The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(37)

“Got it. So why don’t you have a man on your arm?” I laugh, but my mind is still hazy from that touch, that look.

“I study men for a living.”

“Got that.”

“So I see the worst of them. Hell, look at my father and his brothers. My grandfather.” He nods as if he’s saying that’s valid.

“But you also find the good ones, right?”

“I match the ones who suck the least.” The big belly laugh comes, the sound sending a thrill down my spine and warmth to my belly. I could listen to it all day.

“Are we all that bad?” he asks as he gets the second zipper down, easier this time, but the movement makes me sway. His hand goes to my hip to steady me as the other removes the boot. Is it in my head or does his hand touch even more bare flesh this time, grazing more intentionally?

It’s confirmed when as he stands, hand still on my hip, the other hand skimming all the way up my bare leg, just barely dipping underneath the hem of my sweater dress. Then he’s standing in front of me, one hand on my hip, one on my neck, underneath my hair, his nose just shy of mine, his breaths mingling with my own. It should scare me, knowing I’m this close to a man, knowing that he’s already kissed me once before and might again.

That I could so easily picture myself giving this man it all and not walking away from the wreckage he’d leave in one piece.

But then his eyes soften, his lips brushing mine as he asks once more, “Am I that bad?”

I should answer yes.

Yes, he’s that bad.

Or, no, he’s worse.

He’s worse because I can’t find that flaw. I can’t find the one thing that would turn off this attraction to him. I can’t find a single reason to push him away, protect myself, and ask him to leave. The one reason to put him in my files and set him up with someone else. To walk away and never see him again until it’s in a wedding announcement sent to the office.

Instead, I just say, “No.” It comes out in the breathiest voice, nearly silent, but when I answer, his breath hitches sharply, his pupils blowing out before burning with fire, and then it happens. His hand presses on my neck, bringing my lips to his, and he kisses me.

It’s not like the last time, soft and sweet.

I mean, it is. I’m sure everything about Lucas Dawson is tinged in sweetness. But… this is rough. And needy. His mouth crushes to mine, the hand on my neck going up into my hair and tugging slightly, the hand on my hip pulling me closer to him until I can feel he’s enjoying this kiss just as much as I am. When I press my body further into his, into his hardness, he groans, the sound reverberating through my entire body, making the hairs on my bare legs raise, and my inner sex fiend wakes up before clapping and cheering. The uptight librarian, who might talk some sense into me, is missing, probably locked in a closet by the sex fiend.

But that’s why, when Luke lifts me, forcing my legs around his waist and my center to right where his cock is, I grind down, loving the thrill that runs through me and the groan I pull from him again.

“Shit, Cass. Bedroom?” I stare at him for long moments. “You say no and this ends. You say no, I’m out that door, and you won’t have to deal with me again. But you say yes, and I’m carrying you to your room and fucking you until you don’t have any headspace left to overthink how fuckin’ good this is between us.”

And maybe it’s the stress of getting my boot off or the emotions close to the surface from talking about my dad or the feel of him beneath me. Maybe it’s realizing I’ve been lonely for years and shutting myself off. Or maybe it’s just Luke being Luke.

But no matter the reason, I nod, giving him the permission he needs. His lips press to mine hard, like he’s sharing the gratitude before he breaks the kiss, carrying me to my room.

Once there, he tosses me onto the bed, and I can’t help but let out a small giggle as I bounce. He follows me onto the bed, caging me in with his arms with a playful smile on his face. For a moment, a quick moment, I instantly hide away in the recesses of my mind, wondering if we keep this up, and it doesn’t end, would it always be like this? If he’d always be playful, always trying to make me laugh.

But I throw the thought away quickly.

Especially when a rough hand, callused with hard, manual labor, reaches down to my knee, slowly creeping in and up, feather-light on my soft skin. Up, up, the hand trails, my breath catching with each millimeter he goes as I wonder where he’ll go next, where he’ll stop. His thumb dips over, grazing the very edge of my panties where they crease into my hip before continuing up, up, dragging my dress with it. Over the waistband of my panties, where he tugs them to the side and snaps them back. My pulse jumps with the move, my clit pushing with the sudden assault to my senses. His smile grows before his eyes go back down between us to watch the hand hidden under my tight cream sweater dress. Eyes going to the expanse of skin he’s meticulously revealing.

The thumb hits the lacy strap of my bra, dipping under the band then moving to the under wire, softly grazing the underside of my breast. I hold my breath, anticipating… more. More of his hands on me, my back arching slightly to tell him my needs, my wants, but he just chuckles lightly before moving the hand again, leaving and moving towards my arm until he’s helping me pull the fabric down my arm, over my head, and the dress off my body.

And then I’m lying on my bed in a matching pair of purple, lacy panties and bra, displayed before him for his judgment or adoration.