I feel everything—the water sliding down his spine, the cool shower tiles beneath my feet, the unbearable awareness of him only a few feet away.
He shifts, turning towards me and I can see everything. His eyes are open as he takes steps towards me as I take steps back. Not because I’m scared of him but because Luka’s dark stare has a way of telling the world to get out of his way and I react like everyone else, trying to give him more room, until my back hits the cold tile.
"Luka, I’m sorry," I say, hating the way his name feels in my mouth.
He exhales slowly.
"Are you?" he asks, his hand reaching out to curve around my hip. "Let me ask that question again from the bar. What do youwish I’d do, Natalia? We both know that’s more than to get on a plane and go back to Seattle with you. There’s something else you want. Tell me."
My body responds in a way I absolutely do not consent to, in a way I can’t reason my way out of in a dream, can’t shut down with logic or professionalism or sheer force of will.
The moment crests too fast, too sharp.
I glance down, his erection hard between us."Luka, you’re…"
"It’s morning… Of course I am. I woke up thinking about you."
"You’re my client. We can’t do this."
"Good thing I never hired you then."
He dips down, his lips crash down on mine, wet and soft and hot. I moan into his kiss, my hand sliding around his neck to pull him down closer.
His arms surround me, lifting me up until he has my legs wrapping around his waist, pinning me against the shower wall.
"Tell me I can keep going." He asks against our kiss.
I nod and then I can feel it. His thick head at my entrance, heat boiling low in my belly, the desperate need to feel him stretch me to accommodate him.
"You’re too big, what if you don't fit?"
I feel his grin against our kiss.
"Don't worry, I'll make it fit because we aren't leaving this shower until I make you come."
He pushes inside, his head fully inside and I let out a whimper, my head falling back against the tile. He moves inside me. Over and over. Relentless pounding. My arousal coating him with every thrust, slick and hot. His groans of need combining with mine fill the shower with the erotic sounds of hate sex.
There's no denying what this is. Two people who can't stand each other, finally giving in.
The tension coils low in my belly. I can feel myself begin to twitch and pulsate around him, chasing my orgasm. Luka grunts, trying to keep his at bay until I come first.
Then it happens. An orgasm rips through me, so savage that it steals my breath from my lungs…
…and then I wake with a gasp, jolted into sitting straight up.
Heart hammering against my ribs. Skin slick with sweat. For a disorienting second, I don't know where I am—the shower, the bed, Luka's hands on me still feel soreal.
Then it crashes in—morning light. My bedroom. Sheets tangled around my legs like evidence of a crime. A pillow wedged between my thighs as if I'd used it as a "Luka" fill-in.
Oh God.
I shoot a panicked look over at Luka's side of the bed, absolutely mortified at the idea that he heard me. His rumpled sheet proves he came back at some point in the night. Now he's gone.
Thank God. I could never have lived that down.
I drag both hands over my face, willing the images away, the sensations, the sound of his voice in my head. But they cling like humidity, refusing to dissipate.
The realization comes in a hot wave of absolute humiliation. I just had a sex dream about Luka Popovich. I can imagine the smug look on his face if he knew. That infuriating smirk. He'd never let me forget it, which means he canneverknow about this.
