My image blurs, then sharpens again as I blink the tears away. To see myself like this is overwhelming, probably because Luke has captured me in exquisite detail. My heartbeat triples as I study the canvas. The portrait feels almost alive, like the woman in front of me has a soul. She’s smiling, but there’s sadness just beyond the spark in her eyes. How did he do that? As Luke pulls me closer, syncs his breathing with mine, I realize that it’s not the art itself that overwhelms me. Terrifies me. It’s knowing that no matter how hard I try to hide, Luke Poulos sees the real me.
Elle,
Why aren’t you responding? Are you really that pissed that I’d want to see Dad? Call me. Please.
Love you for infinity,
A
It's art. It’s just art. Nothing more.
I’m glad he’s standing behind me. I need to collect myself. Swallow the lump in my throat, steady my breath. He can’t see me this shaky. This exposed.
But that's the problem. It's too late. He's already seen past the walls you've spent years building. And somehow, he's still here.
“Come here.” Gently, he rests his hands on my shoulders and turns me until I’m facing him. When he concerned, the blue in his eyes darkens to a near-gray. “Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah. Of course.” A crack threads its way through my voice.
“Here. Come sit down.” There’s a brass lamp in the back corner, but when Luke tries to turn it on, the bulb makes a popping sound and goes dark.
“I’m fine. Really,” I protest. I don’t know if I want to bury my face in his chest or turn and run.
“Okay. Just sit for a second.” Luke sits on the edge of the overstuffed leather couch, then pulls me down next to him. “Listen.” He looks at me, then at the floor. “I loved making the thing, but if it’s too much or too weird or if you really
are
into that sexy son-of-a-bitch in the math department—”
“No.” I cut him off, surprised at the strength in my voice. “I l
ove
it, Luke.” I don’t know how to explain why my entire body is trembling. How to tell him that no one’s ever seen me like he does. That it's terrifying, and feels so fucking good that it scares me.
So I kiss him. Cup the base of his skull in my hands and kiss him, hard. And everything in me lights up when he kisses me back.
When the kiss ends, Luke pauses. I can feel him studying me. His breathing is heavy as he takes in my eyes, my mouth. My neck. On any other night, I’d look away or make a joke or change the subject. Anything to keep him from getting too close. But the connection between us is magnetic, a force so strong it feels unbreakable.
“Luke,” I whisper. “I’m—” I don’t know how to finish the thought.
Broken. Flawed. Scared.
“Beautiful?” he finishes. “Strong?” Softly, he kisses my bottom lip, sending a flood of desire rushing through me. I move close enough to feel the heat from his body. I want more. More of him, more of the connection between us. Existing in my own skin isn’t enough anymore. I need to be part of him.
"I've wanted you since the first night we met." His breath makes my lips tingle. "Since the reception. I saw you looking at that painting. The Klimt, remember?"
I smile. Hearing Luke talk about that night is sexy. "Remind me?" I tease. "I go to so many receptions. Meet so many guitarists."
"Well,
this
guitarist was standing off to the side of the room, watching you watch art." He drags his index finger down my throat and between my breasts. They ache in response. I want him to touch me everywhere. "And you just had this look on your face, like you were excited and scared and lost, all at the same time."
"I was." My lids flutter open. "And then I saw this very cute guy, and he could actually talk about art in a real way, and later I found out that he killed on the acoustic guitar. And I felt a little less lost."
But not less excited. And definitely not less scared.
"Hey, that's me."
"Yeah. That's you. I thought you were hired to play the party, by the way."
He laughs. "Seriously? Hope I didn't ruin your hired help fantasy."
"Nah." I shake my head, not wanting to look away, or even blink. I don't want to interrupt the sight of him.
Suddenly, his expression turns serious. Heavy. “I want to take my time with you, Elle." His voice is raspy. "But I don't think I can wait any longer."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He traces my jaw with the tips of his fingers. Then my collarbone. My skin rises in goose bumps as his fingers map my arms, my hips, my knees. He slips a warm, strong hand beneath my t-shirt, resting his palm on my stomach. I know he can feel the quick pulse of my heart, throbbing through my entire body.
