Wicked Sexy Liar
Page 70
No one else will make him come.
No one else will hear him say I love you.
Luke’s lips move up my neck to my jaw and he lets out a helpless sound as I stroke up, and down, bending to nibble on his bottom lip.
A quiet groan rumbles down his chest. “What are you thinking about? You’re being so quiet all of a sudden.”
“I’m thinking that you’re mine,” I whisper.
He pulls back, looks between our bodies, at my hand fisted around him. “Fucking all yours.”
We watch what I’m doing for a few more beats of silence.
“What are you going to do with me?” he asks, looking back up at my face.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Touch me, kiss me.” He lies back down and shrugs a little against the pillow. “I don’t know. I want to do it all.”
My stomach tightens from the way he watches with wide, intense eyes.
I shift closer, feeling his cock slide over me and he hums, smiling. “This works. You could get yourself off like this and let me watch you come.” His grin widens. “I sure do like to watch you come, Miss London.”
I smile down at him, tracing the line of his collarbone with my fingertip. “You’re my favorite.”
His eyes widen playfully. “Your favorite of anyone?”
Something fills my chest, climbs up my throat. I nod, unable to agree out loud because it’s true. He is my favorite person in the world. “You’re so sweet to me.”
“Well, I would hope so. I love you.” He smiles again when he says it, and the way his eyes turn down a little at the corners just as his mouth turns up makes my heart trip over itself.
“I know you do. I feel it.” I bend, kissing him. My heart peeks over the ledge and sees nothing but wide-open air. “I love you, too.”
He stops breathing, his thighs tense beneath me. “You don’t have—”
I cut him off. “I’m not just saying it because you did. You know I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.”
It hurts and it soothes just watching Luke struggle with this much emotion. His eyes are tight; he swallows a few times.
“Yeah?” he manages, finally, but his voice still comes out a little strangled.
I nod. “I love you.”
I know without a doubt I never felt this sort of bone-deep comfort with Justin, and even his widest smile never made me melt the way a single, flirty glance from Luke can.
His eyes search mine for a few, jagged breaths. “London?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you move to Berkeley with me?”
My blood turns to smoke, muscles dissolve. I knew this was coming, at least the inevitable choice of moving together or navigating the distance.
He’s watching my mouth, not for my answer but because I’m smiling. I can tell he doesn’t know what it means, though, and his eyes grow anxious.
I lean in, kissing him.
“No, babe, stop.” He holds me back with one hand curled around my shoulder and my heart trips. He called me babe. Not the intentional teasing of Logan or Dimples, but something instinctive, something that rolled reflexively off his tongue.
“Be real with me right now,” he continues. “The idea of being up there if you’re down here . . . I can still choose UCSD.”
I meet his eyes and they’re not smiling, but they’re clear. I see for the first time that his left eye is a little lighter than his right, and it occurs to me that I will never forget this detail about him. Every time we are together, we are collecting these things that make up this amazing Us, and this one makes my throat grow tight with suppressed tears.
He called me babe.
His eyes are two different colors.
He wants me to move with him to Berkeley.
“I’ll move.”
His eyes flash wide. “What?”
“I’ll move to Berkeley with you,” I tell him. “I want you to go to your first choice. I don’t want to be apart.”
“You’ll live with me?”
My chest flips at this enormous detail. “Yeah. I mean, assuming that’s the situation you meant. We can get separate places instead.”
“No,” he blurts, quickly shaking his head. “That’s what I meant. Living together.” His head jerks back in sudden skepticism. “Wait. Seriously? You’re serious?”
I bite back a giddy laugh. “Yes, I’m serious.”
“You love me and you’re moving with me?”
I can barely handle his adorable mania. Bending, I slide my lips over his. “I love you and I’m moving with you.”
Speaking against my mouth, he mumbles, “Holy fuck. Now we’re going to have sex for the first time in this bed. How am I going to last long enough to make sure you come first?”
