Page 19 of Sucker Love (Sugar Pill Duet #1)

NOEL

I spend my Friday morning spacing out in a three-hour-long online microbiology class.

The afternoon is devoted to an agonizing illustration critique where no one in the class has anything meaningful to say about anyone’s work, except for me.

I rip everyone to merciless shreds not only because that’s the point of this entire class, but because I hope it incenses people enough to do the same to me in kind.

Not every class is this milquetoast; my black and white illustration class, for instance, is a lot more lively. But so far this one has proven to be about as animated as a nursing home at midnight.

It works, though, my brutal (but fair) criticism of all nineteen illustrations that come before mine.

Because when it’s my turn, my peers—who usually timidly lob vague opinions if they talk at all—are hurling fastballs left at right at my piece that don’t really land until a girl in space buns points out that it bears a striking similarity to the gory, tortured bullshit I brought in last week.

That shuts me up because it’s true, it does.

Lately I’m fucking tapped for inspiration or fucks to give.

My professor latches onto this and tells me I’m at risk of stagnating if I don’t push more boundaries.

I take it on the chin with a nod. She’s not wrong, anyway.

Everything sucks.

By the time I’m out I’ve got happy birthday texts from both Danika and Jamil.

They’re both busy, of course, between classes and work and their own Valentine’s plans (such is my curse) and I tell them thank you.

Nothing from Mom, but that’s not a surprise.

I cannot remember the last time she’s done that, not even as a kid.

I’m not sure she even knows when my birthday is anymore, even though it’s pretty fucking easy to remember.

I feel the same way I do about it every year: a sort of brief pang that goes as quickly as it comes.

When you keep your expectations low, you can’t be disappointed.

There’s nothing from Jordan, either; and yes, I am both surprised and dismayed about that even though I know he blocked me and our last encounter was nothing short of a disaster.

It’s fucking stupid but I can’t help it.

It’s not that I want to be upset. I wonder if he meant it when he said he never loved me.

He was obviously stepping out on me by the end.

But does that mean he didn’t feel anything for me the entire time?

Surely he wasn’t with me for the convenience; I am anything but that.

His mom paid his rent the entire time. Was it just a way to get out of his parents house for a little while and have sex falling into his lap every single night?

I guess I was convenient in that sense .

Why the fuck did he have to say that, anyway. Just to hurt me.

A text comes through from Danika, who works at a bubble tea shop:

If u drop by there’s a milk tea with ur name on it x

no thanks, I’ve got plans

Ohhhh??? With who?

the roomie

we’re doing dinner and shit I guess?

OMG. That sounds romantic???

U better tell me everything after u slut

I promise her I will before I pocket my phone and walk home.

I do brighten a little, though. Because sure, I don’t have a Valentine exactly, or a boyfriend.

But what I do have is an extremely hot roommate who seems to enjoy having sex with me, and is probably planning to have more sex with me tonight, and that’s almost as good. It’s better than nothing.

And I find myself smiling a little when I think about Luca, because okay, he’s a whole lot better than nothing.

He didn’t even get scared when I freaked out.

That’s a new one. He liked my coffee, and he liked it when I kinda just crawled in his lap and I didn’t even have to ask for what I wanted in that moment, he just gave it to me, like he knew that’s what I wanted all along.

I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m extremely grateful for it.

I’m just not into asking for things. I either take them or wait for them.

Being told no is the worst thing. Ever. It really, really is.

I spy Luca’s truck parked at the curb when I emerge onto our street, so he’s home from work already.

I trot quickly up to the apartment. When I open the door, it’s Amelia who greets me first, tail wagging and wet nose snuffling my hands.

She’s wearing an adorable pink bandana adorned with hearts around her neck.

“Hi girl,” I croon to her. “Did you put that on just for me?”

Luca’s bent over in the kitchen, shoving a pan into the oven, and whatever it is smells absolutely amazing. It’s obvious he’s been home for a while cooking, judging by the state of the countertops. “She wants to ask you to be her Valentine,” he says over his shoulder.

“Of course I will.” I rub her ears until, satisfied, she lopes off to take up sentry in Luca’s bedroom. I straighten to hang up my coat and bag, then eye him. “Looks like you’ve been busy. I didn’t realize you got off so early.”

