With each lick of the dish towel, I don’t just imagine Luke’s cries. I hear his sister’s moans as I kissed her and teased her with my cock, and the same scent curled from her as Kane and I loved on her.
He must have come. There's no way it could be so fucking luscious if he hadn't. This is how Luke would taste if I bent him over and ate him out from behind.
What the hell was he doing for the towel to end up like this?
I have to see what happened. Luke usually spends all morning in the kitchen, so the answer has to be there.
I pull my phone from my back pocket, opening the home security app and going straight to the kitchen camera. The towel blocks part of my view, so I have to hold my phone up to eye level.
I rewind it at top speed, watching Luke appear in and out of the screen so fast that I can’t keep up with him. Until the camera goes dark, and the time stamp shows 5:30 a.m.
Nerves keep dancing around me, and my alpha side reasons that I’m being responsible by making sure my omega is okay.
I fast-forward the video until the lights switch on, watching Luke as he begins his day. Even just seeing him like this is enough to stir me up. I jolt as Luke’s head snaps up, looking at something offscreen, and the time stamp shows 6:10, twenty minutes before my alarm is supposed to go off.
Shock races through me as I watch myself walk into the kitchen.
My brow furrows because I don’t remember going there, but Luke doesn’t seem surprised either.
Until I slowly plod over and press my body against him, and wrap my arms around him.
I gasp, more maple syrup slick flooding my senses as I bring my phone closer to my face.
With my chin on his shoulder, Luke lights up, and he’s rubbing against me, easing into me, softening for me. I say something to him, but it’s Luke’s expression that I’m fixed on.
I pause the screen, my eyes wide, wishing I could zoom in to make sure what I’m seeing is real.
The way his body curves and how his head tips back to press into me is so fucking sexy that my jaw drops. I can’t believe how lovingly I nuzzle him, and he responds by parting his lips, and it looks like he’s moaning as I grind against his ass.
What the hell is going on?
My breath catches in my maple-drenched throat as I press play, and Luke turns his head. I swear he’s going to kiss me. My heart squeezes, and my body aches, and I almost urge him on out loud.
If I was questioning his feelings for me before, now I have my answer.
I need to go home. I won’t tell him about the cameras; I’ll just say I found the dish towel and demand he explain himself before I finally pull him into my arms and taste his cries of pleasure.
Need pounds through my body as he suddenly leaps away from me. My disappointment surges as I clench the towel.
No matter how much I want to fuck him, what’s better? That he kisses me when I’m sleepwalking and out of it? Or when we’re both wide awake, pressed against each other, and I can push my fingers inside him and taste his slick the same way I do with this dish towel?
Back on the video, there’s more conversation before I leave the room, and Luke returns to the stove. I kept the video playing, but my mind is too blown from what happened between us. I don’t check the kitchen cameras in the mornings unless I’m at away games. So how many times have I held him like that and I never knew?
Luke’s smile says it all. Why the fuck didn’t he say anything? If he knows I want him so badly that I'm searching for him in my sleep, then there's a chance. Or am I really the problem?
Tension winds through me, and I sniff the towel again to settle myself, but it has the opposite effect. I groan deeply as Luke’s hand disappears behind the stove, and there's not a single question about what he's doing.
Every second that passes makes it harder to think, to fucking breathe. He’s stroking himself right there in my kitchen, like he must have done when he mixed his slick with my oatmeal.
He bends forward, one hand on the counter, and the recording is clear enough that I can see the pleasure dashing across his face as his ass rises, but not the words he says.
“You can do it, come on, Luke,” I whisper. “Come for me.”
I want to be there. I want to be under him and see how far he’s buried his fingers inside himself. Maybe he’s stroking himself, and his cum is mixed in with the slick on the dish towel.
Either way, his back bows, and I just see his cries as he comes while I was upstairs walking around half-asleep like a fucking idiot.
He's stunning, and I already know how easy it would be to pick him up and carry him to my room so we could start the next round.
