Deep End(68)

“I just don’t want you to—”

“Does it?” His fingers stretch my legs open, find bruises I overlooked, press into them like pegs into holes. The pleasure of the pain licks up my spine and quickens my breath. “Am I taking it too easy on you, Scarlett?” Teeth scrape against my jaw. “Am I being too nice?” His bite tightens, and—oh my god.

The tentative Lukas of a minute ago is gone. I stare up at him and can only say, “Please.”

“Please, what? Please, stop?”

I shake my head.

“Please, make me come?”

I bite my lower lip, suddenly embarrassed.

“Please, fuck me? In your sore little cunt?”

The nod erupts out of me, urgent, unplanned. It surprises both of us.

He frowns. “Come on, Scarlett. You need a break—”

“Please.”

It wars on his face for a split second, the question of what to do, but he trusts me to know what I can take. He takes himself out of his joggers. Straddles me. Pulls up my shirt and sucks on my tender nipples till I’m squirming from wanting more and less at once. His knees press against the outsides of my thighs, knocking my legs together, and I whimper, about to protest that this is not . . . I really want him to . . . why is he—

But then he hushes me and I feel it. The fat head of his cock bumping against my clit, a forceful push, a hot, burning, immense stretch that makes me tense like a bowstring, and then he’s inside and—yes. The walls of my cunt start fluttering around him. The ache gives the pleasure a cruel, beautiful edge.

“Christ, you’re tight.” His face buries against my neck. “Like I didn’t spend last night fucking you.”

He moves slowly, like wading through water, teasing sharp breaths out of me. It hurts. It feels better than good. I can’t take it anymore. If he stops, I’ll die. It’s not enough.

“Deeper,” I plead, because his strokes are too shallow, just a couple of inches filling and then emptying me again. I try to angle myself to get what I need, stilted little rolls up against his cock, but his palms pin mine above my head, fingers twined together, and my thighs are crammed between his, pressed together by his knees. He controls every movement, every glance, every exit route.

“Lukas,” I sob. He ignores me. I try to open my legs, but he’s stronger. The display of force only revs me up higher. “Deeper,” I beg. “All the way.”

“Not this time.” His teeth close around my earlobe, a threat, a mean little warning. I moan. “Quiet. You’ll take what you’re given and thank me for it. Won’t you, baby?”

I nod. I’m so, so close—because of the things he says, the way he moves, his unyielding hold on me. I’m a wet mess of tears and slick and the tightrope of all my muscles.

“You know I’m going to fuck you whenever and however I want,” he says against my ear. “Just be patient. You can be patient, right?”

I nod, desperate.

“You can be good?” I clench around him, gripping the end of his cock. His response is a half-groaned laugh. He has to collect himself and pull back from the brink. “You’re going to come already, aren’t you?”

God, I hope not. I hope I can make this last. Who knows when the next time will be.

“That list, Scarlett?” His mouth slides against mine, messy, uncoordinated, sharing air that feels dangerously thin and hard to come by. “I’m going to do it all to you. All of it. And when I’m done, I’ll do it again. And if you don’t ask me to stop, I’ll do it again—”

I come with a soft warble, echoed by the deep rumble of his grunt, and it lasts a long time—me, trembling against him, the loud rhythm of his breathing, the slow, reverential kisses all over my face and shoulders once he slips out and arranges us more comfortably on the bed. The clock on his nightstand reads eight thirty-seven, the light glows yellow through the open shades, and his arms are warm around me.

“I should leave,” I force myself to say.

I wait for Lukas to let me go. All he does is dip his face in my neck and inhale me like I’m some kind of drug. “I’ll come with. Put some breakfast in you.”

Oh. That sounds . . . “Okay.” Nice. “I should shower first.”

He shakes his head before I’m done talking and then pulls back to meet my eyes. His hand cups my nape, holding my head still. “Scarlett, if I want you showered after we fuck, I’ll do it myself. Okay?”

I shiver. It’d be gross. Right? I don’t know. If it is, I’m not sure that I care. “Okay.”

His smile is small, but it makes my entire chest flutter with happiness.





CHAPTER 37


IWAIT IN THE CAR WHILE HE PROCURES FOOD—BECAUSE I’M NOT sure I want us to be seen together, because I’m not presentable, because he confiscated my damn underwear and it’s sequestered somewhere in the kingdom of his bedroom, as accessible to me as the Curiosity rover.

When I ask, “How much do I owe you?” he looks at me like I asked him to join me on a hunt to exterminate the harpy eagle. “I can Venmo you,” I add, but he glances away and proceeds to pretend that his auditory cortex leaked out of his nostrils.

Whatever.

We drive a few minutes out of campus, stop at a small clearing off the road, and sit on the hood of his car to eat, listening to the chirps of the birds. The sun warms my cheeks; Lukas’s legs are impossibly long; when he slides off his shoes, I do the same, wiggling my toes, letting the breeze run through them.