Her word choice surprises me. “You want to be kept?”
She fires back, “No, never. But that’s never been my thing. I listen to Marissa talk about her dating life. I know what my friends go through. They play that uncaring, nonchalant card, but deep down it’s about acceptance. In whatever form that comes in for the night.”
My stomach flips when I think about how I ended things with Chantal. Her face when I told her to leave. The last date when she was trying so hard to talk to me about things she thought I’d like to talk about. Was that what Aara is talking about?
She aims a finger at me. “I can’t be a casualty of Luke Hart and his yellow Lambo.” Aarabelle shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“Your dad thinks that highly of me, huh?” Wounded ego alert.
She pulls in a long breath. “No. He actually called you an excellent operator. Someone I want on my six. But he said you were reckless with your free time. That as long as he’s known you that you’ve never had an attachment. Someone you’ve openly shared your life with.”
The pins and needles in my hands get painful, so I pull them out and flex my fists by my side.
“And that endangering my achievements for someone who doesn’t know how to love would be insane.” At my accusatory glare, she adds, “Because he knows that’s how your dad was before he met your mom. He said you’re exactly the same.” Her expression stills, a probing into this personal realm we entered.
I’m offended, and I reach for the most logical argument when under fire. “How does he know you’re not my Windsor Forbes?” I command, making my stature larger. “Does he get to decide for me? For us?”
Her lids lower over her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“It’s fine. I got it. I’m a chip off of the ol’ block. Maverick Hart and his noncommittal ways. You know what else he passed down to me?”
Her eyes meet mine. I deadpan, “All of the things I believe in.”
“I know.” Her small voice grows quieter. “It’s just, I’ve been so wrong before. Dead wrong.”
“This isn’t wrong.” By the book, it is. By everything else, it can’t be.
The way I feel can’t be wrong.
“I need to work out,” she counters.
I narrow my eyes. “Do you work out to clear your head, too?”
She grins as a reply, lips pulling sideways,
I pull out two large cups and start making my protein shake. “Let’s work out then. The gym calls. Another plus in my column. Gym at home. Tell that to Liam.”
She paces back and forth in the kitchen entry, watching me. I hear her voice at my back. “I hate that powder. It tastes like monkey farts. Let me go grab mine.”
I offer a throaty laugh as she leaves. Endorphins. Exactly what we both need. At the same time.
Let’s see her sweat. My cock jumps at the same time my hands tremble on the blender lid.
Chapter Thirteen
Aarabelle
The white sports bra snaps into place as I pace the stone floor in my new mansion-sized bedroom. It’s about the size of my entire condo if you count the bathroom with ornate gold columns and a claw-footed tub that could pass as a swimming pool. My suitcase sits open inside the walk-in closet. I rifle through it for my Nike trainers. Lacing them on, I stop in front of an oval mirror. This is what a liar looks like, I think. I slick my wet hair into a giant top-knot and then flex my muscles from different angles. Sighing, I walk over to the bed where Clement sits next to my cell.
My mom called, but I didn’t answer. She talked to my dad and I’m sure she has words for me. I ignore it, and pull an arm across my body to stretch, then repeat on the other side. I’m sick of worrying about every single detail of my life. Everything planned or guided by a set of directives. My body is warring with my mind. The need to kiss him, touch him, be underneath him is greater than my sensibilities.
When I exit my room, I see the light on down the hall to my right. The door to the gym is open and there are two protein shakes on the high-top table when I enter. Mine is the vanilla one, I recognize the scent, and begin drinking it as I take in the expanse of this room and the amount of equipment at my disposal. I’m walking by the plates, taking stock of what I have to work with when the speakers start thrumming an old nineties song.
“I think I like this look more than the bikini,” he says, turning his head to the side like a bird as he studies me. My core lurches to life. A look. A casual thing sends me into overdrive. I squeeze my thighs together, crossing my legs at the ankle. Hart notices. The feral swagger goes into overdrive.
