Page 37 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)
Chapter Twenty-Seven
EVA
A surprised exhale slips out of me, half laugh, half squeak, and then Luke leans forward and gently lowers my upper body to the cool marble counter.
Holy shit. Neither of us is even naked yet, and I might orgasm just from the way he’s looking at me.
He quickly unbuttons his shirt and tosses it to the side, and I focus on the ink that swirls and dips across his skin, from the bicep of one arm, around his shoulders, and down the other arm.
I want to explore every inch of that ink, trace my finger across each design and analyze all the small details—but that’s for another time.
He plants his hand next to my head, gazing down at me with naked lust on his face. I’m sure I mirror his expression. I never thought I’d see Luke Hartmann looking at me this way, and I’m fully determined to enjoy every second of this.
Later, we can talk about why I can’t be just another notch on his banged-up bedpost, and what this means for our friendship. But right now, need is coursing through my veins, making me desperate for his touch—all I want is his hands and his mouth on every part of me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him reaching for the frosting. His voice is low and husky, fucking downright sensual, when he says, “I fully plan to taste every single inch of you tonight. So if there’s any part of you that’s off limits, let me know now.”
My gasp fills the air as he continues to surprise me. Luke may be the quintessential nice guy, but I’m learning he may have a whole other side to him that I’m now dying to see. “I want to feel you everywhere. ”
I’m not sure I’ve ever uttered any words more honest than those. I not only want the feel of him on my skin, and inside me...I want to know what he feels like wrapped around my heart. But I shove the last thought away, because I know that’s not what he’s offering.
The lust may be very real, but this marriage is still fake.
He takes his frosting-covered thumb and smears it over one nipple, and my mouth drops open as my eyes flutter closed. Holy shit. And then he’s smearing more frosting on the other nipple, and I open my eyes in time to see his head descending.
His lips latch onto my skin, his tongue swirling over the stiff peak before he sucks me deep into his mouth with long pulls to remove the frosting. I let out a guttural groan, matching the way my pussy just clenched against him as he rocks his hips into me, sliding his cock along my clit.
Scraping his teeth lightly along my sensitive skin, he swirls his tongue around my nipple once more, like he’s making sure to remove all the frosting, before he moves to the other side.
And when he does, his urgent sucking mixed with the pressure against my clit sends heat coursing through my core and up my skin like fire as my climax engulfs me at warp speed.
I can’t even make sense of the nonsense that’s coming out of my mouth—I don’t think I’m even using words; it’s just needy gasps and moans and primal sounds filling the air as my body gives itself over to Luke.
There are stars clouding the corners of my vision as the orgasm rolls through my body, and Luke doesn’t let up.
He continues toying with my breasts and rocking against my clit until I go limp.
And then he lifts my hips and slides my dress and thong down my legs before spreading my knees, putting my pussy on full display.
“God, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he says as he stands above me and runs a thumb along my center, “especially with your cum coating your pussy like this.”
My lips part, but no sound comes out, because who the hell is this man?
My best friend is some fucking sex god, and I had no idea.
..though I should have figured. I can’t even start to think about why he knows exactly what to say to turn me on, or who else he might have said these things to before, because he’s sitting on a barstool, leaning in and running his tongue over my clit in a way that has my hips thrashing against him.
He slides his hands under my thighs, lifting my legs as he says, “Put your feet on my shoulders. You made that way too fucking easy, and there’s no way you’re not coming on my tongue.”
“I don’t know if I can come again this soon,” I say, but as my entire core tingles, I suspect that if anyone can give me an immediate second orgasm, it’s probably him.
He positions my feet on his shoulders and supports my legs with his hands, then chuckles as he kisses my inner thigh, nipping at the flesh before letting his teeth sink into it lightly.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve got at least one more for me,” he says, his voice coaxing as he turns his attention to my other thigh, kissing and nipping at that one, too. And the mere anticipation of his mouth on me again has my hips moving, searching for friction.
He brings his mouth to my center, his lips clamping around my clit without warning as he sucks and swirls his tongue against the sensitive bundle. I’m so tender after my unexpected orgasm that it feels both amazing, and a little too much, all at once.
“Softer,” I pant, even as my hips buck against his face. “I’m so sensitive, but I need more.”
He lessens the pressure on my clit as he slides a finger into me.
No, it must be two, actually, and I’ve never been happier that he has those long, thick fingers.
I ride his hand, meeting him thrust for thrust, but still feeling like I need something more.
I’ve felt Luke’s hard cock against me enough times now to know that he’d fill me in a way his fingers can’t.
I’m about to demand exactly that when he curls his fingers and hits the part of me that sends waves of sensation rippling all the way to my toes. “Yessss,” I groan, and his tongue moves faster over my clit.
I can feel myself teetering at the brink of another orgasm, but it’s still frustratingly out of reach. Right now, I want to come more than anything and am shameless enough to do whatever it takes to get me there.
Threading my fingers through his hair, I hold his head in place as my hips rock between his mouth and the counter, his fingers creating a delicious drag against my inner walls as he thrusts into me. And still, it’s not enough.
“Harder,” I gasp, and his fingers move deeper into me, stroking along my muscles over and over until I’m clenching around him.
He lifts his head long enough to say, “That’s right, Peaches, coat my face.” And then he runs his teeth over my clit with just enough pressure to have me practically screaming. My hands fly to my breasts and my fingers tweak my nipples as he licks and sucks and bites me.
The sensations are overwhelming, and my muscles clamp down on his fingers as I ride his face and scream out, “Yes, oh my god, Luke, please don’t stop.
Fuck, yes!” And then my words turn to garbled sounds as my orgasm flashes through me, rocketing my hips off the counter.
