He hummed.
“Ah, fuck. What’s quicker than no time?”
Lovestorieshadplayedout in living color right before my very eyes. Momma and Ben, Wren and Tate, Cal and Jack, even Jamie with Michael in some weird kind of love, but theirs all the same. However, I’d never had delusions that everyone was so lucky. This, though, this had been better than a dream, and Luke was definitely my Prince Charming.
After our soak in the tub, after I’d blown him, then massaged his entire body with soap until his moans became exhausted sighs, I dried him off and tucked him into bed. We’d snoozed, waking every few hours to kiss and come and snooze more.
Being the oldest of six kids, I’d never been the priority. I’d never been someone’s sole focus. Every fiber of attention I showed him, Luke returned.
We woke late that morning. Luke made breakfast, teasing me about breaking his back with our rambunctious activities all night long.
“Not only did you break my back, but you broke my dick,” he said.
He stood in his kitchen in a pair of pajama pants of some soft,clingy-in-all-the-right-places material. His ass drew my hands to it, but the outline of his dick made my mouth water.
“Highly doubt it’s broken,” I said.
“It is.” He sniffed. “No more sex for you.”
I dropped right there and mouthed over the thin material.
“Asher,” he panted immediately, gripping the counter and pressing his hips forward. Had him trained like a good boy.
“Don’t stop cooking.” I blew over the soaking wet spot. “I’m hungry.”
Luke shivered. I’d warned him on our first date. When I started having sex, opened that can of worms, he’d better be in shape. My libido had a couple of years to make up for, but his had decades. His poor, repressed sexuality made me double my efforts. I wanted to blow his mind, make him realize he couldn’t live without this side of himself.
He couldn’t live without me.
He played along for a minute, then just stopped until I had his come coating the insides of my stomach before finishing with breakfast.
“This is good,” I said around a bacon and egg sandwich. “I like cooking too. I had to do it a lot for my siblings.”
“Next time, you can cook for me.” Luke grinned, but his phone buzzed on the counter, and the smile fell.
“Who is it?” I asked. He hadn’t reached for his phone, but by the slump of his shoulder, he knew. “Don’t answer it,” I added before he moved.
“Hopefully, this won’t take long.” He wiped his hands on a linen napkin—so snooty britches—and answered his phone as he walked out of the room
His first floor had the great room and another room he used as an office I’d found this morning while I scoped out the place. Luke ducked inside it and pulled the door closed, but not before his words drifted in the silence.
“Morning, Father.”
Fuck James Dorset. A night of unfettered Luke had paused those feelings, but they were very much alive and well in my gut. Luke was too precious of man for such horrible parents.
I took my glass of orange juice and walked to the wide wall of windows in the living room.
Every part of Luke’s place had the bare minimum it could hold and still be called furnished. The only space that remotely waslived-inwas the bathroom and closet since it had his stuff. Even the wine room, which had tons of character, was still bare other than racks and racks of bottles. No pictures hung on walls or sat on tables. He hadartwork, and it was all nice, I supposed, but not personal.
Almost everything was white—Momma would’ve fainted at the stains waiting to fall everywhere—and the few colors of washed-out green and barely peach were so intentionally unobtrusive they might’ve well been white too.Pop of colorwas nowhere to be found. When I questioned it, he’d said it was his mother’s idea. And that explained everything. The woman had probably insulted the colors, wilted them on the spot.
Luke’s home was fancy, though, and the view at night was really great, but it wasn’t him. This place was an image, the one he kept molding himself to, the one his parents wanted for him. God, I hoped he realized it one day. I hoped he woke up and started living his own life.
With a glance at his closed door, I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Jamie.
“Can you talk?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“Daddy’s still at work. Why’re you whisperin’?”
