Wicked Sexy Liar
Page 62
Luke pushes into my mouth, so gently at first. I curl my hands around his hips and look up at him in a way I hope conveys what I want him to do. I don’t want him to think or censor himself, either.
“You want me to—” he starts to ask, and I moan around him. He starts to give himself over to it, spurred on by my sounds and the way I grip him tighter, encouraging him to use me.
His cock slips over my tongue, grazes occasionally against my teeth. Those moments seem to make it even better for him and he swears, fingers pressed against my jaw and my skull as he pushes himself in and out of my mouth.
“London, yes—oh, God, perfect,” he says, words stuttered out between shaky breaths. He braces one hand on the headboard just over my head and looks down at me as he moves. “Fuck, I’m not going to last.” His ass flexes beneath my hands and he’s shaking his head, like he’s sad it’s going to be over soon. “No. Fuck. Coming,” he gasps, and tries to pull away. “London, move. I don’t—”
I make a sound of protest and tighten my hold as he starts to come against my tongue. Up to this point he’s been so careful not to go too far but I hear him smack the wall overhead, grunting and swearing as I swallow around him.
He’s shaking when he finally falls to my side, hands greedy as he pulls me to him and kissing my chin, my mouth, and my nose. I look up to see that his eyes are closed, lashes curled against flushed cheeks. My jaw aches and my heart is pounding so hard he has to be able to feel it.
I want him to tell me he loves me again, but am also terrified of hearing it and being unable to believe him. I hold my breath as he shifts, leaning into my neck and exhaling a shaky breath. I already know it’s coming, though, and my heart seems to swell in my chest.
His voice is scratchy: “I really do love you.”
I anticipate the sensation of overflowing, of relief . . . but it doesn’t come, and I don’t know what to say.
So I tease Luke about practically collapsing after he comes, and he kisses me with sleepy lips and arms that seem to barely hold him up. He’s happy, and boneless, and falls back asleep within minutes.
* * *
I’M IN THE middle of a pretty big order when I hear someone yell his name. It’s only around eight o’clock, and a handful of his friends have been playing pool in the back for the last hour, but it’s like some group alarm has been tripped as soon as he steps into the bar and comes into view, and a bunch of them look up, shouting at him. There are a few girls I recognize now, a couple of guys I’m sure I’ve seen him with before, but only Not-Joe who I really know.
Luke waves in their direction but doesn’t stop, looping an arm around Not-Joe’s shoulder as he bypasses his friends completely and makes his way to the bar.
I put two beers on coasters as they take a seat, and line up a few wineglasses for another order. Luke looks happy and rested.
“Did you sleep all day?” I ask. Teasing him seems to be my default, and it calms the butterflies and nervous energy that have erupted since his arrival, brings me back to my baseline. His adorable, sheepish smile doesn’t hurt, either.
Not-Joe doesn’t really seem to get our inside joke, but he laughs just the same, happy to take part in any Operation Give Luke Shit he can find.
“I’m going to assume you tease me for the same reason Dylan here used to snap girls’ bras in gym class,” Luke says.
Not-Joe gives him a puzzled look. “Because she wants to see your boobs?”
Luke brings his beer to his lips and looks at me over the top of the bottle. “Something like that.”
I shake my head, feeling the resurgence of butterflies as I uncork a bottle of wine and fill the glasses. With a nod toward a waiting table, I pick up the tray and deliver the drinks, actually happy for a bit of breathing room away from his flirty smile and meaningful glances.
I don’t get much of a reprieve, however, because on my way out of Fred’s office with a spool of receipt tape only a few minutes later, I find Luke standing in the dark little hallway, waiting for me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even as he’s moving closer, crowding me into the corner.
“Am I allowed to do this?” he says, leaning in, mouth hovering just over mine.
My stomach does a somersault as I look up at him. “You’re asking?” I breathe, brain scrambled by his proximity.
“I’m not sure what the rules are,” he says, and pulls aside my shirt so he can bend and taste my collarbone. “Whether this is something I can do out there.” He motions back over his shoulder, but I know he means outside his bedroom, out in the real world. “Because I can think of only two things that would make me happier.”
“Two things? What are they?”
“One is falling asleep together in your bed, and the other is what we did this morning.”
