take it, but somehow they didn’t coordinate the gestures. She released the remote before he grasped it, and it fell between his thigh and the armrest.
“Oh, sorry,” she mumbled, leaning toward him and stretching over his lap so she could grab the remote she’d dropped.
He reached down for it at the same time, and together they ended up pushing the remote into the crack of the sofa cushion.
Molly giggled at the mix-up and tried to get it again, this time practically draping herself over him. They fumbled around together, searching for the remote, which had evidently buried itself in some unknown crevice of the couch.
She couldn’t stop giggling, and her belly warmed as Luke chuckled too. She paused when she accidentally grazed his side, and he jerked away as if he were ticklish.
She gave him a playful, taunting look at the discovery.
“Do not dare,” he warned.
She wasn’t going to tickle him. She’d just sock the knowledge away for another time, in case it came in handy. For now, she was so happy that the photo wasn’t real, that things hadn’t fallen apart between them, and that Luke seemed to be himself again that she reached over to give him an impulsive hug.
His body was lean and hard against her, so warm against her cool skin that the contrast was startling. He smelled like Luke, and she breathed him in, ignoring the flutters she felt in her belly.
He really responded to her hug. His arms wrapped around her tightly, and he adjusted her so she was more balanced, her legs draped over his lap. He buried his face in her hair and seemed to be smelling her, breathing her in too.
He needed something from her. He must. Comfort, security, human connection. Something. And she was so glad she could give it to him.
When Molly reluctantly pulled out of the hug, his face was composed, but there was a warmth in his eyes that she liked.
He helped her off his lap, but then seemed to assume she was going to stay beside him. His arm draped around her, pulling her close.
She curled up against him in satisfaction, feeling warm and strangely protected. Like she was giving as much as she was getting.
It was worth a few troubling flutters in her belly.
They never did find the remote, so they just watched the next movie that came on the channel. Molly fell asleep halfway through it anyway.
Eight
Molly woke up feeling very strange.
She was cozy—which was quite nice—but she also felt kind of cramped. One of her legs was asleep, and her cheek was pressed up against something hard.
She shifted a little and peeked through her lashes, groggily reasoning she should investigate the unexpected position of her body before she did something as drastic as move.
The first thing she saw was white.
Since her sheets and bedding were moss green and gold, the white color was unexpected enough to awaken her further. She shifted a bit more, only to discover she couldn’t move very much. She had to lift her head before she could figure out where she was.
She was on the couch in the living room, wedged between the back of the couch and Luke’s body, which was stretched out lengthwise beside her.
No wonder she couldn’t move. She had about six inches of space. Her head had been resting on Luke’s chest, her cheek pressed against the white dress shirt he still wore. One of her legs was draped over his thighs, as if she’d been clinging to him in her sleep.
His body was warm and relaxed, and she could see his clothes were incredibly wrinkled. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, and she assumed he must be asleep.
But, when she managed to focus on his face, she saw his eyes were opened.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“What happened?”
“You fell asleep.”
She frowned at him, trying to push herself up from where her body was wedged. The blinds were drawn, but light was evident in slivers of light around them. “It’s morning. I don’t think I was the only one who fell asleep.”
He smiled as he admitted, “I fell asleep too.”
“My leg is asleep.” She tried to pull one of her legs out from the crack in the couch cushions where it was wedged.
“My arm is asleep.” Luke adjusted his arm, which had been wrapped around Molly initially and was now trapped beneath her body.
It took great effort, since she was still groggy and Luke was nice and warm, but she managed to get herself up into a sitting position, so she was no longer on top of his arm. Then she decided she would be nice. She lifted up his arm and started to massage it, in order to get the circulation going again.
“And what did I do to deserve this piece of generosity?”
Molly laughed silently. The truth was he deserved it because she was in a strange, soft mood—likely a consequence of sleeping really well and resolving so much of her anxiety and confusion regarding Luke’s behavior last night—and because he looked so adorable. Since neither of those things would have been appropriat
e to share, she just shrugged and said, “I’m the one who was lying on it.”
“Ah, well, that’s true.”
When she saw a slight wince flicker across his face as she rubbed his arm, she asked, “Do you feel all of those terrible prickles as the circulation come back?”
