Wicked Sexy Liar (Wild Seasons #4)(97)
“I’ll move.”
His eyes flash wide. “What?”
“I’ll move to Berkeley with you,” I tell him. “I want you to go to your first choice. I don’t want to be apart.”
“You’ll live with me?”
My chest flips at this enormous detail. “Yeah. I mean, assuming that’s the situation you meant. We can get separate places instead.”
“No,” he blurts, quickly shaking his head. “That’s what I meant. Living together.” His head jerks back in sudden skepticism. “Wait. Seriously? You’re serious?”
I bite back a giddy laugh. “Yes, I’m serious.”
“You love me and you’re moving with me?”
I can barely handle his adorable mania. Bending, I slide my lips over his. “I love you and I’m moving with you.”
Speaking against my mouth, he mumbles, “Holy f*ck. Now we’re going to have sex for the first time in this bed. How am I going to last long enough to make sure you come first?”
I laugh harder, and he shakes his head, rolling on top of me, settling between my legs. “I’m serious. I’ve never been so excited,” he babbles. His cock presses against my clit and I can barely focus on what he’s saying; he’s so warm, so rigid. “My heart is about to explode. I’m inarticulate. And my penis is too happy to adequately satisfy you right now. I get live-in London. I get shared-bed London. I get to—”
I stretch to cover his mouth with mine, arching my hips, and his cock is there, just there, and when I shift, the tip moves inside. His surprised inhale is jagged as he slides into me so easily, and without any more negotiation he’s moving, curling his hips over me, demanding and greedy. I feel him there—I feel him everywhere—and the intensity of our decision, the idea of having a bed that is ours, a routine that is ours, a love that is ours makes my body hypersensitive, my skin feel tight and too hot. I push up into him, working my body on his, wanting him deeper and faster, harder, too. Last night was all about slow: he kissed me everywhere, made love to me in nearly every position I could imagine, but tonight we are fast, immediately sealing the deal we’ve just made.
He rises up over me, cupping my bent knees and spreading my legs wider, opening me completely to him. Nothing is more intimate than how he watches, how he stares at where he disappears inside me over and over and over. I reach down, touching him, touching myself, feeling it all: wet and heat, hard driving into soft.
I raise my eyes to his face and realize he’s looking right at me, gauging my reaction to all of this, and I know now what’s more intimate than the way he watched himself moving in me, it’s this: Luke studying my face while he makes love to me. His eyes are glued to mine as the pleasure starts small and then grows, and grows, until I feel it hooking me, dragging me to that point of no return and I’m unable to look away, and nothing—nothing—is more exposed than staring right into his eyes as I let myself fall to pieces. Luke’s lips part in awe and he nods in encouragement as pleasure takes over my senses and I beg him quietly, senselessly—
I’m
Luke, it’s
it’s so
close oh, f*ck, I’m close
—his eyes narrowed nearly in pain as he concentrates on getting me there. But my orgasm fully crashes into me and each of my sharp sounds of relief causes a tiny bit of his brow to relax until he’s smiling, grinning so wide, nearly laughing at how I clutch at him, at how wild I am. A million tiny explosions pulse between my legs, up my back, in my throat as I’m crying out, a garbled mess of words.
I stare up at him, going limp, and his mouth opens wider, like he wants to say something, but instead he just bends, kissing me—messy and bobbing as he moves with renewed intent—and that elated smile straightens into focus.
Hands tightening on my knees, he spreads my legs even wider, hips pumping. I lift from the bed, squeezing him, wanting to wring every bit of this out of him. He’s so hard, f*cking me so wild, I feel it somewhere deep and tender every time he stabs forward but if I could get him deeper inside me, I would. I reach for his hips, urging him into me, and Luke throws his head back as he comes, calling out a disbelieving, “Holy—holy fu—oh, holy f*ck,” and then he stills, jerking above me.
He stops, chest heaving as he looks down at me in wonder. Slowly, he releases his hold on my knees and plants his hands on the mattress on either side of my waist. I feel the silence crash down, realizing how vocal we’d both been, how completely lost in the act.
My legs are sore from being spread so wide, and I carefully wrap them around him, using them to pull him down against me. His forehead rests on mine, eyes closed as we catch our breath.
“Holy shit,” he says on a gasping exhale. “Goddamn, woman.”
“Luke?”
Eyes still closed, he smiles a little. “Logan?”
My hands come up his neck, cupping his jaw. “In case I didn’t make it clear earlier, I’m crazy in love with you.”
His eyes open, meet mine, and his smile grows. “Finally.”
Epilogue
Luke
THREE THINGS FEEL f*cking amazing about this moment.
One, I’m drinking a really great beer.
Two, my entire family is together—with London—and Mom is making my favorite baked ziti for our going-away dinner.