I’m silent for a minute, imagining how he’d feel if his body was a little heavier, a little softer. The thought of that extra weight pressing me into the mattress is a major turn-on.
“Okay, enough,” he says with a chuckle, reaching to take his phone back. “Don’t make me regret showing you this.”
And it hits me that he’s insecure, too. It must have taken courage to show me that photo.
“Actually, I was thinking how hot you look in that pic,” I admit. “How good you’d feel on top of me with a little extra weight.”
He lets out a crack of laughter. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “You look really sexy like that.”
“You’re not just saying that because you want to sleep with me?” he asks with a smirk.
He’s turned my words back on me. I asked him almost that exact question when he told me he liked my curves.
“Well, I’m hoping you’ll sleep with me again,” I tell him. “But I also think you look incredibly hot in that picture.”
“That’s a relief,” he tells me. “Because like I said, the abs come and go. I try to stay in half-decent shape, because I feel better if I do, and I like to be able to keep up with the med students if we take the stairs. But my discipline fluctuates.” He gestures to his midsection. “This is about as good as it gets. For the past few weeks, I’ve been at the gym almost every day, trying to work you out of my head.”
“Really?” I still can’t believe I have that effect on him.
“Sure. But I’ll happily sacrifice the abs if you’d like to try me out a little heavier. Keep baking cookies, and it’ll happen pretty quickly.”
“You’re on,” I say with a laugh.
“Whatever you were doing with your tongue felt really good,” he hints, and I glance down and see that he’s hard. I decide to tease him a little first, so I start up at his chest, licking and sucking his nipples until they’re stiff. I move to his abdomen next, and slowly kiss my way down until I’m an inch from his erection . . . and then change direction and work back up to his ribs.
By the time I finally put my hand on his cock, he’s panting, and when I swirl my tongue around the tip, he shudders.
“That’s so good, Milly,” he says roughly. “You’re so hot. That’s . . .”
He trails off as I take him deep in my mouth.
“Let’s go out for brunch,” Luke suggests half an hour later.
“Sure,” I reply. “Or I could make something here?—”
“Nah, let me take you out. We can walk to The Funky Chicken from here.”
The Funky Chicken is a downtown diner known for their weekend brunches. “I haven’t been there in years.”
“We need to fix that,” Luke says. “I guess we should shower first, though.” His hot gaze sweeps over my body. “It’ll be faster if we shower together.”
Our joint shower is not actually all that fast, but it’s certainly fun. Luke complains that my bodywash smells girly, but when I explain that he’s the first man to use the shower since I bought the house, he decides he can live with it.
When we’re finally done in the shower, I sit on my bed and watch Luke get dressed in a well-worn knit shirt and jeans.
“I can’t believe you let me think you were leaving last night, when you had an overnight bag in your trunk,” I tell him.
Luke grins. “I was hardly going to spend the weekend in a button-down shirt.”
“The whole weekend, huh? You planning to stay tonight, too?”
“Of course.” As though it should have been obvious.
“Okay, then.” I’m probably grinning like a goof.
We walk to the Funky Chicken, which has undergone a glow-up since the last time I was here. Their old sign had red script and a cartoon chicken wearing glasses, but now it’s crisp white on blue with no cartoon fowl in sight. It’s still a busy spot, though, and the hostess leads us toward the only empty table in the place.
