Luke: A West Bend Saints Romance (11 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Autumn

Luke is as good as his word.  He fucks me, this time slow -- his movements so excruciatingly drawn out that I think I'm going to die in some kind of pleasure-induced stroke as he moves inside me.  He fucks me long and slow, holding himself above me with one hand as his other hand roams my body, up my arm, over my breasts, his fingers tangled in my hair as he kisses me.  When his hands finally settle in one place, his fingers are interlaced with mine, hands above my head as he drives into me, fucking me with a gentle rhythm that's so natural, so effortless, that it feels as if we've been doing this forever.

Luke brings me higher and higher until the only thing I'm aware of anymore is how I feel.  Every part of my body feels wired, on edge.

"Tell me how it feels," he whispers, as the head of his cock presses against me in just the right spot, the place that sends pulses of arousal through my body, all the way down to my fingertips.

"Oh, God, Luke," I moan.  How do I tell him that this is unlike anything I've ever felt?

"Fucking you is amazing," he says.  "You fit me like you're fucking made for me."

His words send a rush of arousal between my legs.  "Your cock..."

"Say it.  Tell me how much you like my cock."

"I love your cock," I say, my words more of a moan than actual words. I want all of him inside me.  I want him deeply, and entirely, and completely, and I don't want to let him go.

"I love hearing that come out of your mouth," he says.

"I love your cock."  I repeat it, the words liberating.  I've never talked like this during sex, never said much of anything in fact.  Until now, I've been quiet.  And now, I somehow find my voice.

He speaks to me, whispers how much he loves my pussy, bringing me to the edge and then denying me, telling me I can't crash over, that I won't come until he lets me come.  And I don’t.  I hold off, waiting for him, losing myself in the rhythm with him until it becomes so unbearable that I'm whining, begging him to let me come, telling him how much I need.

I need so much, I tell him.  I need him.

Then he tells me to come -- no,
orders
me to come.  And when I do, it’s blinding light, an orgasm that seems to wash over my entire body, overtakes my entire self, and sweeps me away. I hear him calling my name, whispering my name over and over as he comes inside me, and I'm clinging to him, my nails digging into his back, clawing at him wildly as I ride wave after wave of pleasure so intense I think I'm on the verge of tears.

Afterward, I lie with my forehead forward against his chest, trying to catch my breath as I come down.  We lie there like that, with him inside me, neither of us speaking.  The room is still, completely quiet except for our breathing.

"That was..." I start, and then stop.  I don't have words for it.

"Pretty fucking awesome," he says.

"Yeah."

We lay there silently for a few minutes before Olivia's high-pitched squeal reverberates through the stillness in the house.  "Shit," I say.

He jumps up, and off the bed, and I'm scrambling to throw on a robe, my heart racing.  "We didn't wake her up, did we?" he asks.

"No, we were quiet," I say.  "She just wakes up sometimes."

"You sure?" he asks, a pained expression on his face.

"Positive."  I'm dressed and out the door before I can decide whether the pained look is because he's suddenly remembered that I have a child.

It's a few minutes before I calm Olivia down and get her into her crib, sleeping peacefully as if she never woke at all.  Luke is downstairs, his clothes and shoes on, and the realization hits me.  He’s slinking out of here.

I stand there, looking at him warily.

"I'm totally not leaving," he says awkwardly, holding up his hand.  "I’m just getting Lucy back in here.  I let her out a few minutes ago, and she’s out chasing something, I’m sure.”

I laugh, wondering why the hell I feel relieved.  "You mean you weren't sneaking out of here?"

Luke laughs.  "Shit.  No.  Is that what you think?"

I look at him, one eyebrow raised.  "Isn't that what you do?"

He stands straighter, practically bristling as he looks at me.  "You don't know that."

"Says the guy who has girls blowing up his phone with angry texts?"

“Touché,” he says.  “Anyway, I’m not leaving.  So stop assuming the worst.”

“Who said you leaving was the worst case scenario?” I ask, my voice light.

A slow smile spreads across Luke’s face.  “Don’t pretend like you don’t fucking want me, woman.”  He reaches for me, but I dodge his grasp as he laughs, breezing past me toward the front door.  “I’m going to go chase down my dog, but when I get back, you’re going to pay for your smart ass.”

When he returns, I’m in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, and he walks up behind me, sliding cold hands around my waist that make me squeal.  “You’re freezing,” I whisper.  “Maybe I don’t want you in my bed.”

“I’ll keep you warm, Red,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.  I can see his reflection in the mirror above the sink, and it makes me laugh.  “Unless you’re giving me the boot.  Hit it and quit it?”

I turn around to face him, my ass pressed up against the bathroom counter, and he flicks open my robe with his finger.  He looks down at me, and heat rushes between my legs, despite the fact that I just had him.  “Isn’t that what we said?” I ask.  “We’re friends.”

"That's what
you
said."  Luke trails his finger up the inside of my thigh, one light stroke. "I never said such a thing."

“You said you didn’t have women friends,” I say, my voice breaking as he moves his fingers up higher, between my legs.