“Yes, but your efforts are much appreciated.” His tone was still dry, but his gaze was almost warm—which made her feel even mushier than before.
She was so glad he hadn’t pulled back from her, despite his behavior for the last two weeks, so glad that he hadn’t been trying to hint that he needed more space. Things between them might have gotten a little more complicated with the sex thrown into the mix, but they also seemed to have gotten closer.
Molly kind of liked that.
She also liked the sex.
At the moment, she felt more cuddly than sexy, though. When she finished massaging Luke’s arm and he shook out the last of the prickles, she curled back into her little space between his body and the back of the couch.
She figured if Luke was uncomfortable or wanted some space, he would have made a move to get up. Since he was still stretched out comfortably, she didn’t see any reason why she should make herself get moving. It was Saturday morning—just after eight by the clock across the room. She had no desire to move unless she had to.
Besides, she liked how Luke felt against her.
“You slept in your clothes.” Not her wisest observation, but the one that came to her lips. She’d draped her arm over his belly and closed her fingers around the fabric of his wrinkled dress shirt.
“One of the consequences of falling asleep when I didn’t intend to.”
Molly knew Luke had been incredibly tired the night before, though. He’d gone two weeks without sleeping much at all. He’d been avoiding her, and so she hadn’t been able to take care of him.
She rubbed her hand over his belly and then across to his side. Ridiculously, she felt the urge to squeeze him there. “At least I had the sense to fall asleep in my pajamas.”
“I thought you said you were wearing a lounge set.”
Molly giggled. Leave it to Luke to remember her random, silly comment from the night before. “It’s a very versatile outfit.”
“Evidently.”
She tried to stifle her laugh and squeezed his side after all. As she was pulling her hand back, she happened to notice the bulge at the front of his trousers. Without thinking it through, she slid her hand down and palmed it gently.
He gave a little huff.
“Do you always wake up hard?” She’d only woken up with him twice. The first time he’d been hard. The second morning in New York he’d gotten up before she awakened. But here he was hard again.
“I do when you’re pressed up against me like this.” He sounded more matter-of-fact than seductive, although he shifted a little when she applied light pressure to his groin again.
“Oh.” She supposed that made sense, and it was kind of nice that he responded to her body that way, even outside of the context of sex.
She moved her hand up to his flat abdomen. She stroked him over his shirt for a minute, enjoying the way the tight muscles shuddered just slightly under her touch. Then she slid her hand under the waistband of his trousers. She could fit her hand and wrist beneath without unbuttoning or unzipping them, and she was able to find and wrap her fingers around his erection.
Luke’s breath hitched as she squeezed gently. “Molly,” he began huskily.
“Hmm,” she murmured, starting to stroke him with firm pressure, the length of him hot and hard beneath her palm.
Luke’s body had been relaxed, but now it coiled with arousal. His breathing quickened. “Molly.”
“Hmm,” she hummed again, working up a steady rhythm as she pumped him. There was something absolutely delicious about the way the muscles of his belly and thighs were tensing up, the way his breath kept catching in his throat, the way his hips had started to shift just slightly.
“Molly, we can…” He sucked in a sharp gasp when she squeezed a little harder. “We can have sex if you…if you want.” His breathing was ragged now, and a sheen of perspiration had broken out on his skin.
Her own body reacted to Luke’s physical responses, her nipples tightening, her face flushing. But she was too wrapped up in pleasing Luke to think about having sex herself. She intensified her rhythm, adjusting her hold on him. “I want to do this.”
“Fuck,” he rasped, his back arching up a little. He must be close to climax because his body started to shake. He rocked his hips up into her hand just slightly. “Oh fuck.”
“Yeah,” she breathed, working him over with something akin to possessive pride, “I want you to come, Luke.”
His body coiled and released. As he climaxed, he let out a choked sound that might have been her name. She kept pumping him through the spasms until his body started to relax and he softened under her hand.
“Fuck,” Luke gasped, collapsing back even more limply than he’d been before. “What did I do to deserve that piece of generosity?”
“I wanted to do it,” she said, pulling her hand out of his pants, a little sticky from his semen.
