His words send me into freefall as my every muscle goes tight. Sparks explode behind my eyelids as euphoric waves crash over my body, and I convulse beneath him.
“That’s it,” he coos in my ear. “Ride it out.” His hips snap harshly against my ass, prolonging the pleasure with each deep stroke. “Fuck, keep squeezing me just like that.”
His breathing becomes staggered, and his rhythm falters. He’s getting close. Through my haze, I release the grip on his hand and reach back to tangle my fingers in his hair. I pull his head down into the crook of my neck.
“It’s your turn now,” I say breathlessly. “Come in me.”
His entire body shudders as he mutters under his breath, “Fuck, Lennon.” His hips snap against mine once more before he stills, letting out a guttural groan as he pulses inside of me.
I clench around him as he fills me, wanting every last drop and to savor the feeling. Because as the bubble that we’ve been in tonight is surely to burst soon, I want to enjoy every last minute.
When he pulls out of me, it feels like a loss. But he lies on his back on the bed next to me and lifts his arm in silent invitation. I immediately snuggle into his side and rest my head on his chest. His heart is still racing, and he runs a hand through his hair.
I don’t speak, once again fearful of it being the hammer that crashes through the glass, and instead listen to his heart beat. My fingers trace gentle circles around his abs, and he flexes them. It pulls a chuckle out of us both, and we look at the ceiling with a contented sigh.
“There’s no coming back from this,” he finally says.
“No,” I agree. “There isn’t.”
But I don’t want to. Somehow, despite this being wrong to lie here in my coach’s arms, it feels right.
29
Lennon
Iwake up to swearing and the smell of something burning. Luke’s side of the bed is cold, and sunlight streams through the white curtains. For being rich, he could certainly afford blackout curtains.
There’s clothes all over the floor, but I bypass all of them and slide open a drawer of his dresser. Finding a T-shirt of his, I pull it over my head and do my best to finger-comb my hair in the mirror on the wall. It’s a hopeless cause. The curls I so carefully put in last night are a tangled mess, courtesy of him constantly running his hands through them, and the makeup I didn’t wash off is smeared beneath my eyes. I lick my finger, attempting to wipe as much away as possible.
Whatever. His face was literally between my legs last night, so does it really matter what my leftover makeup looks like?
I walk out into the kitchen, and my legs feel like jelly at the sight that greets me. Luke is shirtless, dressed only in a pair of dark gray sweatpants, with his hair mussed from sleep and sweeping it back from his forehead. The veins in his arms pop ashe stirs something on the stove. The muscles in his back flex with the movement, and butterflies swarm in my stomach as I take him in.
It takes him a few seconds to notice me. His head shoots up, and a lazy smile tips the corner of his mouth as he takes in my bare legs and the fact that I’m wearing one of his shirts.
“Morning,” he says, voice gritty from sleep. I walk over to the island across from the stove and lean against it.
“What are you making?” Whatever it is, the smell curdles my nose, but I try to keep the disgust off my face.
“It was supposed to be pancakes,” he mutters while frowning at the pan like it personally offended him. “I’m not a huge breakfast guy,” he admits and tosses the blackened pancakes into the garbage.
“Clearly.” I stifle my laughter but fail. Luke shoots me a dirty look, but it only heightens my amusement. “What do you normally eat for breakfast then?”
“Protein shake, eggs, I don’t know. I’m not whipping up five courses before our early mornings.” He sets the dirty pan in the sink before leaning against the opposite counter.
“And you decided to try today?”
“Well, yeah. I thought you might be hungry.”
“You did wear me out last night.” I wink at him and he shakes his head.
He doesn’t respond right away, and when he looks down at his feet, I can feel those damned walls of his climbing again.
“Don’t,” I tell him, my voice surprisingly firm. “Don’t try to shut me out. Not after last night.”
He rolls his shoulders back before raising his eyes to mine. I hate the torment I see behind them. “Last night was?—”
“Don’t you dare say it was a mistake.” That cut would run so deep, I don’t know if there would ever be a way to come back from it.
