Page 194 of Glass Jawed
Lucian will be here any minute. His apartment is more of a glorified office these days, so he camps there from 9 to 6 like a stubborn CEO. With Liam.
And at exactly 6:15 pm, he usually shows up. Never later.
Unless he’s bringing flowers. Or food. Or both.
God, I hope it’s not food today. Because I cooked. Forus.
I check the time. 6:12 pm.
Panic mode:activated.
I dart to the table I’ve set up like some Pinterest cliché—non-alcoholic wine, a vase with exactly one flower (who does that?), a white tablecloth that keeps slipping, and the lights dimmed just enough to hide my nerves.
And me. Standing there. In a fucking robe.Nothingunderneath.
Maybe I should’ve gone with a trench coat? Or ordered one of those sexy, complicated lingerie sets with garter belts and chokers and matching thigh straps from... where?
Shit. Too late now.
The front door clicks.
Fuck. Shit. Damn.
I scramble into position, leaningoh-so-casuallyagainst the table—only for it to skid half an inch under my weight. I’m mid-stumble, mid-regret, when Lucian walks in.
His gaze lands on the table. Then me.
Then the very obvious fact that I’m naked under the poorly tied robe that’s threatening to give up on life.
“Don’t move.”
His voice is low. Thick.
I freeze.
He stares. His bag drops to the floor. His shoes are kicked off like he doesn’t even register them.
And he just keeps looking at me like I’m his last thought, his first dream, and every damn craving in between.
“Baby...” he rasps.
I swallow. “Yes, Luc?”
That’s all it takes.
He’s on me in seconds. Mouth on mine, hands already tugging at the belt of the robe.
“Fuck, fuck,fuck,” he murmurs into my lips. “Are you sure?”
I answer by grabbing his cock over his jeans. His groan nearly unravels me.
The robe slides off. Forgotten.
So is the dinner. The wine. The table.
He doesn’t touch me immediately. Just stares.
His eyes trail over me with something between reverence and raw hunger. His breath is shaky, his jaw tight.
