Deep End(64)

“I was not.” I take stock of my body and my brain. I’m mostly sober. Clear thinking. Tired, but when am I not? “I had a shit day, and he was there. ”

“A shit day?”

It occurs to me that from his standpoint, I did well. I medaled, after all. He doesn’t know about my issues—and I’ll keep it that way. I’ve had my fill of pity. “No reason. But he was taking my mind off stuff. As good as anything.”

“I’m sure you can find something better.”

“I have heard great things about being stuck in traffic?”

“Vacuuming is excellent, too.”

I laugh. “Sadly, I don’t have a car. Or—and you’re not going to like this—a vacuum cleaner.”

He looks genuinely worried. “What conditions do you live in?”

“My point is, I don’t have other options available to me.” My heart races. Slow down, I order, trying to breathe around the heavy thump. “Unless you have other ideas.”

He must have expected to have to work much harder for my forgiveness, because it takes a long while to get the gist of what I’m offering. Once he does, though, there’s no hesitation. He nods, tosses the Solo cup in the closest bin, and takes my hand to lead me outside.





CHAPTER 35


LUKAS’S ROOM IS STILL IMMACULATE. I INSPECT IT AFTER HE turns on the bedside lamp, and study the military neatness, unsurprised to note the presence of a headboard and the lack of navy sheets. He sits at his desk, and I ponder shuffling his books out of alphabetical order, just to make a forehead vein twitch.

“So, is the bed here just for the sex, or do you actually sleep on it?”

He pulls me into his lap, unamused. I noticed that he has turned on his desktop.

“Are we working on the bio project?” I ask, angling my knees into his spread legs.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t reply. Instead he strokes up and down my thigh, presses one soft kiss and a less-than-soft bite into my throat, and when I shiver, he takes his hands away and begins typing.

His healthcare portal is the same as mine. He clicks through a handful of lab results, and I lean toward the screen.

“Okay?” he asks once I’m done.

“Okay,” I reply. I want it to be like last time: my mind wiped, and my body on fire .

Lukas takes my chin between his index and thumb. “After,” he starts. “Don’t just leave.”

My brow wrinkles.

“Wake me up if you need to. But don’t leave without saying anything.”

There are so many objections I could raise. None seems important, though. “Okay,” I say, and after that I hold my breath, ready to be once again reminded of how in control he can be.

“You’re so good at doing what I ask you, aren’t you?”

I nod eagerly, bracing. But Lukas just kisses me lightly on the mouth, so sweet and gentle that his hand slips around my inner thigh almost undetected. He parts my legs, shifts me deeper into his lap. Strokes me lightly, just outside my underwear.

I can’t hold in a needy whimper. His knuckles moving under the fabric of my skirt are unspeakably dirty, and the second he finds me wet, his tongue clicks, like I’m exactly what he expected and also—

“Fucking out of this world,” he rumbles against my throat. His middle finger begins rubbing, and I let out a grateful, pleading exhale. Thank god he’s not making me wait, I tell myself. Thirteen minutes later, I’m still on the edge, and the clock on the monitor laughs at me.

It starts when Lukas pulls down my top none too gently and tells me, “Your tits are spectacular—has anyone told you?”

Something pleased and proud grows inside me. I shake my head.

“What about your idiot ex?” he asks with a frown.

He wasn’t an idiot, I want to protest, but there’s a time and a place to defend a guy who’s in love with someone else. I shake my head again.

Lukas is bewildered. Angry. “I can’t wrap my head around it, Scarlett,” he says, touching my nipple and my clit at the same time, both grazes, both promising more. “He had a treasure and he just . . .” He sounds like he’d like to take it out on someone, but it doesn’t occur to me who that someone will be until his lips curve. “I despise him. I should just be grateful, though. If he wasn’t a world-class asshole, I wouldn’t be able to do this—”

He pinches one of my nipples so hard, I forget how to breathe. Then his finger circles around my clit until I can get the stimulation I need, and—

“You love it, don’t you?”

He twists my nipple, and I come for the first time. He bites the side of my breasts, and—the second. The third happens a little later, when he starts sucking on my puffy, achy peaks, his middle finger knuckle deep inside my cunt. After that . . . it doesn’t matter anymore, and not much is required of me. If I wriggle in his arms, if my ass rubs against his erection, he’ll still me with his teeth and a stern word, his hand heavy against my belly. All I need to do is take the pleasure. Do as I’m told. Listen to the way he whispers soft commands into my ear, like Just one more and You can do it and fragments of sentences that include words like perfect, and just for me, and beautiful tears.

He kisses the corners of my eyes, licking away this delicious pain he is giving. I’ve never felt so hollow. “Please,” I beg. I’m a mess of quivers and aftershocks, trying to burrow into him. His arms and voice are the only things holding me together.