The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(63)

“Beautiful. All woman.” His thumb grazes the skin, the skin I hate, before moving down, a thumb moving through my short curls to where I know I’m wet. My hips buck, and a finger drifts through the wetness, spreading it over my clit. “God, always so fuckin’ wet for me. Is this for me, Cassie?”

“Yes, God. Yes.” Chuckles against my neck, the breath hot and stimulating as a single finger enters me, thick and stretching me.

“Yeah, Cassie. This is all mine. All fuckin’ mine. I’m keeping it, you hear me? Keeping you. Keeping this fuckin’ beauty for myself.” I shake my head, be it from his words or the pleasure ratcheting through me, I’m not sure, But now his thumb is strumming my clit, building me higher. “I am, Cass. You keep fooling yourself, telling yourself what you need to. But I’m keeping you. This is mine, not letting any other man have it.” I moan his name, and he sinks his finger deeper, harder.

“Look.” My eyes, still closed, remain so, regardless of his clear demand. He’s no longer gently asking. “Look, Cassie. Look at you.” I shake my head, keeping my eyes closed, my mind locked on the shards of pleasure shooting through my body with the movement of his hands. My head falls back to the shoulder behind me, his warm, bare chest a wall keeping me from collapsing under the pleasure. “Look, Cassie.” The words this time come with the pausing of his hands, the final straw to make me open my eyes.

It takes a bit for my vision to focus, but once it does, my eyes lock to Luke’s in the mirror, the dim lights of the room casting devious shadows on his face. He is handsome and wrapped in a mix of determination and lust.

“Look at yourself, Cassie.”

“I need your hand, Luke.”

“You need to look at yourself.” I spend an eternity staring at him, his fingers moving on me, his eyes encouraging me to be brave. Finally, my eyes break from his, grazing over the image in the mirror. My naked body perched on the edge of the bed, long legs ending in strappy gold heels sprawled wide. My core exposed, covered only by the strong fingers pressing on my clit once again, rolling. I focus there, my concentration returning, the heat rising one again at the sight of those strong fingers.

“What do you see?”

“What?” My words are breathy, my mind scrambled.

“What do you see, Cassie?”

“I see… you. Touching me.”

“What else?” His breath is heavy, the other hand now running from my hip to my ribs, back down, over and over, a thumb grazing my soft belly. His pinky finger caresses the roll where my hips meet belly, the spot I work endlessly to cure. Up, up to the ribs where I constantly check to see if my bra is bulging. Rough fingers graze over my breast, too large and awkward and striped with stretch marks from growing too fast. Nipples I’ve thought in private to be too dark and too wide. His breath reaches my neck again. “What else, Cassie?” I don’t say anything, trying to figure out what he’s asking, what answer he’s really searching for.

Watching his hand, tanned and rough, scarred and stained from hard work, I’m seeing myself in a different light. A match. Together, it’s like a gorgeous photo, a glorious depiction of opposites fitting together.

“Don’t you see it? Don’t you see how fucking beautiful you are? Absolutely perfect, the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. All of this, fucking perfect.” The words catch at the small tear in my heart, one of thousands, catching it like a tiny threaded needle, adding a single stitch to the tear. Not enough to repair it —no, that’s my job. Only I can do the repairs, but a single stitch, a splint to keep it safe while I do the work.

“You see it,” he says, his voice so low, so quiet I almost don’t hear it, almost don’t hear him speak, but it still plants itself in me where it will never leave. My eyes lock to his, and he presses a small kiss to the back of my head before he begins once more, this time in earnest.

Two thick fingers enter me, forcing me to press down and try to get them deeper as his thumb continues to manipulate my clit, continues to drive me higher.

“Ride my fingers, beautiful,” he orders, and I do as he asks, using the heels on the ground to give me traction as I move up and down, eager to get his fingers deep into me as I moan and twist and grind on his hand. “God, just look at you. Look at you doing so fucking good. You gonna get yourself there? Are you gonna watch yourself come on my hand? It’s fucking gorgeous, Cass. Watching you come apart, I could watch it every day.” My eyes hood, his words sending me higher with each moment, each swipe of his thumb threatening to detonate me.

“Now, Cassie. Come, watch yourself come for me.”

As seems to be the way, my body ignores my own pleasure to make this last, to draw it out, and obeys Luke as I shatter around his fingers.

But I don’t look at myself when I come. I don’t watch how my body reacts or the way it contorts. I also don’t close my eyes, not screwing them shut in ecstasy.

No, the entire time, as my mouth falls open, a low, loud moan falling from my lips, my eyes remain locked to his.

He holds them until the aftershocks leave my body, long seconds which feel like a life-changing eternity before he grabs my waist and tosses me up the bed as if I weigh nothing more than a pillow.

And then he’s on me, eyes locked to mine as he slides in, soft and deep in a way we’ve never done before. I lie on my back, staring up at him, legs cocked as he pumps into me, braced on his forearms. Slow thrusts, quiet grunts, but I don’t register any of that. Instead, what has my body building once more, working to crest that hill again with him this time, is the look of desire and lust and something else I refuse to touch glowing in his eyes, telling me everything in both a million words and none at all with just one look. All of it written across his face, open and honest, the way he always is.