"Wait." I peel off my shirt, tossing it on the floor before I remember which bra I’m wearing. A sports bra. Hot pink, with a definitely noticeable hole under the left armpit.
Oh, God. This is not how this
is supposed to go.
But Luke doesn't even pause. He just tugs the bra over my head, freeing my breasts. Then he stands up. In a single decisive move, he grabs my hips and pulls, hard. And suddenly, I’m flat on my back. The leather is thick and rich and soft against my skin. And Luke is above me, the candlelight bathing his perfect face in gold and shadow. He kneels next to me, and my legs part instinctively. My body won't allow my mind to overthink this; to sabotage us.
Luke slides his palm over my waistband and between my legs. He presses the heel of his hand exactly where I need him to, and rubs in slow, pressured circles. Already, my center is starting to tighten. I can't let go so quickly. I don't want to. I want to make this feeling last as long as possible. Reaching over my head, I claw at the thick, soft arm of the sofa. I need something to ground me before Luke's touch sends me spiraling out of control.
As if he can read me, he stops.
"Tease," I breathe, feeling a smile spread over my lips.
He shakes his head. "I told you. I want to go slow with you. Until you tell me otherwise." Hooking his fingers under the waistband of my pants, he drags them down. I raise my hips toward the ceiling and kick them off. Exhale, trying to slow my heart. The only thing between me and being completely, totally exposed are my black lace boy shorts. Strangely, though, I'm not panicking. Not reaching for my clothes or making an excuse or even worrying about what Luke thinks about me naked. Because I
know
from the way he looks at me. He looks at me like he wants to be inside me. Like he wants to take care of me; like I don't have to be this strong, unbreakable rock anymore. He looks at me like I can let go and still be safe.
He bends over me, kissing my breasts and my stomach. And then his perfect lips are grazing the thin fabric between my thighs. He pushes the lace away and covers me with his mouth.
I reach for him; run my hands through his thick waves as he explores me with his tongue. Then his fingers, which he slips inside me without missing a beat. My body is buzzing, bucking beneath his touch as he settles into a perfect, easy rhythm. Slowly, everything in me starts to coil again, until I'm wound so tight I know I'm about to explode.
"Luke." My voice is breathy and thin, and I try again. Stronger this time. "Luke.”
He stops again. “Not yet.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Not yet,” he says again. “You’ll come when I want you to come.”
“Yes,” I whisper. I have no idea how he can take charge like this and still be so sweet, so sensitive. And I don’t care. I care only that my body is on fire for him. I want every inch of him.
“Sit,” I order.
Without a word, he settles onto the couch. Clumsily, I undo the buttons on his shirt. I don't know how to do this; it's been too long. But he doesn't seem to notice. He shrugs off his shirt, then lets me peel off his undershirt.
His chest is solid and warm. I ran my hands over him, and he pulls me in to a tight hug and envelops my mouth again. I can taste myself in his mouth; can feel the beat of his heart inside his chest.
Hungrily, I undo the button and zipper on his jeans. Pull them off with the boxers underneath, and he's more naked than I am. And so fucking beautiful, the sight of him takes my breath away.
"You okay?" he whispers.
I nod, without taking my eyes away from him. It's almost impossible to believe that he sees me, knows me, and wants me still. That I could do this to his body.
He starts to say something, but stops the second I lower my mouth to taste him. Lightly, I trace the tip with my tongue. Then I take in as much of him as possible, sliding my lips and tongue along his length until he groans my name.
"I have to have you. Now," he murmurs urgently.
"Take me, Luke. All of me." The thought of giving myself to Luke makes my body shake with anticipation. For the last six months-- much longer, really—I've been totally empty, with nothing more to give to anyone. And yet the idea of giving myself to Luke now is thrilling. Being with him fills me up instead of depleting me.
Without another word, he pulls me onto his lap and guides himself inside me. Our lips almost touching, our breath perfectly synced.
I moan. I can't help it. He feels too good. I wrap my arms around him and he holds me so tight, we dissolve into each other.
"Look at me. Don't ever stop looking at me,” he says.
