Wicked Sexy Liar (Wild Seasons #4)(96)

His eyes clear in understanding and he interrupts me: “Do you miss Justin?”

I laugh. “It isn’t the same. He cheated.”

“People get over each other for different reasons,” he says patiently. “Just because Mia didn’t cheat on me doesn’t mean I still love her the way I love you.”

I watch my fingers run over the smooth skin of his chest. “I know.”

And I do. But it helps to hear him say it.

“I’ll f*ck up sometimes, I know I will,” he says with a tiny, flirty smile. “I’ll forget important dates and buy the wrong brand of tampons when you send me to the store and eat the wrong number of Pop-Tarts and most likely say unintentionally sexist things you’ll need to point out, but I won’t—I promise—ever be unfaithful.” His hands slide up my hips to my waist. “I’m not built that way.”

I kiss him for that, straightening over him again and running my hand down his bare chest. And then I feel my brain hitting the brakes, slowing further as I watch my fingers follow the map of muscle on his body. My fingertips explore the dips and swells, the long lines of his ribs wrapping around his sides.

He’s mine now.

No one else will touch this bare chest.

No one else will enjoy this transition from chest to stomach, from stomach to hips.

No one else will feel the soft trail of hair just here.

He twitches in my hand as I grip him, whispering my name, sitting up beneath me and sucking at my neck.

No one else will touch his cock.

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.