Page 7

YOU’RE A WILDCARD

STELLA

Luke’s lips burn against mine. The kiss is harsh, but tame, there’s no tongue, but I’m still a little shocked that we’re here. His hand slides into my hair and pulls me closer to him. A heady moan escapes me as my body jumps into overdrive—from this PG kiss of all kisses. He pulls back slightly.

“Fuck, that was sexy.” His voice is rough with desire as he nips along my jaw.

He tries to work the strap of my purse off my shoulder, and I realize I was still clutching it.

He chuckles. “You want to let this go, or am I gonna have to work harder at making this happen?” This time he gently tugs at the strap, and I let it go for lift it over my head, and carefully place it on the coffee table near the couches.

I swallow hard as I think about a sassy quip.

I’ve been ready all night, but now, in this moment with him, I’m trying not to freak the fuck out.

I don’t do one-night stands often. I much prefer a friend-with-benefits situation, and Luke definitely seems like he’d make for one hell of a friend, if only I were looking for one.

I can do this. It’s one night. That’s all.

Luke turns back toward me, and I take note of the pure hunger in his eyes and suppress a chill that lingers at the base of my spine. He doesn’t hesitate. His sexy, knowing smirk nearly makes forget all of my hesitations.

With his fingers on my chin, he tilts my head up and says, “Last chance to run, Stella.”

My heart pounds in my chest. Damn, his man affects me in ways I don’t remember ever experiencing. I must really be overdue for a good, hot, sexy time. Unattached sexy time, of course.

Ugh. Maybe I should just leave. But then, this whole back-and-forth flirting would have been for nothing. I’m never going to see this man again, so why not just...go for it?

“Not happening, Professor Meatball.” I give him a challenging reply, my brow arching at his grin.

He huffs out a laugh “You’re gonna have to find another nickname, Trouble.”

I narrow my eyes at his own use of a nickname.

There will be no need for other nicknames.

I open my mouth to remind him that this isn’t going past tonight, and he slowly leans down, his kiss slow and coaxing.

He’s waiting for me to give in. My mouth opens to his, and he wastes no time sweeping his tongue inside my mouth and all thoughts of nicknames cease to exist.

My fingers dig into his hair, tugging slightly. Oh my gosh, his hair is as soft as it looked. And it’s his turn to groan. I swallow it, kissing him deeply, and realize that I’ve never found a groan so sexy before. The sound makes my core clench.

My body is pressed to his, and I’m hyper-aware of every point of contact—his chest against mine, the heat of his hands on my back, the feeling of his hand as it slides down to my ass and squeezes.

His other hand follows, and then he grips right under my cheeks and lifts me off the ground with ease.

As if on autopilot, my legs wrap around his waist, and he starts to walk.

I don’t pay attention; I can’t seem to stop kissing him long enough to care.

We don’t make it far before we bump into something.

“Fuck” he breathes hoarsely.

I can’t help but laugh when I feel my leg smack into the chair next to the couch.

“You think this is funny?” He’s breathless, but the laughter in his voice pulls another smile from me.

“Of course,” I say as he takes a few more steps, and I’m suddenly free falling to the couch. I let out a loud laugh at that and lean back into the cushions. Luke hovers above me, watching with something like wonder on his face.

“You’re so damn sexy when you laugh,” he tells me, and I want to roll my eyes, but he brushes his knuckles down my jaw, then across my collarbone—a slow, teasing touch. His eyes follow his hand, and I can’t look away from him.

Leaning closer, he finally flicks his gaze back to mine. “You good, Trouble?”

I pull him down in response, biting his lower lip in the process. “Shut up, Luke”. His chuckle turns into another groan, a little more feral this time, as I roll my hips against him.

It’s all intoxicating—the kissing, the roaming hands, and my hips grinding against his.

It feels rushed and wild. But eventually, as layers of his clothing are removed, every touch between us becomes slower, more reverent.

