Page 33

LUST IN THE DUST

Dean

The second the words leave my mouth, I feel alive in a way I could never have expected.

My skin buzzes with electricity, my focus sharpening into something bright and clear.

I feel like I’ve gone through the five stages of grief since I left that photoshoot this morning.

Denial that anything had happened, that I’d made up the low current of electric energy bouncing between Luke and I in that tub.

Anger at Luke for having the audacity to call us fake.

Even more anger at myself for being the one to call us fake first. Bargaining with myself in the shower when I couldn’t stop myself from jerking off, telling myself that it wasn’t the shape of Luke’s hips in my hands on my mind while I worked my cock.

That it wasn’t his name on my lips when I came.

Depression as I laid here alone, listening to Luke get the girls ready for bed without me and thinking about how easily I could lift right out of this equation if I were to fuck this up.

And finally, acceptance. Right here, right now, I’ve accepted that I want Luke.

I’ve accepted that I think he might want me, too.

I’ve accepted that it’s time to put my heart on the line and try, and I’ve accepted that if I’m wrong, I’ll have only myself to blame when this whole thing goes down in flames.

Luke looks back at me, his mouth slightly agape and his brown eyes wide as they roam from my face, down to my chest and back again.

“You want to…consummate…our fake?—”

“There’s that fucking word again. I don’t know where you got the idea that there was anything fake about this marriage.

Convenient, yes. But fake? Was it when I got down on one knee?

Was it when I made vows to you at City Hall or when I slid my ring on your finger?

Was it the morning that I told a journalist about how easily I fell for you all those years ago?

Or how about in the tub when I nearly came out of my skin when you sat your perfect, naked body in my lap and held on to me like I was your lifeline?

None of that was fake to me, Luke. Have you been pretending this whole time? Because I haven’t. ”

Luke just stares, blinking at me like I’m some sort of mirage. I let go of his chin, sliding my hand around to gather the hair at his nape in my fingers. My thumb brushes over his pulse. It flutters rapidly under his skin, his blood pumping and heart beating in time with my own.

“Actually, that’s a lie. I have been pretending.

For years, I pretended that I haven’t wanted you.

That you’re not the most beautiful, important, precious thing in my life.

I’ve been pretending that I was okay with just being your friend, because I know that getting even a small piece of Luke Cannon is better than nothing.

And I know I shouldn’t push you. You’ve gone through so much in the last two years.

There are a million reasons why I shouldn’t want to kiss you, touch you.

I shouldn’t want to put you on your knees and fuck the word fake right out of your pretty mouth, but I do. Dammit, corazón. I really, really do.”

There it is. Everything I’ve held back is out there now, on the table.

The ball is in Luke’s court. His breath is unsteady, his lips parting and then closing again.

His Adam’s apple works as he swallows down whatever he was going to say.

I think the silence stretching between us might just kill me, but no.

It’s not the silence that does me in. It’s Luke pulling away, my finger sliding out of his hair as he gets up from the bed that has bile rising in my throat and tears burning behind my eyes.

Luke walks towards the door, the forgotten plate of food in hand, and I try to formulate some sort of response to his… lack of response.

I can apologize. I can beg him to forget I ever said anything, beg him to put the last five minutes behind us and move on with our platonic arrangement.

But then, Luke stops. He sets the plate down on the dresser by the door and fiddles with the switch on the wall until the light in the room dims to a more ambient, amber glow.

“Did you think I was leaving?” he asks when he turns back to me, noticing the anguish I don’t bother hiding on my face.

“Yeah,” I whisper, my head swimming in a cocktail of nerves, insecurity, and lust. And then he takes a step, and I feel it. The final hammer swing that brings down the wall we’ve carefully crafted between us.

Luke crosses the room in a few long strides and pounces on to the bed, crawling until he’s straddling me.

His hips line up with mine and his face comes down close to where I lean against the headboard.

He digs his fingers into my hair and tilts my head back.

It’s the same dangerous, erotic position that we were in this morning, only without the tub and the audience.

