‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ I repeat, my fingers fumbling with his belt.
His laugh is low and ragged.‘You’ve got a funny way of saying no.’
‘Yeah, well,’ I say as I pull his belt loose, ‘I’m hoping you’re more responsible than I am.’
His hands bracket my hips as he steps back, giving me a once- over that should be illegal.His eyes land on my mouth, my chest, my legs.
I lift my chin.‘Take off your shirt.’
His lips twitch and his fingers slowly unbutton his shirt, my eyes locked on his as he lets the navy-blue fabric drop to the floor.
‘Now, your jeans.’
‘Bossy.’
‘You like it.’
That earns me a wicked grin – and then he undoes the button on his jeans, watching me the whole time.He steps out of them and grips his length, deliberately slow, daring me to look away.I don’t.
‘Your turn,’ he says, voice rough.
I should feel shy.I should feel something other than desperately horny with a dash of identity crisis.But the way he’s looking at me – like he’s starving and I’m made of everything he gave up for Lent – makes it easy not to.
I peel off my dress and let it fall.No underwear.No bra.Just skin.Luke’s mouth parts slightly.He doesn’t move.
Then his hands slide around my waist.His forehead rests against mine for a beat – long enough to be devastating – and then he kisses me.Rougher this time – tired of waiting.
His body presses into me, hard and impossibly warm.When his mouth leaves mine to trail heat along my jaw, down my neck, I moan, helpless.
‘Tell me what you want,’ he says against my skin, voice wrecked.‘You.’
His fingers dig into my hips.‘Say my name.’
No.
‘Luke,’ I moan.
He doesn’t need another invitation.He spins us, lying back on the bed and settling me over his body, his hand drifting down to stroke between my legs.His fingers find me slick, ready, greedy.
‘You’ve been like this since the verandah?’He grins against my mouth.
‘Are you done with the commentary?’I gasp, hips grinding against him.
‘Not even close.’
And then his fingers slide inside me at the same time his mouth finds my nipple and I forget my name, my flight time and that I was supposed to leave without saying goodbye.
The reason?Luke is thorough.Devastatingly so.
And me?I’m absolutely screwed.
His fingers thrust deeper, curling just right, like he’s memorised the blueprint of my body and filed it alphabetically under ‘Ways to Ruin Jamie Hayes’.I arch into him, mouth falling open in a wordless moan that he swallows with a kiss.
‘You—’ I try to say something, probably a warning, maybe a prayer, and then his thumb presses against my clit and my hips jolt so violently I nearly headbutt him.
Luke chuckles, low and cocky.‘You were saying?’
‘I hate you.’