He doesn’t seem to want to rush anymore, but all I want is for us to get to the good part.

I don’t protest, though, and I let him control the pace.

He leans backward as he grabs the hem of my shirt, and he cocks a brow like he’s asking my permission to continue.

Biting my lip, I nod and sit up so he can remove my shirt.

He trails hot kisses over my stomach and chest, taking his time exploring my body.

Normally, I would have no patience for this type of foreplay, but I’m blanking on everything—everything but this moment with him.

His hands move down my sides, gripping, kneading, his lips following the path of his fingers.

My own fingers trace over his now bare chest, across his abdomen, exploring all that taut muscle and hot skin.

I feel everything, the scrape of stubble against my throat, the slide of my slick, sweat-soaked skin once we are completely naked on his couch, and the way he murmurs my name against my shoulder.

The only time we break away from each other is when he fishes a condom out of his wallet.

Then we’re tangled together again, his body weighing deliciously down on my own.

After far too long for my liking, he finally pushes inside me.

My hands find purchase on his back, scraping lightly as he moves within me, eliciting a growl from him.

Seems this rock climber has a little bit of a wild streak.

He stills for just a moment, breathing me in, his forehead pressed to mine.

“You still good?” he asks, his voice low and husky.

I pull him closer, if that’s even possible, and with no hesitation, I say, “Yes.”

Finally, nothing else matters but the way we move together and find our release, his name leaving my lips like prayer.

We lie together, breathing heavy, skin flushed, my fingers trailing lazily against his back. Luke presses up, his forearms sinking into the couch on either side of me as his thumb traces across my lower cheek. The way he’s looking at me right now…it’s like he’s memorizing me.

Blinking up at him, something deep in my gut shifts. That creeping fear of attachment. I shift away from him, pretending to stretch lazily as if it's not a big deal that I just hooked up with a stranger that I'm never going to see again.

“That was fun,” I tell him as he sits up. His expression flickers with something I can’t read, but the look morphs to smugness.

“Yeah, it was.”

I refuse to notice the way he looks as me as I search for my underwear and bra.

“You know, I never had a chance to show you my bedroom. Or my shower,” he says matter-of-factly.

I side-eye him. He flashes me that boyish grin he’s used on me a few times tonight.

“I mean, for a one-night stand, we better make it worth it, yeah?” As if he knows I need to feel in control, he stands, completely naked, and walks toward the kitchen, tying off the used condom and tossing it in the trash can.

He turns, and I get my first real look at every glorious inch of this sexy rock climber.

My jaw threatens to fall to the floor, and I feel like I need to wipe away drool.

He crosses his arms over his chest, covering a few tats I wouldn’t mind getting more up close and personal with.

He’s challenging me, and I don’t hate it.

So I stand in all my glory and give him a dose of his own medicine. His eyes flicker down my body. “Want a picture? It’ll last longer.” I laugh as I walk up to him.

He scrubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “You have no idea how tempting that is.”

“Not happening.” I stand in front of him.

“You’re a wildcard, you know that?” He shakes his head.

“Thought I was trouble?”

He grabs my hand. “Oh, no. You’re trouble all right.”

He grins before dragging me down the hall to his bedroom…where we get lost in each other all over again.

Sun filters in through the loft windows and I close my eyes and make a mental note that I've already broken my own rules. I'm still in Luke's bed. I never stay the night. Ever.

My longest exclusive hookup lasted about six months. Spending the night was never even a thought.

Shifting slightly, I feel the satisfying way my body aches, in a well-used kind of way. I smile to myself when I remember what happened when we made it to the bedroom.

Something should go here about what they did in the bedroom. Ex: I barely had a chance to take in his (adjective) bedroom before he snagged a condom from his dresser drawer and had me on all fours practically begging for even more.

Last night was damn good, so good that it was utterly exhausting. Sex with Luke knocked me out cold, so much so that I didn’t wake in time to sneak out unnoticed.