I laugh harder, and he shakes his head, rolling on top of me, settling between my legs. “I’m serious. I’ve never been so excited,” he babbles. His cock presses against my clit and I can barely focus on what he’s saying; he’s so warm, so rigid. “My heart is about to explode. I’m inarticulate. And my penis is too happy to adequately satisfy you right now. I get live-in London. I get shared-bed London. I get to—”
I stretch to cover his mouth with mine, arching my hips, and his cock is there, just there, and when I shift, the tip moves inside. His surprised inhale is jagged as he slides into me so easily, and without any more negotiation he’s moving, curling his hips over me, demanding and greedy. I feel him there—I feel him everywhere—and the intensity of our decision, the idea of having a bed that is ours, a routine that is ours, a love that is ours makes my body hypersensitive, my skin feel tight and too hot. I push up into him, working my body on his, wanting him deeper and faster, harder, too. Last night was all about slow: he kissed me everywhere, made love to me in nearly every position I could imagine, but tonight we are fast, immediately sealing the deal we’ve just made.
He rises up over me, cupping my bent knees and spreading my legs wider, opening me completely to him. Nothing is more intimate than how he watches, how he stares at where he disappears inside me over and over and over. I reach down, touching him, touching myself, feeling it all: wet and heat, hard driving into soft.
I raise my eyes to his face and realize he’s looking right at me, gauging my reaction to all of this, and I know now what’s more intimate than the way he watched himself moving in me, it’s this: Luke studying my face while he makes love to me. His eyes are glued to mine as the pleasure starts small and then grows, and grows, until I feel it hooking me, dragging me to that point of no return and I’m unable to look away, and nothing—nothing—is more exposed than staring right into his eyes as I let myself fall to pieces. Luke’s lips part in awe and he nods in encouragement as pleasure takes over my senses and I beg him quietly, senselessly—
I’m
Luke, it’s
it’s so
close oh, fuck, I’m close
—his eyes narrowed nearly in pain as he concentrates on getting me there. But my orgasm fully crashes into me and each of my sharp sounds of relief causes a tiny bit of his brow to relax until he’s smiling, grinning so wide, nearly laughing at how I clutch at him, at how wild I am. A million tiny explosions pulse between my legs, up my back, in my throat as I’m crying out, a garbled mess of words.
I stare up at him, going limp, and his mouth opens wider, like he wants to say something, but instead he just bends, kissing me—messy and bobbing as he moves with renewed intent—and that elated smile straightens into focus.
No one else will hear him say I love you.
Luke’s lips move up my neck to my jaw and he lets out a helpless sound as I stroke up, and down, bending to nibble on his bottom lip.
A quiet groan rumbles down his chest. “What are you thinking about? You’re being so quiet all of a sudden.”
“I’m thinking that you’re mine,” I whisper.
He pulls back, looks between our bodies, at my hand fisted around him. “Fucking all yours.”
We watch what I’m doing for a few more beats of silence.
“What are you going to do with me?” he asks, looking back up at my face.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Touch me, kiss me.” He lies back down and shrugs a little against the pillow. “I don’t know. I want to do it all.”
My stomach tightens from the way he watches with wide, intense eyes.
I shift closer, feeling his cock slide over me and he hums, smiling. “This works. You could get yourself off like this and let me watch you come.” His grin widens. “I sure do like to watch you come, Miss London.”
I smile down at him, tracing the line of his collarbone with my fingertip. “You’re my favorite.”
His eyes widen playfully. “Your favorite of anyone?”
Something fills my chest, climbs up my throat. I nod, unable to agree out loud because it’s true. He is my favorite person in the world. “You’re so sweet to me.”
“Well, I would hope so. I love you.” He smiles again when he says it, and the way his eyes turn down a little at the corners just as his mouth turns up makes my heart trip over itself.
“I know you do. I feel it.” I bend, kissing him. My heart peeks over the ledge and sees nothing but wide-open air. “I love you, too.”
He stops breathing, his thighs tense beneath me. “You don’t have—”
I cut him off. “I’m not just saying it because you did. You know I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.”
It hurts and it soothes just watching Luke struggle with this much emotion. His eyes are tight; he swallows a few times.
“Yeah?” he manages, finally, but his voice still comes out a little strangled.
I nod. “I love you.”
I know without a doubt I never felt this sort of bone-deep comfort with Justin, and even his widest smile never made me melt the way a single, flirty glance from Luke can.
His eyes search mine for a few, jagged breaths. “London?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you move to Berkeley with me?”
