The house met us with cool air and laundry soap. Shoes off by the door, his dropped next to mine because he knew me now, knew the small things mattered. His keys hit the bowl. My hand found his. Not to guide. Just to take with.
We didn’t rush. The couch caught me when my knees went unreliable. He steadied me and then lowered beside me. Heat radiated from him.
“I don’t want anyone else,” I whispered. Words scuffed up my throat. Not denial. Honesty. “Just you.”
His features sharpened, eyes softened. “That’s enough.”
It was. For this night, it was enough. We were done pretending.
He tugged me across the space. The kiss wasn’t safe. Wasn’t reckless. It was alive, a thing growing under my ribs now that I’d stopped starving it. His fingers slid beneath my hoodie, brushed bare skin. My breath stuttered. I caught his wrist, pressed him closer. He didn’t push past the boundary my hand made. He listened to my body better than anyone had ever listened to my words.
He tugged me forward until I was practically in his lap. The weight of the day still pressed against my ribs, but the second his hands framed my waist, the pressure shifted—lighter, sharper, dangerous in a different way.
I climbed over him, my knees braced on either side of his thighs. His hands tunneled into my hair, palms spreading heat down to my scalp. My pulse tripped hard.
“I can’t stop wanting you,” he murmured, but the words were barely out before his mouth found mine.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It didn’t need to be. It was a collision—his frustration and my fear, finally uncontained. My fingers locked behind his neck. His hair curled between them, grounding me when my whole body felt like it was breaking apart.
The taste of him—warm bread, salt, and something entirely Luke—filled me as he deepened the kiss, pulling me tighter, until I was squirming against him and couldn’t tell if the sound that left me was mine or his. Heat sparked low, demanding, and my shirt lifted under his touch.
I broke away just long enough to breathe. My lips tingled, swollen, and I saw the storm in his eyes—hunger held back by a thread. The restraint only lit me up more.
“Not here,” I whispered, voice scraping like it had to fight through every nerve. The idea of someone finding us—of Mom coming home—had me half panicked, half reckless.
His hands fell back to my hips, heavy and reluctant, but he let me shift off his lap. My chest ached at the loss of contact. He didn’t push, didn’t force. Just waited, eyes locked on me like I was the only thing in the room.
I stood, breath still ragged, and grabbed his hand. My grin felt shaky but real. “Come with me.”
The look he gave me before rising—dark, steady, ready—hit harder than any kiss.
I pulled him up the stairs and down the hall, my pulse rattling so loud it felt as though it shook the walls. My room waited, familiar but suddenly charged. I closed the door and twisted the lock. The sound echoed, final. My chest tightened—not from fear. From the weight of choosing this after all we’d been through today. But that was the thing—I chose this. Not that it was easier, but because it was ours.
Luke was already there, close enough his breath ghosted my cheek. His hand slid under my chin, tilting my face up as if he needed me to look him in the eye before he kissed me again. When his mouth claimed mine this time, it was fire breaking through old walls. No hesitation. No pretending.
I pressed into him, and he backed me up until the back of my knees brushed the mattress. His hands anchored at myhips, then he lifted me onto the bed. He followed, the heat of him pushing me back against the pillows. His shirt was gone in seconds, and I let my palms roam across hard muscle, the ridges I’d memorized in glimpses finally mine to trace.
The air between us thinned, heavy with need. My clothes came off in a clumsy pull, laughter spilling between our mouths before dissolving into another kiss. His hand found my ribs, sliding up until his thumb brushed the underside of my breast. The touch sent a shock through me, sharp and undeniable.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, breath catching. His forehead pressed to mine, eyes burning.
“I won’t.” My voice was hoarse, my body already answering. “Not tonight.”
That broke him. His mouth crashed into mine, rough, desperate, and my fingers clawed at his jeans until he got the hint. Zipper down, button loose, fabric shoved out of the way. I felt him hard against me, straining, and the ache between my legs turned urgent. Skin to skin, finally, no more barriers.
I guided his hand where I needed him most. The groan he let out when he felt me slick and ready nearly undid me. His fingers worked me slow at first, deliberate circles that made my breath hitch, then deeper, harder, until I arched against him with a strangled sound.
“Luke—” I gasped, nails biting his shoulder.
“I’ve got you.” His voice was raw, steady even as his body trembled with restraint.
He paused only long enough to grab a condom from his wallet, rolling it on with shaking hands. Then he looked at me again, one last check.
I nodded, throat tight, heart hammering. “I want you.”
He slid inside slowly, a groan breaking from his chest as I gasped at the stretch, the fullness that stole my breath. For a second, we just stayed there, pressed together, breathing thesame jagged air. His hand threaded through mine, grounding me as much as I anchored him.
Then he moved. Every thrust stoked the fire higher, building fast, relentless. His mouth claimed mine between gasps, between curses muttered low against my skin. I clung to him, hips rising to meet his, the rhythm pulling us under until nothing existed beyond the heat, the pressure, the sound of my name breaking from his lips.