I roll my eyes and keep drinking—trying to keep my cool. My black workout shorts are short, but they definitely cover more ass than a bikini. I notice he’s not drinking his shake, he’s still watching me with hawk eyes. He’s still shirtless, because I’m learning that’s his natural state outside of public. His voice is a rumble. “How much do you weigh?”
That gets my attention. “That’s one of the rudest questions you can ask a woman.”
He licks his lips. “I bet I can bench press you.”
I suck the remaining shake through my straw as his gaze lingers on my mouth. “Of course, you can. What are you throwing up? Three-Fifty? Four hundred? I’m a fraction of your max.”
“Okay, so partner workout then?”
I cringe, setting my cup down on a different table in front of a television that’s switched off. “I don’t workout with anyone, Hart. More of a lone wolf in the land of weight racks.”
“So am I. Let’s try something new. Roomie.”
I gulp down the lump in my throat. “Everything in my life is new right now, Luke. Literally everything.”
He turns his palms up. “What’s one more thing then? Plus, I really just want to touch you.”
“You could just touch me,” I return.
“Without an underhanded motive, I won’t stop touching you, Dempsey. How about you let me touch you on my terms.”
My stomach flips when amusement flickers in his blue gaze. “I guess.”
The muscles rippling across his stomach tighten as he strides forward to pick me up. “Keep it tight,” he says, breath hot against my bare midriff, spinning me like I’m as light as air one hand is on my back the other just below my ass, which is actually sort of part of my ass, but I’m in no position to argue nor would I want to. I squeal as he pops me in the air to fix his grip. Luke’s face is level with my obliques, and tingles crawl across my abs when the scruff on his face scratches against my bare skin.
“Okay, this is my warm up.”
I’m literally flexing every muscle in my body to keep straight as a board in his grasp. Not that I think he’ll drop me, I just want this to work and don’t want to be the reason it doesn’t. “Hurry up, Hart. I have to warm up, too.”
He bench presses me over his head and I turn my head to watch him lift in the mirror. He looks like a goddamned beast. A beautiful, Godzilla-like, creature holding the woman at the top of the Empire State Building. He pumps me up and down like I’m a rag doll. His breathing picks up as his pace does. I’m holding my breath and don’t realize it until I exhale noisily, drawing his gaze up to meet mine. His smile glints with mischief, an underlying menacing aura that sends a flood of wetness to my shorts. Close to where his warm hand burns against me, and I can do nothing to stop it.
The song changes as does the speed in which he’s lifting me up and down. Now my frame leaves his hands completely at the top and he catches me.
“Okay killer, my organs are crying out in protest!” I screech, crossing my arms over my chest to keep my elbows from nailing his face or head.
His breathing speeds as he drops me down to his chest. “You’re a good warmup.” Luke presses a kiss on the side of my stomach.
“You’re a good…something,” I reply, my breath lodging in my throat. Am I seriously going to pass out? Is this real life? What is happening to me?
He drops me down, circling me in his
arms. How is it possible that he smells even better when he sweats? There’s a faint sheen covering his rippling muscles. As I inhale, I look away. I hate that my body is clearly vibrating toward him.
“Warm up. Use me.” It’s a rough order.
I’m a SEAL with weak knees. Now you know it’s a possibility. I never would have thought either. “I’m surrounded by very nice gym equipment. I could run a quick five to warm up.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” His eyes twinkle with mirth.
Marissa sent me a goofy Instagram montage video of couples working out together. It’s the only reason I’m able to come up with something on the spot. “I can’t bench press you,” I say. “Let me climb you. I have an idea.”
“Well that’s a good idea if I’ve ever heard one.” He puts his arms out. “I’m your mountain, baby. Climb away.”
The song changes on the playlist, except this one feels more personal, a ballad. Great. Luke faces the mirror and I climb his back, my foot on his thigh.
“This is going to get a little intimate,” I admit, regretting the choice immediately as I sit on his shoulders and then move myself around so his face is basically in my crotch. “Your neck strength okay?” I ask, then explain what I plan to do as professional as humanly possible when your vagina is in a man’s face.
