Frisk Me(81)

Luc pulled back from the kiss just enough to meet her eyes. He lifted a questioning eyebrow, and somehow she knew exactly what he was asking.

Me or you?

In response she lifted up slowly before sinking down on him again. She repeated the motion, even slower this time, and she gave him a silent response. Me. I’m in control.

Ava alternated between fast and hard and slow and torturous, Luc’s hands on her hips as he let her ride him.

And when she leaned over him resting her face against his shoulder, asking him to touch her, he did, his hand sliding down to press her clit in a perfect rhythm as he rocked up into her.

Ava came first—how could she not with a guy like Luc Moretti beneath her?—and when she collapsed against his chest, he let her, stroking her back and letting her savor the sweet aftermath of her orgasm instead of immediately seeking his own.

When she finally caught her breath, she put her hands on his shoulders to sit upright, the contact slightly slippery from their sweat, and narrowed her eyes at him.

“You really are a good guy, aren’t you?”

He grinned, quick and easy, before sitting up and catching her lip gently between his teeth. “Am I?”

Then his arms went around her as he thrust up once into her, hard, so her arms went around his neck and held on as he plunged in and out of her, his pace quickening until he came with a groan, and she could have sworn she heard him whisper one word. Ava.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO



Three days before Luc had to sit in a leather chair and spill his guts on national television as the grand finale of this America’s Hero bullshit, he had a revelation:

He needed closure.

Actually, that wasn’t the revelation.

He’d always known he needed closure; it was the how that had been eluding him for two years.

Therapy hadn’t worked.

Neither had ignoring the memories.

Exercise hadn’t been the answer, nor had losing himself in work. It wasn’t losing himself in sex with nameless women.

It hadn’t even been the support of his family, which had gone deeper than he’d even realized.

But he hoped closure was here, in a homey Brooklyn walk-up with a tiny patch of grass doubling as the yard and a blue bike in the front.

Joey’s bike. Who’d taught him to ride it? Not his dad. His dad was dead.

Luc shook his head.

That’s not what this was about.

Taking a deep breath, he headed up the steps, his hand hesitating only briefly before he forced himself to knock.

The door opened almost immediately, and a dark-haired boy with hazel eyes stood before him.

Joey.

He looked so much like Mike, it physically hurt.

But as much as Luc wanted to sink to one knee and simply stare at the boy, he knew better.

“Hey, bud. You remember me?”

“Sure,” the eight-year-old said with a shrug. “Uncle Luc.”

The old nickname was like a vise on Luc’s heart. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s Uncle Luc.”

The boy stepped aside. “Where’s your gun?”

“Off duty today, bud.”

Actually, off-duty cops were allowed to carry, and Luc often did, but not today. Not for this.

A woman came out of the kitchen drying her hands on a blue and white towel. Luc looked up and met her familiar brown gaze.

“Hey, Bev.”

“Luca.”

To his surprise, she was in front of him in five steps, wrapping him in a warm hug he surely didn’t deserve.

When she stepped back, there were tears in her eyes, but she was still smiling. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

She was?

The way Luc figured, she’d only agreed to this meeting out of pity, but it wasn’t pity he saw in her welcoming gaze.

“Mom, can I go play Mario?”

“Honey, you haven’t seen Uncle Luc in two years. Don’t you want to talk to him?”

Luc and Joey exchanged a man-to-man gaze. Eight-year-old boys didn’t want to talk when there was a decent shot at playing video games on the table.

“Nah, let him go, Bev. I’ll swing by another time; maybe we can throw a ball or something.”

The boy’s face scrunched, and Luc backtracked. “Or I can kick your butt at Mario.”

“Get real,” the kid said, good humor restored. “I know all the shortcuts.”

Joey started to bound away with a cheeky grin, but drew up short when his mother cleared her throat.

“Nice to see you again, Uncle Luc,” the boy said dutifully.

The boy’s eyes crinkled a little like his dad’s when he smiled, and Luc’s chest tightened again.

“See ya, bud.”

Both he and Beverly watched as Joey headed to video game heaven, and Luc gave a rueful shake of his head. “I shouldn’t have stayed away.”

Bev’s hand touched his arm briefly. “I know why you did. No judgment here. Come on in; I’ve got coffee and I’ve got beer.”

“Coffee’s great,” he said, following Beverly into the small but cheerful kitchen. She’d redecorated since Luc had last been here after Mike’s memorial.

The former blue walls had been repainted a bright yellow, and she seemed to have some sort of citrus theme going on, with lemon and lime decorations all over the place.