Page 32 of Lucas

We stretch out on the rug in front of the fire, and Lucas pours us each a glass of fresh wine. I’m trying to find the words to ask him if he’s thought about what happens next, if he wants to find a way for us to be together, but I can’t help thinking that since he hasn’t brought it up, he’s prepared to let this—us—go.

The reality of that stings.

“I love how the firelight dances across your face,” Lucas says.

My cheeks go warm from the blush. It’s still so hard for me to accept his compliments. “Fireplaces are like magic.”

“You’re the one casting spells,” he says.

My breath hitches.

We reach for each other at the same moment. He goes for my face, I put my hands on his ribs. Our mouths connect in the still, electrified air, our lips latching on, soft to soft, warm to warm. My body liquefies.

Drawing me against his chest, Lucas wraps his thick arms around my shoulders and holds me tight as he deepens the kiss. I slide my palms around his sides and slip them down to the small of his back, already working to remove his shirt.

Thrusting deep with his tongue, he drags one hand up to the base of my neck and lets the other fall to the back of my thigh. My leg comes up on his gentle pull. His erection nestles between my thigh and a low groan thrums from the back of his throat.

Gently, he holds me and guides me to the floor, stretching me out beneath him. I choke back the emotion building in my chest. Seven days. This is supposed to be the end, but my heart surges as though it’s just the beginning. It should be the start of us, not the grand finale.

But of course, that’s not something I can believe.

Lucas breaks the seal of our kiss and pulls back enough to run his tongue along the side of my throat. Latching on, he sucks on the cords of my neck and follows them downward until his teeth scrape against the thrust of my collarbone. My fingers thread through his hair and hold him close to my skin, moving him toward my breasts.

My nipples are tight and my heart pumps hard.

He slides the T-shirt over my head and tosses it to the side. My chest heaves as he stares at my breasts, as if memorizing every curve.

Without warning, I reach down into his pants and touch his cock. Upon contact, he hisses through his teeth, a soft sign of approval and encouragement. In just one week, I’ve learned his trigger points and weaknesses, and I’m struck with sadness at the thought of relinquishing that control to someone else.

“God damn you’re beautiful,” he says on a growl.

My chest fills with ridiculous pride. “And you’re the sexist man I’ve ever seen.”

The words snap him into action and he shifts forward, popping his cock free of my palm and positioning himself so that he kneels between my thighs. Dropping his head, he covers one nipple with his mouth and flicks at it with his tongue, while he works blindly at removing my jeans and underwear.

My hips arch toward him, eager for his touch, to feel him deep inside me. I fumble at the button on his pants, unzip the zipper, and shimmy his jeans and briefs over his hips.

He continues sucking, allowing his palms to drift slowly down my ribs and waist. Unable to hold it any longer, I guide his cock into my pussy. Hot. Silky. Slick.

“God, I love the way you feel,” he says.

I sink my teeth into my lip, fighting the urge to tell him that I want him, not just now and like this, but for always. To never feel another man’s cock between my thighs, another man’s mouth on my nipples.

My pussy clenches, holding on tight as his hips rock back and forth, hammering me with the kind of desperation reserved for endings. I look away, not wanting him to see the tears gathering, and close my eyes, try to pretend this isn’t our last night.

With a quick shift of his leg, he splits my thighs farther apart and rolls onto his back so I’m on top. I blink to find him staring at me, a wide grin stretched across his face. My heart stutters a beat.

I brace my hands on his shoulders, swinging my hips from the base of my spine, my stomach curling and releasing as I ride him. With a whispered curse, he grabs on to my thighs and squeezes, causing my muscles to shift under his hold. He draws his hands further up, to the juncture where my legs meet my torso. His thumb finds my clit, and he begins rubbing it in circles.

The intensity is too much.

Thunderous waves of pleasure roll through my body, the climax coming hard and fast. My pussy clenches, breath catches. A whimper crawls out from my throat. We pause, him allowing the last of the orgasm to ripple through me, and then in one swift motion, I turn so that I’m leaning on his legs, balancing my weight on his shins. I use my hand to guide his cock back inside me, still wet and ready.

The sound that comes from his lips is animalistic, primal. And it fills me with the need to please him. Command him. Make him remember this night forever. Am I the only one who sees—feels—how right we are together?

His hands lock on my ankles and I slide up and down his cock until I can feel his orgasm mounting. I move faster, harder. His fingernails dig into my feet, and he cries out, just as another orgasm rolls over me. We climax together, each releasing a guttural scream that echoes throughout my core.

When the pleasure finally subsides, I collapse against him, suddenly self-conscious of my bare ass in the air, my pussy dripping with our combined come. With a little shift, I disengage our connection, and swing my leg over his head and pivot so that I can lie beside him. He curls me under his arm and up against his still-heaving chest.