My pulse jumps at the thought, and I press my lips together to hide a smile. Okay. I think I’m ready.
A knock sounds at the door and my heart jumps straight into my throat. He’s here.
I practically trip over my own feet getting to it, and I have to force myself to slow down at the last second. I stop with my hand on the handle and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm the wild flutter in my chest. My palm is warm against the steel, and the memory of him installing it flickers through my mind. Then I open the door.
Lucky’s standing there looking unfairly good. Faded jeans hug his hips, and a black T shirt stretches across his chest under his leather cut. His biker boots are planted solid on my porch, and he’s holding a pizza box in one hand and a six pack in the other like he owns the space already.
My gaze drags up his body before I can stop it. His eyes are on me, dark and intent, and there’s a slow smile pulling at his mouth that makes heat curl low in my stomach. He looks hungry. And not for food. “Hey, firecracker,” he says, his voice rough and warm all at once.
“Hey,” I manage, and it comes out softer than I expect.
The air between us feels thick, charged with every text and late night call from the past two days. My fingers tighten on the door, and I step back to let him in, my pulse beating loud in my ears.
“Come in,” I tell him, stepping back and opening the door wider.
He ducks inside, filling the entryway with heat and leather and that clean, sharp scent that’s just him. He heads straight for the kitchen like he’s been here a hundred times before. The pizza box slides onto the stove with a soft thud, and he opens my fridge to tuck the beer inside like it belongs there.
“How was your day?” I ask, leaning against the counter and trying to sound normal.
The air shifts as he shuts the fridge and turns around. His gaze locks on me, and my breath stutters. His irises are blown wide, so dark they’re almost black, and there’s a focus in them that sends a slow, electric shiver down my spine. He starts toward me, unhurried and deliberate, and every step feels like it closes the space in my lungs.
I don’t move. I can’t. He looks like a predator stalking prey, and the terrifying part is that I don’t want to run. My pulse pounds in my ears as he crowds into my space, one hand coming up to brace on the counter beside my hip. The heat of him seeps into me before he even touches me.
“My day,” he says quietly, voice rough, “just got a hell of a lot better.” His eyes drag over me like he’s cataloging every inch. The sweater slipping off my shoulder. The leggings hugging my legs. The way I’m pressed back against the counter with nowhere to go.
Heat floods my face and settles low in my belly.
“You been thinking about me, Firecracker?” he asks. It’s barely above a whisper, but it lands heavy between us.
I swallow, my fingers curling against the counter. “Maybe,” I breathe.
A slow smile curves his mouth, and satisfaction flashes in his eyes. He leans in just enough that his breath brushes my lips, and the world narrows to the space between us, tight and humming with everything we haven’t done yet. His mouth hovers so close I can almost taste the mint and smoke on his breath. My lips part on instinct, waiting, wanting.
“Maybe?”he repeats, low and teasing, the word vibrating against my skin. One corner of his mouth lifts. “That’s all I get after two days?”
I tilt my chin up, defiant even as my thighs press together under the soft cling of my leggings. “You’ve been busy. I didn’t want to seem… desperate.”
His laugh is dark, quiet, more rumble than sound. The hand not braced on the counter slides to my waist, fingers splaying wide over the generous curve there, pressing into the plush softness like he’s memorizing the feel of me. He doesn’t pull, he just holds, thumb stroking once, slow, deliberate, right over the dip above my hipbone before sliding lower to grip a handful of my ass.
“You think I don’t know desperate when I feel it?” he murmurs, voice dropping even rougher. “Because I’ve been walking around half-hard for forty-eight fucking hours thinking about these hips. This thick, perfect ass. Every goddamn curve on you.” His palm kneads me possessively, squeezing like he can’t get enough. “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured bending you over this counter and burying my face between these thighs.”
Heat explodes across my chest and sinks straight to my core. Years of shrinking myself, of believing the extra softness made me invisible, and here he is, voice wrecked, eyes dark with want, holding me like I’m everything he’s been starving for. “Lucky…”
“Yeah, baby?” He dips his head, nose brushing the side of my jaw, then lower, tracing the line of my exposed collarbone where the sweater slips off one shoulder. “Tell me what’s been keeping you up at night, firecracker. Be honest. Tell me exactly what you want.”
Everything. His rough hands pinning me down. That gravelly voice growling good girl in my ear over the phone at 2 a.m. The fantasy of him spreading me wide and licking me until I scream. I swallow hard. “Your mouth,” I admit, voice trembling. “Everywhere. On me. Tasting me.”
He stills for one heartbeat. Then a low, filthy growl rumbles out of his chest. “Fuck yes. That’s my girl.”
His lips find the sensitive skin just below my ear, open-mouthed, slow drag of tongue, lightest scrape of teeth. My knees threaten to give out. I grab fistfuls of his T-shirt as he works down my throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, then soothing it with a slow lick.
His free hand slips under the hem of my sweater, rough palm gliding up the bare curve of my side, fingers spreading wide to grip the soft roll of my waist, then higher. When his thumb brushes the heavy underside of my breast, no bra, just full, warm skin, he groans against my neck like he’s in pain.
“Jesus fucking Christ, no bra?” His voice is wrecked. “These tits are gonna be the death of me.” He cups one fully, palm overflowing with the weight, thumb circling my nipple until it’stight and aching. “Been dying to get my mouth on them. To suck these pretty nipples until you’re dripping down your thighs.”
Pleasure spears straight between my legs. I arch into his hand, my soft belly pressing against his hard abs, chasing more.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes molten, pupils blown wide. “You want my mouth here too, don’t you? Want me to suck on these fat tits until you’re begging?”