Glancing over at the man himself, I commit the image before me to memory. His hair is a mess, his arm is slung over his chest, and his breathing is slow and steady, telling me he’s still sleeping.

Gah! He’s so hot.

How is it fair that he looks so good even after a night of sex?

Ugh. See, this is why I don’t do sleepovers. Instead of thinking about how I could sneak out right now, I’m sitting here thinking about how sexy this man is and how one more go at it wouldn’t be so bad. Not to mention his bed to so freaking comfortable.

This thought does it. It’s like someone just shook me and yelled, “ Girl, get your shit and get out of here!” My sex-induced brain fog finally lifts.

So I do just that. I slowly slip from the bed, careful not to wake him. I need to find my clothes—which I think are all still in the living room. I need to leave before things get weird.

On my tip-toes, I make my way through his room and into the living room. His door is a rolling door, so unfortunately, I can’t shut it behind me; I don’t know how much noise it makes. I spot my undies and slip them on as I hunt for my bra. I can’t find it, but I’m not opposed to leaving it.

After a few more seconds, I finally spot the bra and slip it on as Luke’s voice, still thick with sleep, breaks the silence.

“Wow. You’re good at this. Almost too good.”

I freeze, then let out a breath and roll my eyes.

So much for a clean getaway.

Turning, I find him leaning against the door frame, watching me with an easy smirk.

“You make a habit of this?” he asks.

Unoffended, I smirk right back at him. “Not really, just have a thing against sticking around.”

This earns me a raised eyebrow. “That so?”

“Yep, and I also have a thing against relationships,” I tell him, as I snag my jeans off the floor and hoist them on. I wait for the usual reaction—the awkward pause, the immediate ego that insists he can be the one to change that—but it never comes.

Instead, he just nods, shrugs his shoulder and says, “Fair enough.”

Really?

Wasn’t expecting that.

He stands in the doorway and reaches his hands above his head in a deep stretch.

Gym shorts hang from his body and do hardly anything to hide his semi-hard cock.

His chest is bare, and I have to remind myself not to drool.

Running a hand through his hair, he pads through the living room toward the kitchen area.

“At least let me make you coffee before you escape.”

Pulling my shirt over my head, I grin. “I don’t usually stick around for coffee.”

He shrugs, popping a K-cup into his machine. “Then take it to go.”

I hesitate. Why is he being so easy about this? Is this a red flag? I’m normally so removed from the relationship itself, I’ve not had to look for red flags.

The coffee starts to drip into the mug before it hits a steady stream. The pleasant and teasing aroma hits my scenes and damn, I suddenly need some caffeinated goodness in my life.

“Fine. I’ll have it to go.”

The man just grins like he won something as he pulls out another coffee pod from the holder.

I walk to the stool at the wooden island and take a seat.

He pulls his mug away from the machine. “I’d offer you this one, but you said you want it to go.” He sits it down in front of me, as if to tempt me. Staring at it, I realize I don’t have anywhere to be until around lunch.

Snatching up the mug, I blow over the steam, breathing in the fresh brew. Watching me, he asks, “So, the aversion to relationships thing. Just a personality quirk, or is there a story there?”

I lean over the counter, pretending I don’t feel the weight of this question.

“Let's just say my job isn’t relationship-friendly.” Seems straightforward enough.

He hums, sipping his own coffee now. “Photojournalist, right? Travel a lot?”

“Yep. Can't exactly date when you don’t stay in one place long enough to finish a carton of milk.” That’s almost the truth. It’s not just the job. It’s everything else, but I’m not about to get into all of that with him.

Luke just nods, like he gets it. He doesn’t push for more of an explanation. I can tell he isn’t judging me. Maybe he really does understand.

“Fair.” He takes another sip. “Gotta say, though. You don’t seem as detached as you think.”

My eyebrows rise unintentionally. “Oh?”

“You stayed the night,” he says.

And my reply to that sexy fucking smirk?

I just huff out a laugh—he has a point.