"Promise," I whisper, locking my eyes with his. The depths of the blue surprise me every time. Slowly, I lift my hips until he's no longer inside me. And just as slowly, I lower myself onto him again. And again. Is it possible for him to feel better every time?
"I want to bury myself inside you, Elle." Without breaking my gaze, Luke slides me onto my back and positions himself between my legs. The feeling of his weight on me is reassuring.
I'm here. He's here. We're real.
I trace his lower lip with my thumb as he starts to move. He fucks me so slowly my desire is almost painful. I claw at his back, pulling him in deep.
"Please." The word is a near-whisper. Vapor rising from my lips. I'm not even sure if I've spoken it aloud, until I feel him responding. With every thrust, he penetrates my soul in a way I never thought possible. My body opens. I grip his face in my hands as he moves faster. I want to hold his gaze, but I'm not sure I can handle the intensity. It's overpowering; spreads through me and settles at my very core. Building.
A cry escapes my lips as we move together, faster and faster. I am close to the edge, everything in me tight and tingling and ready for the release. I want to shatter in his arms. I know he'll hold the pieces.
"Luke—"
"Come with me." He reads my mind, my body. We unravel together, tumbling into each other. All heat and flesh and soul.
“So I have to ignore you entirely just to get you to talk to me?” Despite the miles between us, it feels like Aria’s standing in my classroom. Her anger is palpable, even over the phone. “That’s fucked up, Elle.”
“I know. I know.” I close my classroom door and turn on the lights. Unnecessary, since the morning outside my window is crisp and clear and bathed in nearly blinding sunlight. I turn the lights off again and deposit my coffee and keys on my desk. “I’m really, really sorry, A.”
“Not good enough,” she snaps. “I’m still pissed.”
“I know.” I sink into my desk chair, knowing I should feel worse about leaving Aria hanging like this. But it’s physically impossible for me to feel anxious or guilty about anything right now. It’s as if making love to Luke erased those emotions from my mind and body entirely. I haven’t felt this relaxed, this content, in years. “And you have every right to be.”
“Don’t patronize me. You’re patronizing me.”
I hope she can’t feel my smile over the phone. Because I’m not laughing at her, not really. When she gets like this, I can hear the petulant little girl in her voice. It makes me feel like we’re kids again. Reminds me of a time when we believed everything would always be okay.
“I’m not. I swear.” I lean back in my chair, propping the ankle booties I borrowed from Gwen on my desk and smoothing my black maxi skirt. “Tell me how to make it up to you.”
“Let me come down there. Stay with you for a while.” She answers so quickly, she almost cuts me off. The desperation in her voice hurts my heart.
“Aria.”
“Don’t say my name like that. I hate it when you say my name like that.” Her voice cracks.
“It’s just that you know that wouldn’t be a good idea.”
For either of us.
I can’t have Aria down here. If she ever found out that I’ve been lying about my past—about
our
past— she’d hate me. She’s never forgive me. And isn’t our relationship one of the only constants in her life right now? One of the only things that keeps her sane enough to deal with her reality?
“Why not? Give me one good reason.”
“School, for one thing.” I hate the way I sound right now. Uncaring, cold. Like our mother. “You’ve only got one more year, and then you’re free. If you come down here, you’d jeopardize that. How would it look that you just quit school at the beginning of your senior year?”
“So I’ll enroll at your school. I could stay with you and finish up there.” It’s clear she’s thought about this. Practiced her argument a million times.
“They couldn’t accept you in the middle of the year, A,” I say pleadingly. I can feel the tension starting to build in my shoulders. So much for my fleeting moment of relaxation. “Really, the best thing for you is to stay up there, finish out the year, and then you can go wherever you want. But you have to graduate first.”
“Screw you and your fucking rules, Elle. You’re not my goddamned mother. I already have one who’s shittier at it than you are. Or have you forgotten already?”
I brace myself against the sting of her words, even though I deserve them. If she knew my real reasons for keeping her at a distance, she’d say much worse. Or she’d say nothing at all, which scares me even more.
“Aria.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that,” she mumbles.