Peering down, I see him lick his lips as he stares straight ahead. “I’m more than okay and my strength is never something you have to question. In any area.”
Cocky, okay. Locking my legs at my ankles, I clasp my hands behind my head and lean back until I’m upside down.
When I’m all the way down and can see myself in the mirror, I flex and sit back up, my abs burning with exertion as my bodyweight pulls me down, and my muscles propel me back up. I try to avoid eye contact with Luke, though it’s hard. My calves are sliding against his shoulders—our sweat intermingling, making my sit-ups more difficult.
I grunt as I complete the final set, the last one, nearly impossible to get back upright. Grabbing Hart’s biceps, I unhook my legs and hop down. His blue eyes vacillate between my eyes and the mirror over my head.
“Your body is sick,” he says, pinching his lips between his teeth. “I mean that in the best way possible.” His chest heaves even though he’s not out of breath.
I break his gaze to hide a blush. “Thanks. When my hard work leads to people telling me my muscles make me look like a man, it’s nice to hear someone thinks it looks sick.” I smile when I use his word. I realize my hands are still riding on his arms, and I let them fall away.
Luke snatches my fingers and brings them to his chest.
“Your body is pretty sick, too. By the way,” I tell him.
“A man? No. You have the perfect womanly body. No one thinks you look like a man. If they say you do, they’re jealous. Your body is fucking perfect.” He licks his lips. “And, ah, but you look so much hotter covered with sweat than I do,” he says, dragging his pointer finger from my left collarbone slowly to the right. “And you smell way better.” His neck works as he swallows and the act feels so erotic. Out of control. I’m affecting him, and his body, and that makes me heady with power. “I can smell you through your shorts. It makes my mouth water.” He leans down and drags his nose up my neck then lingers near my ear. Close enough to sense his breath, but not feel his lips.
Holding my breath, I exhale noisily as my hands rise and fall on his chest. I dig my fingertips into his skin hard enough for my nails to leave marks. “We aren’t doing much sweating.” My words come out in a breathy plea.
He backs me up to the mirrored wall, grabs my hands in one of his and pins them above my head. I watch his eyes—stormy seas of self-control begging to compromise. There’s hesitation as he rakes my body, and he eventually settles for something in between when his lips crash into mine. Aggression plagues this kiss. It’s masterful in its deceit. We both know this isn’t a fool’s kiss or a game where everyone comes out a winner. Luke groans against my lips, his tongue dipping into my mouth as his grasp on my wrists tightens. It’s almost painful.
He pulls away, eyes closed, his forehead pressed against mine while he controls himself. When his lashes lift and his eyes meet mine, I see the finality. My eyes flick to the dome camera I saw in the corner the moment I walked in here. Hart sees where my gaze is. “Still worried about security?” He offers a dimpled smile with his question.
My response has a two-pronged goal. I attack him, wrapping my arms around his neck, and my lips find his neck, his sharp grizzly jawline, and then his lips. The first goal is to satisfy my need for his body against mine, and the second is I know from what angle we’ll be most hidden from security. Not that it matters, or that there’s any doubt about what’s taking place here. It’s merely my hyper-focused brain driving what logical path it can find. I break from the kiss when I’ve pushed him back to sit onto a bench. It creaks as his weight settles, and I wrap my legs around his waist to push myself closer to the hard bulge calling out my name. My mouth is dry and it feels like every ounce of my blood is pulsating in my core.
“I have no idea what’s happening here,” Luke says, brows raised to his hairline, hands pulling and pushing me down on his lap. “We fucking right now? I don’t have a condom on me.” He clears his throat. “Something I can remedy if you give me one minute and sixteen seconds.” Luke drags his hands up my arms to rest on each side of my face. “If that’s what we want to happen.”
