Stealing Home(45)

His breathing was faster as his hold on my shoulders loosened. His fingers brushed across my lips. “And what a beautiful mouth it is.”

Letting my head drop between his legs again, I wrapped my hand around his base and parted my lips to take him inside my mouth. A breath hissed from his mouth when I moved down him. His hand fisted in my hair, lightly massaging my head as I struck a slow rhythm.

“Your head between my legs. My name on your back. Coming to this view,” he rasped, starting to pump his hips toward my mouth. “My life could go to shit after this, and I would still die a happy man fifty years from now.”





I’D SPENT THE night at Luke’s. That was the thought I woke with the next morning. More of the night had been filled with love making than actual sleeping, but still, I’d spent the night at his place. I hadn’t done that since Ben, the guy who’d taught me what trust was—and what it wasn’t.

As I rolled over, I found Luke missing from the bed. Nothing but the dent from his head on his pillow and a few torn condom wrappers on his nightstand to prove he’d been there. Well, and the sting of the red handprint he hadn’t been able to resist leaving on my ass last night.

It wasn’t quite six yet, but I felt like I could have stayed in bed until lunch. My body was a spent mess. Muscles ached in places I didn’t know I had that many muscles to ache. My knees burned from rug burn—for multiple reasons—and the spot between my legs was throbbing from multiple rounds of vigorous sex.

Last night had been about more than sex though. We’d defined our relationship in no questionable terms. We might not have been able to tell anyone else about it, but we knew, and for me, that was the most important thing. I might have wanted to think I could do open-ended and give-and-take intimacy without commitment, but I couldn’t. At least not for long.

Of course a designation didn’t come with any guarantees regarding the duration of our relationship. It might last another year, or maybe one more day, but for today, Luke was committed to me and I was committed to him.

For today, that was enough.

Forcing myself out of bed, I grabbed the abandoned jersey from the floor to button it back on. It had lasted through one round of head and Luke bending me over the sofa and taking me that way right after. For as instantly as he’d come both times, I knew his name on my back did more to him than garner a wicked smile.

“Luke?” I called as I padded down the hall.

“Kitchen!” he answered.

As I wandered past the living room, I took in the scene of last night’s crimes. It looked like a scene out of Animal House—lamps spilled over, clothes hanging from the ceiling fan, more condom wrappers littered around the floor—fitting, since he’d behaved more like an animal than man most of the night.

When I broke into the kitchen, I rolled to a stop when I took in the view. He was standing behind the island, a mess of egg shells and dry pancake mix dusting everything, including his face.

“Damn, that’s hot,” he said around a whistle as his eyes roamed me.

“My bedhead?”

“The way you look all freshly f*cked and beat from what I did to you last night.” His hands braced across the counter, his expression a gloat.

“The male species really never evolved from their cave dweller roots, did they?”

“Other than exchanging grunts for words and clothes for loincloths, no, not really.”

I bit at the smile pulling at my mouth, remembering last night—he’d communicated in far more grunts than words—and this morning, he was in nothing more than his loincloth. Or in present day translation—his underwear. Well that, and his Shock ball cap on backward.

“I’d ask if you’re hungry, but after what we spent the night doing, I already know your answer.” He picked up the spatula and flipped a few pancakes sizzling on a skillet. There was already a foot-high stack of them.

“Luke Archer cooks,” I said, trying to make that fit with the image I already had of him.

“With the proper motivation, I’ve been known to put up a decent meal.”

“Proper motivation?”

Luke held out his spatula with a fresh pancake. “Food is calories. Calories are energy.” He tore off a piece of pancake and stuffed it into his mouth. “Sex requires energy. So eat up.” He slid a plate across the island with a wink.

Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. My chest tightened. He’d made breakfast for me, but not just any breakfast. My favorite breakfast.

Seeing the food made my stomach grumble loud enough for Luke to hear and say, “Refuel. You’re going to need it for what I have planned.”

Picking up a piece of bacon from my plate, I waved it at him. “You’ve got practice this morning, PT this afternoon, and a charity ball tonight. Your schedule is already packed, so you’ll have to just make it through the day on the half dozen rounds from last night.”

Luke grimaced as I bit into the bacon. “I forgot about the charity ball tonight. Dammit.”

“How very charitable of you,” I teased.

“If I write a big check, do you think they’d let me out of it?”

I peaked an eyebrow at him. “The main reason most of those people bought one-thousand-dollar tickets was for the privilege of mingling with the San Diego Shock. Since you’re kind of the face of the team, I don’t think a check of any size will get you out of it.”