A wave of tenderness overwhelmed her as she lifted her head and looked down at his pleased, sated face and relaxed body. The feeling was paired with a ridiculous sense of pride—that she’d put him in that condition. Luke—who was so controlled and powerful and intimidating to the rest of the world.
He was different, he was real, with her.
The tenderness and the pride suddenly frightened her. Feeling the need to escape, she said lightly, “Well, now that we’ve taken care of that, I’m going to take a shower.” She managed to avoid conveying any discomfort, so Luke wouldn’t know anything was wrong.
They’d gotten their relationship back to mostly normal, and she didn’t want to mess it up again.
She climbed over him with a smile, making sure he couldn’t see how her heart was hammering anxiously. Instead, she teased, “You should consider taking a shower too.”
Luke still appeared too limp and sated to move. “Is that a nice way of saying I stink?”
She giggled as she left, taking a few deep breaths as she walked down the hall toward her bedroom. She wasn’t quite sure what was happening, why all these feelings were rising up around Luke. They’d had sex before—many times.
But what had happened just now felt more…intimate.
When she went into her private bathroom, she was suddenly conscious of how aroused she was. She was flushed all over and a hot ache throbbed between her legs.
She turned the shower on and stepped under the spray, rinsing herself off and trying to get her body and her emotions back under control.
Being turned on by Luke wasn’t unusual for her anymore, but he hadn’t even touched her just now—all she’d done was touch him. Her physical condition, combined with the fluttering turmoil of her emotions, was disorienting and bewildering.
She shampooed her hair quickly, scrubbing her scalp with more vigor than usual in an attempt to rouse nerve endings other than the ones that were currently stimulated. After she’d rinsed, though, she gave up the attempt to talk herself out of her arousal.
Still standing under the spray, she slid her hand down to her clit and rubbed it, closing her eyes, stretching her spine slightly, and letting out a textured exhale as pleasure rippled out from the touch.
“If you hadn’t run off,” a male voice came from about a foot away, “I could have helped you out with that.”
Molly squealed with surprise and jumped backwards, almost slipping on the slick tile floor. Luke was somehow in the shower with her, dripping from the spray and as naked as she was. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she demanded, instinctively trying to hide her breasts and groin from him, although the instinct was entirely irrational.
He gave her a faintly confused look. “You told me I should take a shower.” He stepped forward, causing her to back up against the cool, w
et wall.
“I meant your own shower!” Her voice was still shrill, and her cheeks burned with shock, outrage, and arousal. She couldn’t help but dart her eyes down over the Luke’s smoothly muscled torso and lean flanks. He wasn’t built like a body-builder, but he was beautiful in the strong, graceful efficiency of his physique.
“My mistake,” he murmured, moving toward her until he was almost pressing against her. He planted one hand on the wall beside her, but he wasn’t yet touching her. His hazel eyes were hot and mesmerizing, and she couldn’t look away. “Do you want me to leave?”
She didn’t want him to leave. Her body pulsed in response to his presence, his expression, and his words. But the stubborn part of her nature wasn’t so easily cowed. She stuck out her chin, even as she couldn’t help but arch into him. “You have to ask before you barge in.”
He reached out to touch her at last, but it wasn’t a grope, wasn’t even sexual. He gently pushed her sopping hair back from her face and then cupped her cheek. “I’m asking,” he murmured, never looking away from her eyes. “Do you want me to leave?”
She had to tell him the truth. “No. Don’t leave.” She twined her arms around his neck as he sank into a kiss.
The kiss turned hot quickly. He soon had her backed up against the tiled wall, raising one of her thighs, stroking her with his hand until she came in shudders and gasps.
He turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist and then another around her shoulders. He kissed her again and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his middle as he carried her into her bedroom and laid her on the bed.
She was still mostly wet and so was he, but it didn’t seem to matter. They kissed and caressed each other until he was rock hard and she was squirming with desire.
He brought her to another powerful climax with his fingers and mouth before he positioned himself between her legs.
“Please, Luke,” she said, not even carrying if she sounded overly eager. She just wanted to feel him inside her. “Hurry.”
He pitched his hips forward and entered her.
She cried out in pleasure, grabbing a handful of bedding in response to the tight penetration.