Oh. He crowds into my space a little more and the words hang heavy and meaningful between us. I squeeze my thighs together, hoping to take the edge off the little ache I feel just thinking about what we did this morning, but it doesn’t help.
I know what he means but I want to keep him talking, keep him close to me. “You mean like if Fred is aroun—” I start to say, but he’s already shaking his head.
“I don’t mean Fred, I mean what do you want? Am I allowed to tell you you look pretty tonight? Am I allowed to kiss you hello? I really want to.”
I want him to, too, and so I nod with a shaky breath, thankful he’s pressed up against me or I’d probably be on the ground at his feet: a London puddle.
Luke smiles and brushes the end of his nose against mine. “Hi, Logan,” he says.
“Hi.”
His mouth is so close that I can taste his breath. He leans in, closing the space between us. It’s absolutely not a kiss that’s suitable for my place of business, all soft lips and slick tongue and warm hands moving everywhere. I wonder if I could pull him into the bathroom, lean against the wall, and ask him to fuck me all over again.
I’m about to ask when a door slams nearby and Luke pulls away, panting. “Holy shit.”
I can hear the phone ringing at the bar, the sound of customers talking, and calls from a football game playing on one of the overhead screens. I don’t care about any of it.
He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “You need to get back, and I’m going into the men’s room to rub one out.”
I laugh. “Okay,” I say. “But you’re staying?”
He nods, kissing me once more, a tiny, soft peck. “I’m staying.”
It starts to pick up again and Fred stays at the bar to help. Luke’s been back and forth between his group and up here with me, but when someone shouts his name, he points in their direction. “Think I’ll hang out and watch the game since you’re busy. What time are you off tonight?”
I fill up a shaker with ice and look up at him. “Same as always. We close at one.”
“Do you want to come back over? Shorter drive for you . . .”
“In need of another nap?”
He leans an elbow on the bar and looks up at me with wide, brown eyes. “With you? Always,” he says. “What time will you actually be able to cut out of here?”
Goose bumps rise along my skin at the idea of another morning waking up in his bed. “It might be later,” I say. “It depends on the cleanup.”
“Just let me know.” He looks around the bar and leans in a little closer. “I’d like to hear you make those sounds again,” he says, and my arm freezes, the bottle I’m pouring held in midair. “If I leave, you can text me when you head over. I’ll still be up. Okay?”
“You want me to—” he starts to ask, and I moan around him. He starts to give himself over to it, spurred on by my sounds and the way I grip him tighter, encouraging him to use me.
His cock slips over my tongue, grazes occasionally against my teeth. Those moments seem to make it even better for him and he swears, fingers pressed against my jaw and my skull as he pushes himself in and out of my mouth.
“London, yes—oh, God, perfect,” he says, words stuttered out between shaky breaths. He braces one hand on the headboard just over my head and looks down at me as he moves. “Fuck, I’m not going to last.” His ass flexes beneath my hands and he’s shaking his head, like he’s sad it’s going to be over soon. “No. Fuck. Coming,” he gasps, and tries to pull away. “London, move. I don’t—”
I make a sound of protest and tighten my hold as he starts to come against my tongue. Up to this point he’s been so careful not to go too far but I hear him smack the wall overhead, grunting and swearing as I swallow around him.
He’s shaking when he finally falls to my side, hands greedy as he pulls me to him and kissing my chin, my mouth, and my nose. I look up to see that his eyes are closed, lashes curled against flushed cheeks. My jaw aches and my heart is pounding so hard he has to be able to feel it.
I want him to tell me he loves me again, but am also terrified of hearing it and being unable to believe him. I hold my breath as he shifts, leaning into my neck and exhaling a shaky breath. I already know it’s coming, though, and my heart seems to swell in my chest.
His voice is scratchy: “I really do love you.”
I anticipate the sensation of overflowing, of relief . . . but it doesn’t come, and I don’t know what to say.
So I tease Luke about practically collapsing after he comes, and he kisses me with sleepy lips and arms that seem to barely hold him up. He’s happy, and boneless, and falls back asleep within minutes.
* * *
I’M IN THE middle of a pretty big order when I hear someone yell his name. It’s only around eight o’clock, and a handful of his friends have been playing pool in the back for the last hour, but it’s like some group alarm has been tripped as soon as he steps into the bar and comes into view, and a bunch of them look up, shouting at him. There are a few girls I recognize now, a couple of guys I’m sure I’ve seen him with before, but only Not-Joe who I really know.
