He pushes my knees against my chest and bites my ass. “Don’t give me some vague bullshit answer. You don’t just hate me because of what I can do to you, and right now, you’re gonna get that shit off your chest before you come all over my face.” He drops my legs over his shoulders, and our eyes meet. “Because when I swallow that last drop, it’ll be my turn, and I'm not holding back. I’m gonna tell you everything I hate about you and you're gonna feel it. So start talking."
I grab his head, arch my back, and cry out the second I feel his tongue between my legs. “I hate that you don’t talk to me. I wanna know everything about you, and I…” I gasp when his thumb moves over my clit. “I feel like you were just with me because you wanted sex.” I bite my lip, digging my nails into the mattress. “I hate that I want this, and that I stop caring about how much you don’t give me the second you… shiiit, the second you make me feel this way.” My breathing becomes heavy as my shirt clings to my skin. “I hate that I’ll always want more, and I hate that you won’t give it to me. Oh, God, right there.” I groan, feeling the pressure build and slowly spread out from my core. My body submits to this, to what he can do to me, and I fill my lungs to capacity one last time just as the wave of pleasure rolls through me.
“I hate that I can’t hate you enough to forget you. That for the past year I never stopped thinking about you. Not even for one day.”
My legs fall off his shoulders as he shifts his weight, kneeling between my legs. I think he’s going to give me a few seconds, stare at me a little, maybe respond to what I’ve just said, but he digs his fingers into my hips, lifts me off the bed, and drives straight into me.
“Luke,” I pant, digging my nails into his shoulders.
He wraps my legs around his waist before bracing himself with a hand on either side of me. Arms flexed, ink covering his skin, lips wet and inches from mine. “My turn,” he says through a soft voice. “I hate what you did to us. That what I gave you wasn’t enough, and that you fucking kept shit from me that I had every right to know about.” He begins thrusting into me, so hard my body slides up the bed and he has to wrap his arm around my waist to keep me still. “I hate you for not telling me why you broke up with me. That shit came out of nowhere, and you just dropped me like I never meant anything to you. I was going fucking crazy, and you ignored me. You wouldn’t talk to me. You wouldn’t give me shit. I deserved a fucking reason, and you treated me like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.” His lips fall open with a groan, and I reach up and flatten my hand against his chest, right over his tattoo.
My eyes well up with tears as my body begins to heat up. “Luke,” I whisper, sliding my hand along his skin to his neck, gripping him to bring us closer. He grabs my hand, flattens it above my head, and locks it there with my other, holding me at my wrists.
His thrusts pick up, become wild and frantic, as our eyes stay on each other, never breaking contact.
“I hate that I felt shit for you I never wanted to feel for anyone,” he says, dropping his forehead against mine. “That you made me feel it, and you didn’t give me a fucking choice.”
I stare into his eyes, the weight of my remorse hitting me like a Mack truck. “Luke, I’m…”
“No. You said what you had to say. Now I’m saying mine.”
He slams his cock into me over and over, fucking me with raw force while his face remains distant. I’m already struggling from his words, choking on my own emotions, but seeing him like this solidifies everything he’s just said to me.
He bares his teeth, laughing through a growl. “Do you feel it, babe? How much I hate you?”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from falling apart.
“Good, ’cause I’m done. I can’t hate you anymore, Tessa. I won’t.”
He claims my mouth, roughly, his day-old stubble burning my skin while his hands form to my face. He’s giving me that helpless side of him I only get to see in moments like this, and it’s exactly what I need. It’s such a contrast to the Luke everyone knows, the self-possessed man who doesn’t look like he’d know the first thing about being gentle. But he does. When he breaks like this, when he loses control and gives me this perfect combination of wild and sweet, I become the defenseless one, willing to hand over my heart, unprotected, for a simple kiss.
But it’s anything but simple.
My eyes flash open the second he bites down on my lip, and I’m there, sliding my legs higher up his waist as my climax rolls through me.
“Oh, God, yes. Right there.”
“Fuck yeah, babe. Come on my cock.” He grabs my hip and grinds himself into me as his lips move to my ear. “I missed this. How you squeeze me like that… Fuck, there’s nothing like it.”
I stare, breathless, as he pushes back onto his knees, bunches my shirt above my breasts, and strokes his cock over my stomach, coming with his head thrown back.
I don’t realize my eyes have closed until I feel Luke wiping me clean. Minutes later, the mattress shifts and the covers slide over me, but I’m too tired to open my eyes. My body feels stripped, devoid of the ability to do anything besides cling to sleep right now, so that’s what I do. I let myself drift out of consciousness, in the bed I never expected to be in again.
***
A weight shifts off my feet before something heavy presses against my stomach. Warm breath tickles my face, and I open my eyes just as Max begins sniffing my head. I grab him, pushing him off a bit before I scratch his neck.
“You weigh a ton. I think you need to get more exercise.”
He rolls onto his back to give me access to his belly. I scratch along his fur, sitting up and pushing my hair out of my face with my free hand. I feel well rested, not how I normally feel after taking a nap in the middle of the day. Usually that screws with my system and leaves me more tired, but not today. I pat Max’s belly and swing my legs off the bed, following behind him as he barrels down the hallway toward the stairs.
I’m halfway down the staircase when the sound of a guitar stops me. Slowly inching to the bottom, I peer around the corner and see the back of Luke sitting on the couch. He’s playing as if he’s done it for years, casually and without effort—a soft, sorrowful melody that causes my heart to ache. I find myself inching closer, holding my breath so as not to miss one chord or alert him of my presence. I wonder if he looks as tortured as he sounds right now, and if he does, could I stand seeing him like that, full of shameless emotion? So unlike the Luke I’m familiar with.
A phone ringing freezes me in place and halts his playing. I should move, slowly retreat back up the stairs, but when he stands and turns around, lifting the phone to his ear, our eyes lock and the only thing I can do is give him an apologetic smile. He doesn’t give me one in return before he answers the call.
“Yeah?” His eyes pinch shut and he runs a hand down his face. “Where? Yeah, all right. I fucking know, Ray. Just hold him.” He ends the call and stuffs the phone into his pocket, locking eyes with me.
“I thought you said you didn’t play.”
He stays silent, watching me take a step closer.
“It’s good. You’re really good, Luke. Will you play for me some more?”