“I took the rest of the afternoon off. Finished my last appointment early.”

“Should’ve told me,” I say. “I would’ve come in and gotten myself a birthday tattoo.”

He turns around to look at me. “You actually want a tattoo?”

“I told you I did.”

“I thought you were just flirting with me. ”

“I was . But I also want a tattoo. Two things can be true at once.”

“Fair enough.” Luca smiles at me. “Come here.”

I do like it when he does that, starts ordering me around—even casually.

It makes my stomach and things lower down go tight in a pleasing way.

There is my natural inclination to resist and try to make him come to me, to be difficult just for the sake of doing so, but it’s my birthday and it’s kind of sucked so far; why make it more difficult?

I approach, aware of the smile playing on my face, and raise my chin a little as I stop before him in the kitchen.

Luca’s hand slides along the side of my waist, toying with the edge of my shirt before going underneath.

His fingertips brush bare skin there and it’s insane how just that touch can make me suck in my breath and break out in goosebumps the way it does, like he’s doing something far naughtier than just touching a bit of skin.

“So,” he says in that low voice of his, reeling me in closer until the front of our bodies touch.

I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.

“The moussaka’s done. It can keep warm in the oven for a while.

And in the meantime I thought we could play.

” His cheek brushes mine as he lowers his head, and he kisses my ear. “Unless you’d rather eat first?”

I plant my hands on his stomach so I can feel his muscles rippling beneath. I’ve been salivating to fuck him again since the first time; even now my mouth is watering in anticipation and I have to swallow. “Nope,” I say. “I want my cake now .”

I can feel Luca smile as his lips brush my neck, and I tilt my head to the side to allow him more access, my breath catching.

His hands roam beneath my shirt, following the curve of my waist down to my hips, and I eagerly push myself into his hands.

He walks me backwards toward my bedroom until he’s pushed me up against the closed door, where he claims my mouth again, more demanding this time.

I wonder if he’s going to fuck me right here until he says, “I’ve got a surprise for you. I think you’re gonna like it.”

He catches my waist so I don’t fall when he reaches behind me to open the door with his other hand.

I turn, anticipating something —but there’s not much to see.

My bed’s still made from this morning. Everything’s in place.

The only new addition is a squat candle flickering on my bedside table, only notable for the spout in its glass holder.

I’m not sure what surprise I expected: rose petals scattered all over the place? Cuffs and whips?

Luca’s standing behind me, still. “Take off your clothes,” he says in a low voice.

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I try to turn around once I’ve stripped, but he stills me by the shoulders, keeping me in place. And then I see he’s got what looks like a satin ribbon in his one of his hands. My breathing suddenly goes shallow. “Oh,” I say.

He kisses my cheek. “Do you have a safe word you want to use? Just in case. Like yellow light, red light...”

Oh fuck, do I? It’s suddenly very hard to think past the intense, white-hot arousal uncoiling in my belly, making my knees go weak and my brain melt to little more than goo. My gaze is fixed on the blindfold. “Um?— ”

“Or just tell me to stop, and I will.”

“ White. ” I just pick it at random. “When it’s getting too much. And black for stop, game over.”

“White and black,” he repeats. “You’ve got it.

” He brushes my hair back from my face before he slides the blindfold over my eyes, tying it firmly in place, and like that my vision is nothing but the black interior of the fabric.

“What can you see?” Luca’s voice sounds so much closer now, velvet against my ear.

“Nothing,” I whisper. “Nothing at all.”

“Good.” With one hand on the back of my neck he guides me to the bed.

When I feel the blanket beneath my fingertips, I crawl onto the mattress, and he pushes me gently onto my stomach.

He takes each of my hands and stretches them out before me so I’m clasping the bars of the headboard.

“Perfect,” he says, almost to himself. And then, “Stay right there. Don’t move. ”

I can hear him undressing too, the sound of his shirt slithering over his skin and his belt coming undone, clattering to the floor.

I turn my head instinctively but of course I can’t see him, and I fucking hate that, being deprived.

I whine and squirm and when he doesn’t pay any attention to that, I protest. “Wait, Luca. I want to see you.”