Fill Me (21 page)

She's so desperate. She'd come in minutes.

She kisses me hungrily, her tongue sliding into my mouth as her nails dig into my skin. Mhmm. I pull her closer and slide my hands under her skirt. Damn. The fabric of her tights is thin, and it would feel so damn good to peel it off.

We were apart for so long. We have so much time to make up for.

She runs her fingertips over my stomach. It would feel so good to touch her, to have her touch me, but it's a bad idea. Something is wrong, really wrong, and sex is only going to distract her from her feelings.

When we break, she looks up into my eyes expectantly. "It's our last night in New York..." Her voice is low, seductive.

"You're drunk," I say.

"Not that drunk." She leans closer, sliding her hands under my shirt again, sliding her fingertips over my skin.

My heart races, my blood fleeing my brain. Will making Alyssa come really make matters worse? That doesn't seem right.

I grab her ass, pressing my crotch into hers. She sighs and leans into me. Her lips are on my lips. Her tongue is in my mouth. Hell, her hands are on my chest, filling my whole damn body with want.

I need to get inside her and quickly.

But I step back. If this goes any further, I won't be able to stop myself.

"Can we talk?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "I'm not really in the mood for conversation." Her voice is harsh, but she tries to shrug it off. "I suppose we should grab a cab, get our stuff, and get ready for our flight."

I nod.

"Okay," she says, folding her arms but trying not to look annoyed.

"Did something happen?" I ask.

"Yeah. My life was turned upside down for six months." She takes a step towards the street, throwing her arm out to hail a cab.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Alyssa

I spend most of the flight sleeping off my massive hangover. Ellen wasn't kidding about drinking until we drop.

Luke is sweet, fixing my blanket, offering me water or club soda or saltines. He makes nothing of me not eating. Either he believes it's nausea or he's learned I can take care of myself.

Under the cover of the blanket, I slide my fingers over my engagement ring. But the feeling of the smooth platinum and the hard diamond does nothing to illuminate my situation.

Luke is next to me. If I manage to peel my eyes open to let in the horribly bright lights--God forbid--I'll see him, sitting next to me, reading some paperback piece of pulp fiction, half his attention on me.

He loves me. I don't doubt that, not even for a second.

But Ryan's words keep replaying in my head.
Most people aren't strong enough to be with someone so guarded.

Most people aren't strong enough to put up with my bullshit.

I pull the blanket tighter, willing the pounding in my head to go away. Ryan doesn't know the first thing about love. He treated me like a damn pet. If he really loved me, if he really knew anything...

The plane hits a pocket of turbulence and I jerk out of my chair, the seat belt pulling against my pelvis. Ow.

Luke leans in towards me, his hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

I nod, but I keep my eyes pressed closed, my body turned towards the window.

"How's the headache?" he asks.

I groan. "I'm never drinking again."

He wraps his arms tighter around me, laughing a deep, hearty laugh. "I'll hold you to that."

"Maybe not never again."

I blink my eyes open--damn, it's bright--and look back to Luke. His attention is on me, and he's damn sincere. Those big, brown eyes are so wide and so full of concern.

He leans in closer, until I can feel the heat of his body, smell his breath.

"If you make it to the hotel, I have a surefire hangover cure."

"And you tell me now?" I lean closer, soaking in the warmth of his body.

"Mhmm. And you'll definitely like it."

My head fills with all sorts of wonderful ideas, pushing out any memories of last night. Ryan stopped by to apologize for being an asshole. No big deal. It's not like I buy into any of his words. It's not like his warning, his concern, whatever it is... It's not like it scared me.

Not even a little bit.

I press my lips against Luke's. They taste like Earl Grey tea and honey, and they're so soft and warm. This is all that matters.

Ryan has no hold on me. Nothing he said affects me in any damn way.

***

My hangover shrinks into a dull ache bouncing around my head, but I'm still not at one hundred percent. It's late afternoon here, and the sun is high and bright. It bounces off the floor, filling the whole lobby with light.

