And then his mouth is back on me, focused, unrelenting – he’s on a mission and failure is not an option.
I can’t think.Can’t speak.Only feel.
My fingers twist in the sheets, and I swear I see stars – actual, literal constellations – as the heat builds, unbearable and perfect and right there.
‘Oh – shit, I—’
I break apart with a cry.My whole body arches, legs trembling, everything unravelling in one white-hot second of pure oblivion.
I’m still gasping when I hear him.
‘Three minutes and thirty-eight seconds.’
I groan, flopping back against the mattress.‘You’re the worst.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Since when did this become a competition?’
‘Just confirming what I already knew.’
‘That you’re a farmer with a god complex?’
He grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like a satisfied sinner.‘Something like that.’
I glare at him.Or I try to.It’s hard when your legs still haven’t recovered full function.‘I hate you with my whole soul.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he murmurs, then stands and heads for his bag.
I prop myself up on shaky elbows, then freeze as he pulls out a foil packet, tears it open and rolls on a condom without missing a beat.
No groan.No delay.No, ‘Oh, I forgot.’
Just smooth, competent prep.A man who knows what he’s doing and isn’t looking for a gold star for doing the bare minimum.
‘Did you … without being asked?’I ask, genuinely stunned.
He’s already moving back to the bed.His smile is cocky and just this side of reverent.‘Gotta stay prepared.’
I laugh for a second, until he flips me onto my stomach.My breath catches.Oh, okay, cowboy.
He doesn’t waste time.His hands wrap around my hips, pulling me up, tilting me into position – and then he pushes in, slow and devastating.
I let out a strangled sound, gripping the sheets as he sinks deeper.The stretch, the pressure, the feel of him – every part of me clenches in response.
And then he moves.
Every thrust is a rhythm I can’t match; every breath I take gets chased out of me by the next one.The bedhead taps the wall, then thuds against it with increasing urgency.I don’t care.I’m too far gone.I’m liquid.
I brace one arm against the headboard, the other grasping at anything – him, the air, any idea of self-control.
Luke’s hand slides around my throat just enough to guide me back until my spine arches against him.His chest to my back, his mouth at my neck.
Then his other hand reaches lower, between my thighs.And everything breaks.
My vision tunnels.My body clenches.A noise tears from my throat that I hope never escapes this room.
I fall apart again.