I pant. My mind screams out, too soon. My body is singing a different tune. One more along the lines of ‘yes, dear God, let us fuck right now. Hard and dirty.’ “I want to.” My words sound pleading. “It’s been a long time.” Settling my head on his shoulder, I kiss his neck lazily. Anything to escape his probing stare. He’s trying to read me. He shivers when I trade my lips for my tongue. “I, I, don’t know.”
“Do you really want to fuck, or do you want an orgasm?”
He pulls my face to look into my eyes. The words tumble from my mouth. “Sex. You inside me. Both? Maybe? All of it?” I sigh when he smirks because he looks devilishly handsome. I start stuttering, trying to figure out where I’m going with this when he puts a finger over my lips.
“We have nothing but time, Little Dempsey. We don’t have to fuck this exact second. Even if it looks to be like a good idea. If anything, I can use this opportunity as an exercise in self-control.” He clears his throat. “Not sure if I’ve ever wanted to fuck more, actually.”
“I’m your experiment then? That’s supposed to make me feel better about my lack of gumption and indecision?”
I’m afraid of the bullshit attachment that forms when two people have sex. It’s never been just fucking for me. It never will be. Talking to my dad did give me hesitation about Luke and what his motives might be. Dad has known Luke for longer than I have and they have a bond.
He scoots me back on his knees to make enough space to get his hand in between our bodies. Luke presses his thumb to my clit and circles it through the thin material of my shorts—a direct hit on his first try. I moan and slam my eyes shut. “Not an experiment at all. More like my project fuck.”
Keeping my hands on his shoulders, I say, “That’s offensive, and I’m not quite sure what that means but what you’re doing feels so good I don’t even care what comes out of your mouth.” Luke continues moving his magic fingers against me as I move my hips in time with his tempo. “I’m so wet.”
“You’ve been wet,” he rasps at the shell of my ear. “All for me. All mine. I can smell you. I want to taste you.”
There’s something about being owned by his words that nudges me closer to the edge. I rock against his hand two more times, in a gentle thrust and come apart, heat throbbing at my core and ecstasy coils around my limbs. Curling into his massive frame, I breathe heavily. Luke snakes his hand back and pulls me into a solid embrace. “You’re even fucking hotter when you come.”
I laugh and it’s smothered by his neck which I kiss languidly. “I’m scared.” The wor
ds bubble up. Hesitantly, I meet his lazy gaze. I’m satisfied, but it’s blatant in his stare that he is amped up. “Men are wildcards. Well, most men are. You feel like a wildcard, Luke.”
“You can’t punish me for my past. I’d argue that I’m less of a wildcard than anyone else because look at the red tape surrounding a relationship with you. It’s not allowed. It got serious quicker than anything else, Aara. Why would I risk my career for a fling? For something I wasn’t sure of? Think about it. Trust me, I don’t want to want you.”
An honest answer at the very least. Luke’s dimples appear. His hands cradle my face, and he gives me a look. One that I have to trust. Because I don’t have a choice.
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Hart. I don’t care about the rules. Or how I’m supposed to act. You are the person I want to be with. Even if it scares me.” I pause. “Maybe because it scares me.” Closing my eyes, I gather courage. “I love you and I need you to know that I do want you. Even as awesome as your skilled fingers are, I know that if we have sex, I’ll be that girl.”
He quirks a brow. “Which girl?”
“The stereotypical girl. Not the tough, mentally strong SEAL anymore. I’ll be the girl who needs you. Who wants all of you. The weak girl.”
“Wanting another person doesn’t make you weak.”
I swallow hard. “But it does. In so many ways.”
“I’ve told you I’ll never break your heart,” Luke says. Then he adds. “I’ll always protect it, though. Definitions might differ in that department.” His hands slide down my body and rest on my hips. “Very rarely is anything I do done without purpose.”
I can appreciate that sentiment. Even if it doesn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy, it’s something.
Luke takes my hand and guides it to his rock-hard dick. “I need you, Aara.”
“You need me right now.” My lips are a hairsbreadth away from his. “Will you want to keep me when you don’t have needs? When you don’t want to fuck me?”
Legacy: A Salvation Society Novel Page 15