The space is open. Hell, it's practically a courtyard. The warm, humid air sticks to my skin, and it's damn sweet. Some wonderful mix of salt and tropical fruit.

I sit in a cushy leather chair while Luke takes care of the check-in business. The ocean is only a few hundred feet away and it's a perfect, crystal blue. Everything is decorated in bright colors. The chairs are teal and orange. The desks are a vibrant gold.

Luke sits next to me. He runs his hands along my cheek. His touch is delicate, and there's such a sweetness to it. All I want to do is close my eyes and melt into him.

"You ready to see our room?" he asks.

I nod. He takes my hands and pulls me out of the chair. I stumble, ever so slightly, landing in his arms.

Fuck it. I press my eyes closed and soak in the feeling of his body around mine. This is perfect. This is everything.

I pull back, steadying myself and taking his hand. He leads me to the elevator. There's already a car on this floor, and it's just for us. I step inside, leaning against the railing for support.

His hand is still on mine. "Our room is called a royal suite."

"What does that mean?"

He smiles. "It means it's amazing."

The elevator stops on our floor. Luke squeezes my hand and leads me down the hallway.

"Fuck, that window is really bright," he warns.

It is horrifyingly bright. I squeeze my eyes closed. Anything to keep from reactivating my hangover.

He laughs and helps me to the room.

"You can open your eyes now," he says.

I do. The room
is
amazing. The furniture is a mix of bright and calm blues, but with the curtains drawn, the room is dim enough to bear.

Luke lays me on the bed and brings me a cup of water. He laughs as I squint at him with what must be a look of utter agony.

"You're cute when you're miserable," he says.

"You would know."

I feel his hands on my hips. Then they're unzipping me.

"Don't get any ideas," he says, as he lifts my ass and pulls my jeans to my feet.

I have all sorts of fucking ideas.

I blink my eyes open, meeting his gaze. There's always something sincere about him, but it's heightened today. It's like he's desperate to please me, to prove he really can make me happy, really can make this work.

My chest tightens. I'm getting ahead of myself. The two of us are in a gorgeous hotel room in the middle of paradise. We can discuss these kinds of awful matters later, when we're free from aching heads.

"I have a few ideas," I say.

He smirks, swinging his knees around my hips so he's straddling me. I arch into him, pressing my crotch against his.

"You're dreaming," he says.

But he places his arms alongside my body, leans down, and presses his lips into mine.

His kiss is hot and sweet, a wonderful spark igniting everything inside me. A gentle warmth floods my body. We've barely touched in the last two weeks. God, we need to touch.

I dig my hands into his hair, pulling him closer. The sweetness slips away, his kiss becoming hungry and desperate. I'm pouring need into him, just like I have a million times before.

He breaks our kiss. "This isn't what I meant by a hangover cure." His voice is heavy and strained.

And he's hard. He wants this as much as I do.

"You couldn't have meant anything better than this," I say.

He leans closer, his fingertips on my shoulders. "Not better. Just different." He runs his fingers over my skin, until they're on my neck, my chin, my cheek.

"What was it?" I turn my head away from the window, my eyes fluttering closed.

His breath is on my ear, his hands back on my shoulders. "I can show you."

The whisper sends shivers all the way to my fingers and toes. He brings his mouth closer to my ear, sliding his tongue over the lobe.

I dig my hands into the cotton sheets, shifting my body into his. He sucks on my earlobe with the gentlest pleasure.

"Was this your plan?" I ask. I swear I had a sassy follow-up, but it's impossible to think with his mouth on me.

He runs his finger along the neckline of my T-shirt, pressing the fabric against my skin. He traces from one shoulder to the other and back again.

"Luke..." I groan. It always gets a response.

He releases my ear and presses his lips into my neck. They're so soft and sweet and wet. It's a hint of pressure, as soft as it could possibly be. I dig my hands into his thick hair, tugging at the roots.

He scrapes his teeth against my neck. It's harder, sharp even. The tiniest hint of pain.

My sex clenches, my body filling with pleasure. I need more, harder, rougher. I need him to mark me, to use me, to lose himself in me.

