Deep End(52)

I wonder if I’m going to get used to his strength. The rational part of me knows that his physique is a simple product of training, discipline, and questionable priorities. The other part, the one that just wants a minute of rest, loves the ease with which he flips me around until I’m all the way on the bed, belly down on the covers, my cheek pressed against a pillow that smells so much like him, I cannot help grabbing two fistfuls.

Mine.

“I really want to fuck you,” he says from behind me. I’m still quivering. Wearing nothing but a white tank top that has long ridden up to my rib cage. Lukas is on his knees, my thighs trapped in the spread of his. He must be looking at my ass, and if this was anyone else, I’d be fretting over it. Am I pretty enough? Have I disappointed him with my body?

Except, he’s the one who gets to decide what happens. And if he didn’t like me, he simply wouldn’t continue. My worries quiet down, and I smile into the comforter.

I could live here, in the quiet of this moment, forever.

“You’d let me, right?”

His hand comes up to the valley between my shoulder blades. Pushes down. My head has little range of movement, but I try to nod.

“That’s so sweet of you.” He leans forward. Kisses the first vertebra of my spine, slow and patient. “Then again, I really don’t want to fuck you with a condom.”

His voice pierces through the dense fog in my brain. I recall the list. On birth control, to avoid periods, scribbled in the margins of mine.

If you’re up for it, let’s both get tested and exchange results, he wrote.

I sent mine.

He got busy, and didn’t send his.

“We’ll have to do something else,” he says.

I groan into the mattress. “Please.”

He licks the trails of my tears. The stubble on his jaw brushes deliciously against my ear, and he lets out something that resembles a regretful, strained laugh. “You’re pretty when you beg.” Another kiss on my cheek. “You always are.”

I let out a second, frustrated groan, but he’s unbuttoning his jeans, pushing layers of fabric down his hips, his weight infinite as he lowers himself against my back, presses my legs together with his knees, and—

Oh my god.

He grunts. I gasp. The first glide of his cock between my thighs is choppy, too rough. Unlubricated. But then his thrust slides up, where he made me plenty wet just a minute ago.

“Jesus, you feel—” His hips find a steady rhythm, and it all works like a dream.

And that’s when I realize, he is fucking me. Not the way I want him to, maybe, but his head bumps my clit on every push. I can feel the hot length of him against my folds, and it’s good enough for me to beg for it.

“It’s like I made you up in my head, Scarlett.”

I’m babbling, wild and inappropriate, and he has to shush me again. He laughs once, a little rough. “You just can’t be quiet, can you?” This time it’s the palm of his hand wrapped against the lower side of my face, and biting into it is not an option .

I shouldn’t moan this loudly. I should be able to choke these sounds back. But I’m not and it’s okay, because for once the responsibility is not on me. This time, Lukas decided, and I don’t get to be heard. Fresh air is hard to come by, his fingers span my entire jaw, and I wholly forget the burden of being myself for a few moments.

“Next time,” he promises in my ear, heavy and urgent and raspy, “I’m going to fuck you properly.”

I nod and roll my spine, trying to get closer to him. Failing. I have no control over this, and I hear myself whine, high-pitched and reedy.

“What am I gonna do next time? C’mon, Scarlett. Say it.”

He’s not unreasonable. Kind, really. His hand on my mouth loosens just enough to allow me to speak. Cool air fills my lungs. I open my mouth to whisper, shaky, “Next time, you’re going to—” A silent hitch when the head of his cock hits a perfect spot. I gasp, a hairbreadth from coming. If only he was to do it again, just once. Even stay there.

But he knows. And pulls back right before I slip over the edge.

“Not until you say it. Come on.”

I am so close. So close. “You’re going to . . . to fuck me properly.”

“It’s a promise, Scarlett.” He resumes thrusting, and I’m so wet now that the sounds are filthy, the slapping of his body against mine faster, and the noises I make—his palm seals against my mouth, a tight grip that I never want to lose. His movements stop. “And you’ll fucking take it.”

He bites a deep, guttural groan in the tender flesh of my shoulder, and when I feel the thick ropes of his come painting my cunt, I start convulsing against him. For long moments, I’m just pleasure and sensation, no awareness of anything else.

When I can breathe and think and be again, Lukas has shifted us so that he’s spooning me, held to his chest with both arms—at once precious cargo and a flight risk .

“Okay?” he asks.

His voice is so shaken, I wonder if that should be my line. I turn a little and lift my hand, letting it run through the soft hair at the side of his head, where it’s shorter than the top. He leans into it like a pet, still trying to catch his breath. “Yeah. You?”

He doesn’t say yes. What he does say is, “Fuck,” which means nothing and everything at once.