My blood turns to smoke, muscles dissolve. I knew this was coming, at least the inevitable choice of moving together or navigating the distance.
He’s watching my mouth, not for my answer but because I’m smiling. I can tell he doesn’t know what it means, though, and his eyes grow anxious.
I lean in, kissing him.
“No, babe, stop.” He holds me back with one hand curled around my shoulder and my heart trips. He called me babe. Not the intentional teasing of Logan or Dimples, but something instinctive, something that rolled reflexively off his tongue.
“Be real with me right now,” he continues. “The idea of being up there if you’re down here . . . I can still choose UCSD.”
I meet his eyes and they’re not smiling, but they’re clear. I see for the first time that his left eye is a little lighter than his right, and it occurs to me that I will never forget this detail about him. Every time we are together, we are collecting these things that make up this amazing Us, and this one makes my throat grow tight with suppressed tears.
He called me babe.
His eyes are two different colors.
He wants me to move with him to Berkeley.
“I’ll move.”
His eyes flash wide. “What?”
“I’ll move to Berkeley with you,” I tell him. “I want you to go to your first choice. I don’t want to be apart.”
“You’ll live with me?”
My chest flips at this enormous detail. “Yeah. I mean, assuming that’s the situation you meant. We can get separate places instead.”
“No,” he blurts, quickly shaking his head. “That’s what I meant. Living together.” His head jerks back in sudden skepticism. “Wait. Seriously? You’re serious?”
I bite back a giddy laugh. “Yes, I’m serious.”
“You love me and you’re moving with me?”
I can barely handle his adorable mania. Bending, I slide my lips over his. “I love you and I’m moving with you.”
Speaking against my mouth, he mumbles, “Holy fuck. Now we’re going to have sex for the first time in this bed. How am I going to last long enough to make sure you come first?”
I laugh harder, and he shakes his head, rolling on top of me, settling between my legs. “I’m serious. I’ve never been so excited,” he babbles. His cock presses against my clit and I can barely focus on what he’s saying; he’s so warm, so rigid. “My heart is about to explode. I’m inarticulate. And my penis is too happy to adequately satisfy you right now. I get live-in London. I get shared-bed London. I get to—”
I stretch to cover his mouth with mine, arching my hips, and his cock is there, just there, and when I shift, the tip moves inside. His surprised inhale is jagged as he slides into me so easily, and without any more negotiation he’s moving, curling his hips over me, demanding and greedy. I feel him there—I feel him everywhere—and the intensity of our decision, the idea of having a bed that is ours, a routine that is ours, a love that is ours makes my body hypersensitive, my skin feel tight and too hot. I push up into him, working my body on his, wanting him deeper and faster, harder, too. Last night was all about slow: he kissed me everywhere, made love to me in nearly every position I could imagine, but tonight we are fast, immediately sealing the deal we’ve just made.
He rises up over me, cupping my bent knees and spreading my legs wider, opening me completely to him. Nothing is more intimate than how he watches, how he stares at where he disappears inside me over and over and over. I reach down, touching him, touching myself, feeling it all: wet and heat, hard driving into soft.
I raise my eyes to his face and realize he’s looking right at me, gauging my reaction to all of this, and I know now what’s more intimate than the way he watched himself moving in me, it’s this: Luke studying my face while he makes love to me. His eyes are glued to mine as the pleasure starts small and then grows, and grows, until I feel it hooking me, dragging me to that point of no return and I’m unable to look away, and nothing—nothing—is more exposed than staring right into his eyes as I let myself fall to pieces. Luke’s lips part in awe and he nods in encouragement as pleasure takes over my senses and I beg him quietly, senselessly—
I’m
Luke, it’s
it’s so
close oh, fuck, I’m close
—his eyes narrowed nearly in pain as he concentrates on getting me there. But my orgasm fully crashes into me and each of my sharp sounds of relief causes a tiny bit of his brow to relax until he’s smiling, grinning so wide, nearly laughing at how I clutch at him, at how wild I am. A million tiny explosions pulse between my legs, up my back, in my throat as I’m crying out, a garbled mess of words.
I stare up at him, going limp, and his mouth opens wider, like he wants to say something, but instead he just bends, kissing me—messy and bobbing as he moves with renewed intent—and that elated smile straightens into focus.