And right now, we’re wearing way too many clothes.

“You want me, Dean?” Luke asks, giving my hair a light tug. Every nerve in my body fires, and my cock goes from half-mast to painfully hard in a second.

“Yeah,” I rasp, because apparently that’s the only word I’m capable of forming at the moment.

“Would you believe me if I told you I want you, too? I don’t think I even realized how badly until you kissed me at city hall.

I mean, fuck, baby. I’d have to be stupid not to notice just how goddamn attractive you are.

And there was always that part of me in the back of my head that always wondered what it might be like to touch you, taste you, take you.

But that kiss…your lips…you unlocked something in me.

You ruined me forever with one little kiss, husband.

I want to find out what you can do with more than just a touch of those perfect lips. ”

He leans forwards and brushes the tip of his nose to mine. The bulge of his erection presses against his jeans and nudges mine as he rocks his hips over me, almost absentmindedly. Like he doesn’t even realize how needy his body seems to be for the friction, or for me .

Luke’s breath coasts against my skin, the heat of him searing me from the inside out, and I can’t take it anymore.

I can’t hold back. I can’t stop and think about how stupid we are, that we’ve been two idiots orbiting each other for a decade and never making contact for no damn good reason.

It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re here now, and I’m done pretending.

I reach up and palm Luke’s cheeks, angling his face as I pull him down into a kiss that feels like it’s decades in the making. It’s not the first kiss we’ve shared, but it’s the first one that feels like something more. It’s the first one that feels like it’s just for us.

His lips massage mine, warm and soft and tender.

A deliciously teasing amount of pressure that feels like too much and not enough all at the same time.

My hands roam everywhere. Across his chest, over his shoulders, under his t-shirt and then down, down, down.

I slip my fingertips below the waistband of Luke’s jeans, playing with the elastic of his briefs.

His pants are too tight for me to slide my hands further and grab a handful of his ass like I want, but the light pressure from my fingers at the base of his spine is enough to have us both panting.

I take advantage, sliding my tongue past his parted lips and teasing his, tasting the minty flavor of his mouth.

I groan as our tongues tangle and the kiss grows more frantic.

Luke’s hold on my hair becomes more incessant.

He twists his fingers and pulls at the strands, the bite of pain spurring me on and making me ravenous for him.

“Off,” I groan against his lips as I push the hem of his t-shirt up. “I want it off. Want all your clothes off so I can get you off. Don’t make me wait another minute for you, husband.”

Luke whimpers—an honest-to-god, needy, pathetic, hot as hell whimper that I will be jerking off to the memory of for the rest of my life—and lifts his arms up one at a time while I tug the material over his head and toss it across the room.

He leans forwards, pressing his hips to mine and slotting our erections together.

Then he sinks down onto me, grinding our cocks just hard enough to have me seeing stars.

My mouth drops from his lips as I start to kiss his jaw, nipping and biting.

I let the light scratch from his beard on my face keep me from falling off the edge and coming in my pants before I even get him in my hand.

“Tell me,” I growl when I reach Luke’s ear. “Tell me again that you want me.”

He shivers when I tickle the shell of his ear with my tongue and moans when I drag my teeth over the lobe and gently bite down.

“I want you, Dean. I want you and I need you so bad. ”

“Tell me this isn’t fake.” Sliding a hand between us, I palm his cock, squeezing him gently through his jeans before finding his left hand and running my finger over the ring I put there. “Tell me this isn’t fake, Luke. Tell me you’re mine.”

“It’s not fake. It’s real, it’s all real. It’s always been real. I’m yours. Please, baby, I need more. I need you,” he sighs as he grinds down on me, desperately seeking the friction that I am all too happy to give. But not here.

I grab onto his thighs and yank him close while swinging my legs off the side of the bed. When my feet hit the ground, Luke squeezes his thighs around my waist and drops his lips to my neck.

“What are you doing?” he mumbles in between kisses.

“We’re going to our room, corazón. I want to fuck my husband properly, in our bed.”