Luke holds me steady, rising with me as he continues forcing every last drop of my orgasm from me.
I’ve never felt anything like this...
Intense waves of pleasure that don’t let up, crashing over and over until I am afraid I’ll cry because there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight.
And then, the final wave crests, barreling into me with such force that it leaves me completely sated and absolutely boneless, lying like a heap of nothingness on his counter.
Closing my eyes, I force myself to breathe because I’m pretty sure I just held my breath through that whole experience.
But once my eyes are closed, I can’t seem to make them open again.
Not when Luke stands, trailing gentle kisses up my body until his lips land on my jaw before continuing to my earlobe.
“You are amazing, and beautiful...and tired,” he says with a chuckle. “Time to sleep, Peaches.”
T he soft light filtering through the edges of the light-blocking shades when I wake up shows me that I slept in Luke’s bed last night. Naked.
His side of the bed is empty and messy, the sheets folded back in a heap and his pillow sideways. In fact, based on the way it’s lined up with me, I’m pretty sure I was snuggling it in my sleep. Did he not sleep in here, too? Or was I cuddled up with him, then used his pillow in his absence?
I glance over my shoulder at the nightstand, hoping my phone is there so I can check the time. It is, but what catches my attention is a clear acrylic tumbler with an orange smoothie. I pick up the folded piece of paper propped in front of it.
I had an early practice and I know you needed your sleep. Hope this is still cold when you wake up. Make sure you drink it all—you and Baby Squash need the nutrients. I’ll see you when I get home.
—Luke
The tumbler is still cold, so I unscrew the top to give it a sniff. It’s not that I don’t trust Luke; I just want to preview what I’m about to put in my mouth. It smells fruity, almost tropical, so whatever it is, I know I’m going to like it.
Sure enough, not only is it delicious, but it’s also familiar. I take another sip, trying to place the flavor. It’s not until I’ve finished half the drink while rummaging through the drawers in Luke’s closet and finding an oversized Rebels T-shirt to wear, that I realize why it tastes familiar.
Eva
Thank you for the smoothie. Why does it taste almost exactly like the virgin peach margarita from the Neon Cactus last week?
I know Luke well enough to know this is not a coincidence. And while I hop in the shower and wait for his reply, I realize that the peach-scented shampoo and conditioner in his shower—which are an exact match for mine back in LA—are not a coincidence either.
I’m not entirely sure what to make of these non-coincidences.
Luke’s observant, and he likes to be helpful. Is this just his way of trying to smooth this transition for me?
Try as I might, though, I can’t convince myself that the multiple orgasms last night, and the one two nights before, are just him trying to be helpful . There was no way to miss that he wanted that as much as I did, and enjoyed it as much, too.
At least, back in LA, when he came in his boxers while giving me an orgasm, I know he enjoyed it.
Last night, though? I sigh as I lean my head back under the water to rinse the shampoo out.
Shit, I feel so greedy that he gave me two amazing orgasms and I fell asleep on the counter without even returning the favor.
Not that I think he’d be upset about that, but the memory of the way he held me to him on that air mattress, his fingers curling into me as he came with me riding his fingers, has me wanting to make him come again.
I want to see his face clearly—not shrouded in darkness, like in my apartment—the moment his orgasm starts. I want to watch him watching me come, and see what he looks like when his own release hits.
Fuck . The thought of Luke coming has my skin singing with awareness, every drop of water running along my body turning me on more. I’m always so damn horny now.
I grab the bottle of conditioner and squirt a big dollop into my hand, determined to think about anything except sex as I pull my hair over my shoulder and use my fingers to work it into the long strands. But as I do, my forearms graze my nipples and desire shoots through my veins, lighting me up.
My hands move to my breasts, smoothing over them with the silky conditioner, and I pinch my nipples hard, trying to mimic the way it felt last night when Luke’s teeth were grazing them.
It’s not enough. So I rinse one hand off and slide it down my body, finding my clit where it throbs.
That’s right , you can take care of yourself, I remind myself as I circle my clit with just the right amount of pressure.
But I can’t stop my brain from imagining it’s Luke’s tongue.
Leaning forward, I rest my forehead against the tile wall of the shower and continue pleasuring myself as memories of last night flash through my mind. I need more, though, and I’m frustrated by the emptiness I feel inside me. I need Luke.
No , I tell myself, you just need your sex toy collection—the one you threw in the fucking trash after that embarrassing moment in LA.
Though now, seeing how willing Luke is to provide orgasms when I need them, I wish I’d just whipped that vibrator out of the box and asked him to use it on me. That could have saved my entire collection!
And that’s when I remember that my favorite toy is actually at my parents’ house, tucked away in my suitcase in the closet of my childhood bedroom. The suitcase I was supposed to pack and bring back here last night, but then my mom made a comment about my weight and we left early.
I stand frozen in the shower, all traces of the sexual energy draining from my body as I remember the way my mom looked at me like I was a disappointment and said “...you’re going to gain enough weight being pregnant.”
My hands meet over the growing curve of my belly. It’s getting noticeable now—I can still disguise it with empire waist dresses like I was wearing yesterday, but I suspect that in another week, nothing will hide the fact that I’m pregnant.
And then my mind is spinning, thinking about how Christopher will be arriving tomorrow, and we start practicing the day after, and suddenly, orgasms from Luke are the furthest thing from my mind.
All I’m thinking about is the baby and skating, and how I’ll manage both things. And right then and there, with the hot water raining down on me, I make this baby a promise.
I promise to listen, to understand, to love—that no matter what this child’s dreams are, I’ll stand by in a supportive role, never demanding more than they’re willing to give or demeaning them if they don’t achieve them.
And most importantly, I will make sure my child knows that my love isn’t conditional, that no matter what, I will always love them.