He nibbles on my neck again, a little harder, a little sharper. I groan, tugging at his hair, bucking into him.

His hands slip under my shirt, skimming my bra. Dammit, they're so close but so far away. I need him to touch me properly. I need those expert fingers on my chest, playing with my nipples until I'm so fucking wet I can't take it anymore.

Luke sinks his teeth into my neck. It's a proper bite--hard, desperate, needy.

His fingertips are on my skin, sliding over my breasts but not quite touching my nipples.

My sex clenches. My body is on fire. Every place he touches is electric, amazing, perfect.

He bites me again, ever so slightly harder. He's testing, careful. Too careful.

I wrap my legs around him, pulling his body towards mine. His cock is straining against his jeans, and I arch my pelvis, rubbing my crotch against his--my underwear against his jeans.

Jesus Christ.

Luke pulls his lips off my neck, his hands from my bra. He runs his fingers over my T-shirt, pressing it against my skin. It's so soft I can barely feel it.

He explores every inch of that damn T-shirt, pressing it against the skin on my neck, shoulders, stomach. Tracing the outline of my bra, his fingers so, so close to my nipples, so, so close to my fucking skin.

I groan, my legs shaking, my hands digging harder and harder into his hair.

He's evil.

He retraces all of his steps with two fingers. The fabric of my shirt scrapes against my skin, the gentlest bit of friction. Up and down and left and right and back and forth.

Finally, he cups my breasts over my shirt. He rubs gently, three fingers making circles over my nipples.

There's an ache between my legs. I'm empty and, my God, I need him to fill me. I squeeze my legs together, as if to somehow contain the want pouring out of me.

He brings his hands to the bottom of my shirt. His fingertips slip onto my stomach. Jesus. Every touch sends tingles to my sex.

I pull my eyes open and look into his. His attention is foggy, like he's already slipped deep into lust. He kisses me, his soft, thick lips sucking on mine.

When our kiss breaks, he pulls my shirt over my head. His eyes pass over my body, slowly taking in every inch.

"Get on your stomach," he says.

He shifts his body off of mine, watching as I roll onto my stomach. My body is on fire, waiting to be touched, caressed, filled.

He straddles me again, his knees pressed against my thighs, his crotch against my ass. He brings his mouth to my ear and scrapes his teeth against my lobe.

"I was going to give you a massage," he says.

His fingers slide down my neck, around my shoulders. He traces my spine. It's slow and gentle and light. He stops at my lower back, his fingertips pressed against the top of my panties.

He runs his fingertips over the edge of my panties.

I swallow hard, digging my hands into the sheets. "And what will you do instead?"

He slides his hands up my back, stopping to unhook my bra and pull it off.

"Well," he says, bringing his body onto mine. "I'm going to have to touch you everywhere." He kisses my shoulders, his teeth gently scraping against my skin. "Until you're so desperate to come that you're shaking."

"Luke..."

He runs his hands over my sides, stomach, hips. "Do you object?"

I shake my head.

"Good," he says.

He drags his fingertips back up my sides, moving closer and closer to my breasts. My body hums, tingling everywhere. I bite my tongue to keep from screaming.

He slides his hands under me, onto my chest.

Jesus. My sex clenches, my body filling with want. I try to roll over, but he squeezes his knees around me to hold me in place.

"Not yet," he says.

He cups my breasts as he brings his mouth to my neck. He bites me, gently at first. Then harder. And harder.

I push my legs against his, trying to push him off me, to force him into a position where I can feel his cock against my sex. But he holds strong, biting me harder and harder.

The pain sends shivers down my spine, heightening the feeling of his touch. The ache inside me grows. I need him now. I need him inside me.

He brings his hands back to my hips, digging his fingers under my panties. Fuck. He's so, so close, but he's not touching me properly. Not yet.

He shifts his body lower, so he's straddling my thighs. I lift my ass, and he slides my panties down, shifting his body along with them, until both are at my feet.

My legs start to shake. I hold on to the bed for dear life, my body tingling from anticipation.