“This is a case in point,” he says, pressing his fingertip firmly against my clit.

“We’re totally friends.”

"Uh-huh," he says.  Never breaking eye contact, he slides two fingers inside me, and my breath catches in my throat.  "I don't know about you, but I don't do what the hell I just did with you, with any of my friends."

“Mhmm.”  I have no response, not when he’s touching me like that.

"Get in the shower," he says, sliding his hand from between my legs.  "
Friend
."

I laugh.  "I hope you don’t shower with your friends."

“Well, I did play football,” he says, pressing me against the shower wall as soon as I step inside.  “But none of those guys were nearly as hot as you are naked.”

“I hope not,” I say before his mouth covers mine.  His hand slides along my naked body, slick with water, and I lose myself in his touch.  He spins me around, washing my body slowly, with a more careful touch than I’d expect.

I protest when he insists on washing my hair, but he pulls me tight against his wet body, his hardness pressed against my lower back, arm over my chest, kissing my ear until I’m barely able to think, let alone tell him no.  "Let me take care of you," he says, and I lean back against him, my eyes closing as he washes my hair.

He washes my freaking hair.

Slowly and...erotically.  I had no idea hair washing could in any way be sexy at all, but I swear Luke has a way of making everything pretty much the hottest thing ever.  He massages my head until I’m moaning at his touch, as the shower water runs over my body, taunting me, reminding me of the emptiness between my legs.

"Is this good?" he asks.

"Mhmm, good," I say, my words barely intelligible.

He chuckles, his mouth close to my ear.  The sound of his laughter is warm.  "Good," he says.

"So is this a younger guy thing?" I ask, goose bumps running up my back as he massages my neck, his hands moving down lower across my shoulders.

"Is what a younger guy thing?" he asks.

"Mmm, I don't know," I say, my voice soft.  "All of this.  The sex, the hair-washing.  The whole thinking-I'm-hot thing.”

He doesn’t speak yet.  Instead, he slides one arm around me, holding me against him while he reaches around between my legs, finding my clit.  His erection presses firmly against me, and the throbbing between my legs begs for his attention.  "I hope not," he says finally.  "Isn't that what...men your age...do?"

I choke out a laugh, partly at what he says and partly at his hesitating choice of words. 
Men my age.
  "Uh...no," I say.  "Not exactly."

He rubs my clit in circles, sending a thrill of arousal ricocheting through my body.  "Sweetheart, that's a
damn
shame," he says.  "And I do mean that."

Then he's kissing me, down my neck and my shoulders.  I’m dizzy, drunk with lust and fatigue.  "Condom," he whispers.  "Shit.  Hang on."

I only have to hang on for a minute, my fingers on my clit while he steps out of the shower, and when he returns and sees me touching myself, he groans.  "Fuck, Red," he says.

"What?"

"If I weren't so worked up already, I'd make you do that a while longer, just for me."

He's behind me, the way we were a moment ago, and when he enters me, I'm already swollen with arousal.  "Keep doing it," he whispers.  "Keep touching yourself while I fuck you."

"Do you like that?" I ask, as he fucks me, his movements perfect, bringing me higher and higher so quickly it takes my breath away.  "Me touching myself?"

"I fucking love it," he says.

So I tell him how I’ve touched myself, how I’ve fantasized about him, sliding my fingers inside me while I’ve thought about what I wanted him to do to me.  He growls, spinning me around and lifting me up to impale me on his cock, my back against the shower wall.  I wrap my arms and legs around him, clinging to him as he thrusts inside me.

And begging him to fuck me harder, whining for it.  Desperate for it.

"I had to see the look on your face when you came,” he says.  “I can't get enough of it."

"Shit, Luke, I'm so close.”

"Tell me what you thought about when you touched yourself," he says, his words punctuated by thrusts inside me.

"I thought about you," I say.  "I thought about your cock."

"Tell me what you thought about
exactly
, sweetheart," he says.  “I want to know.”

"I thought about your cock in my mouth," I tell him.  "I thought about sucking you."

"Oh shit," he groans, thrusting inside me, and I'm so close.  "You thought about me coming in that sweet mouth of yours?"

"I thought about you
fucking my mouth
," I say before he brings his mouth down on mine again.

"Shit, Red," he says.  "I can't get enough of fucking you.  I can't get enough of this tight pussy."

"Oh, God."  I'm slipping against the cold shower tile, water and shampoo running down my face, but all I can think about is how hard Luke’s cock is inside me, how swollen it feels, like it’s ready to explode.

He takes my lip between his teeth, biting down and sending a pang of pain through me, bringing me even closer to the edge of oblivion.  "Oh hell," he says.  "Are you going to come on me?  I want you to come on me, baby."

He doesn't even finish the sentence before I let go.  My orgasm triggers his, and I can feel him explode into me, shuddering as I cling to him, consumed by my own pleasure.

"Fuck," he says, looking up at me.  My heart is still pounding in my chest, my breath short.  "Some friend you are."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Luke

I lie on my stomach in Autumn’s bed, recovering from the last round of sex with her.  Her hand traces lazily along my back, fingertips brushing the scar.  I don’t know why I even told her about it.  It’s a part of myself I keep hidden away, locked up from anyone who knows me.