Luke waves in their direction but doesn’t stop, looping an arm around Not-Joe’s shoulder as he bypasses his friends completely and makes his way to the bar.
I put two beers on coasters as they take a seat, and line up a few wineglasses for another order. Luke looks happy and rested.
“Did you sleep all day?” I ask. Teasing him seems to be my default, and it calms the butterflies and nervous energy that have erupted since his arrival, brings me back to my baseline. His adorable, sheepish smile doesn’t hurt, either.
Not-Joe doesn’t really seem to get our inside joke, but he laughs just the same, happy to take part in any Operation Give Luke Shit he can find.
“I’m going to assume you tease me for the same reason Dylan here used to snap girls’ bras in gym class,” Luke says.
Not-Joe gives him a puzzled look. “Because she wants to see your boobs?”
Luke brings his beer to his lips and looks at me over the top of the bottle. “Something like that.”
I shake my head, feeling the resurgence of butterflies as I uncork a bottle of wine and fill the glasses. With a nod toward a waiting table, I pick up the tray and deliver the drinks, actually happy for a bit of breathing room away from his flirty smile and meaningful glances.
I don’t get much of a reprieve, however, because on my way out of Fred’s office with a spool of receipt tape only a few minutes later, I find Luke standing in the dark little hallway, waiting for me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even as he’s moving closer, crowding me into the corner.
“Am I allowed to do this?” he says, leaning in, mouth hovering just over mine.
My stomach does a somersault as I look up at him. “You’re asking?” I breathe, brain scrambled by his proximity.
“I’m not sure what the rules are,” he says, and pulls aside my shirt so he can bend and taste my collarbone. “Whether this is something I can do out there.” He motions back over his shoulder, but I know he means outside his bedroom, out in the real world. “Because I can think of only two things that would make me happier.”
“Two things? What are they?”
“One is falling asleep together in your bed, and the other is what we did this morning.”
Oh. He crowds into my space a little more and the words hang heavy and meaningful between us. I squeeze my thighs together, hoping to take the edge off the little ache I feel just thinking about what we did this morning, but it doesn’t help.
I know what he means but I want to keep him talking, keep him close to me. “You mean like if Fred is aroun—” I start to say, but he’s already shaking his head.
“I don’t mean Fred, I mean what do you want? Am I allowed to tell you you look pretty tonight? Am I allowed to kiss you hello? I really want to.”
I want him to, too, and so I nod with a shaky breath, thankful he’s pressed up against me or I’d probably be on the ground at his feet: a London puddle.
Luke smiles and brushes the end of his nose against mine. “Hi, Logan,” he says.
“Hi.”
His mouth is so close that I can taste his breath. He leans in, closing the space between us. It’s absolutely not a kiss that’s suitable for my place of business, all soft lips and slick tongue and warm hands moving everywhere. I wonder if I could pull him into the bathroom, lean against the wall, and ask him to fuck me all over again.
I’m about to ask when a door slams nearby and Luke pulls away, panting. “Holy shit.”
I can hear the phone ringing at the bar, the sound of customers talking, and calls from a football game playing on one of the overhead screens. I don’t care about any of it.
He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “You need to get back, and I’m going into the men’s room to rub one out.”
I laugh. “Okay,” I say. “But you’re staying?”
He nods, kissing me once more, a tiny, soft peck. “I’m staying.”
It starts to pick up again and Fred stays at the bar to help. Luke’s been back and forth between his group and up here with me, but when someone shouts his name, he points in their direction. “Think I’ll hang out and watch the game since you’re busy. What time are you off tonight?”
I fill up a shaker with ice and look up at him. “Same as always. We close at one.”
“Do you want to come back over? Shorter drive for you . . .”
“In need of another nap?”
He leans an elbow on the bar and looks up at me with wide, brown eyes. “With you? Always,” he says. “What time will you actually be able to cut out of here?”
Goose bumps rise along my skin at the idea of another morning waking up in his bed. “It might be later,” I say. “It depends on the cleanup.”
“Just let me know.” He looks around the bar and leans in a little closer. “I’d like to hear you make those sounds again,” he says, and my arm freezes, the bottle I’m pouring held in midair. “If I leave, you can text me when you head over. I’ll still be up. Okay?”