But Autumn...there's something odd about the way I’m so quickly comfortable with her.  It’s easy being with her, which is fucking strange because she’s probably the most tightly wound chick I’ve ever met.  But hell, I’ve never stayed in someone’s bed like this, fucking and hanging out and talking, without wanting to get the hell out of as I was finished getting off.

"Did you always want to be a smoke jumper?" she asks, her voice soft.

“Not really,” I say, looking at the small painting that hangs on the opposite wall, palm trees and water and bright colors.  I wonder if she lies here at night, looking at it.

“Not really?”

“Nope.”  How do I explain that I never imagined myself doing anything --
being
anything?  The Saint family’s name was shit in this town, and we weren’t supposed to amount to anything.  We were always outsiders here, and that was only worsened by my father’s shittiness. "I just needed a way out of this place.  I like being outdoors, working with my hands.  I like the land.  And the rush.  I always liked being on the edge.”

I leave the second half of that sentence unspoken -- because when you grow up the way I did, you never know if the next breath you take is going to be the last.  There’s something about that fact that just sits with you.  You get used to it.  And that’s how you live.

I don't say that part, because I think that part is pretty fucked up, and Autumn isn't the kind of person who would understand my particular brand of fucked up.

“You were running away,” she says.  When I roll over, she’s lying on her side, her head propped up on her hand.

I’m not sure if she’s talking about when I first left West Bend, or every day since then.  “I guess.”

“I ran away, and found this place,” she says.

“Who runs away to West Bend?" I ask, shaking my head.

She shrugs.  "It was an accident," she says.  "I didn't go out looking for West Bend."

"You threw a dart at a map or something?"

"Almost," she says, laughing.  "I ran out of gas."

"You ran out of gas, so you decided to stay?"

"I had kind of a meltdown," she says.

"A mid-life crisis, you mean."

"Shut up," she says, punching me in the arm.  "I'm not middle aged."

"Hey, you're the one who keeps going on and on all the time about how old you are," I say.

"I was having a shitty week," she says.  "Not a mid-life crisis."

"Must have been some week to land you in West Bend."

She laughs, but there's no joy in the sound this time.  "You could say that."

Then she tells me about her ex-husband, and how she walked in on him and his secretary, the same day her father died.  When she was going to tell him about her pregnancy.  And all I can think about is what a total asshole that guy must be, how fucking blind and stupid you have to be to miss what you have right in front of you when the woman with you is someone like Autumn.

"I just walked out," she says.  "I didn't have a plan.  Everything in my whole life has been planned out – the right schools, the right experiences – and I've never deviated from it.  That was the first time I've ever not had a plan."  She looks at me for a long moment.  "Except for now."

I've never had a plan for jack shit in my life, and Autumn was sure as hell not a part of my non-plan.  "Why the hell did you buy an orchard?" I ask.

"I ran out of gas right now the road from here," she says, grinning.  "And June, this girl – she owns a bed and breakfast right near here – gave me a lift down to the gas station.  When I saw the orchard, I made her pull over."

"So you just up and bought an orchard," I say.

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds crazy," she says.

"You're slightly more spontaneous than I thought you were."

"Thanks," she says, her tone sarcastic.  Then she's quiet for a minute.  "I needed a change.  My father left everything to my brother and I – my mother passed away a couple of years before.  We didn't agree on how to run the company anyway.  I let my brother buy me out.  He thought that my coming out here meant I'd really had a nervous breakdown or something, that I'd honestly lost my damn mind."

"Do you regret it?"  I ask.

"Coming here?" she asks.  "No.  I don't know anything about cider, or about orchards, not really.  But my whole life, I never took a leap of faith before that.  I'd never had to close my eyes and just jump."

Close your eyes and jump. 

"Besides, this place just gets under your skin after a while."

I look at her for a long time, before I reach out and brush a piece of auburn hair off her shoulder.  "Yes," I agree.  "You try to get away, but it never leaves you."

Autumn laughs.  "That just sounds creepy."

"It can go either way," I say.  "Good or bad."

"I don't know," she says.  "I like it here.  So many people are leaving, getting their properties bought up by that mining company, you know?  I thought about leaving, taking Olivia and going back to Kentucky.  But this place feels like my home."

"Yeah, they tried to buy my mother's property too," I say.

"But you're holding onto it," she says.  She doesn't ask anything else about my family, has the sense not to probe into things.

I exhale heavily.  "It's complicated."

"Things are never simple."

"My family is about as complicated as it gets," I say.  I don't say anything else.  I don't want to bring her into my bullshit.  I don't want to contaminate her with my family and whatever the hell is going on with this town.  She thinks of West Bend as this oasis, this perfect place isolated from the rest of the shit that happens outside of here.  She ran from enough bad shit in her life that she doesn't need mine.

I don't want to poison her.

My family is poison and I know it.

In fact, the best thing for her -- and for Olivia -- would probably be if I stayed way the hell away from her.  The trouble is, I’m not sure staying away from her is something I can do.