Page 57 of The Best Book Boyfriend
It was mine.
Chapter 23
Kara
OhGod.Oh. My. God.
I’m naked on the floor in Luke’s hallway, having some sort of out-of-body experience. Except, this out-of-body experience also somehow involves Luke beinginsidemy body. The blood is rushing back to my head, the tremble of my legs is slowing, and Luke is stroking his big, warm hands up and down my back.What did we just do?
I squeeze my eyes shut and replay everything, desperate to commit it all to memory.
“Do you want to stay for a bit?” he asks quietly, as if he’s not sure he should ask at all. I’m glad he has, though. High on orgasms, I’m not sure I would make it home without walking into traffic. I don’t want to move, don’t want to burst this bubble, the one where we’ve given everything we’ve got, taken everything we could, not worried about what happens after.
“Is that OK?” I pant into his chest. “I believe I was promised pancakes?”
He presses a long kiss on the top of my head. “All part of the deal, Buttercup.”
Buttercup. Matthew’s nickname for Briony. The one that she claims to hate but secretly loves. I climb off of him, gather my clothes, and duck into the downstairs loo while he heads upstairs, presumably to take care of the condom.
Staring at myself in the mirror, there’s no denying what just happened. My hair is a mess, my lipstick has been kissed right off my face, and my mascara is smudged. Thankfully, not from crying this time. I feel a little wobbly on my feet and sit on the toilet seat for a while, leaning sideways to press my forehead against the cool tile.
Matthew Braverman has been my number one Book Boyfriend fantasy for years, but what just happened out there with Luke was on another level. I’ve thought about sex with him so many times that I don’t fully believe I’m awake. When I tug my underwear back on, the proof is right there, a deep purple lovebite blooming near the top of my inner thigh.
I face away from the mirror, looking over my shoulder to examine my back. Two more bites between my shoulder blades, another near my hip I can see without the help of the reflection. I have to cover my mouth to shush myself. This is one of the filthiest things that has ever happened. My knees are pink from grinding against his floor, my mouth swollen from greedy kisses. Luke has well and truly marked me, and I love it, each an agonising reminder he was just right there all over me.
If a Book Boyfriend did this, I’d be sending screenshots to Hattie and Megan with the caption #WankBank. That it justactuallyhappened is making me throb to my core.
No way can Hattie and Megan know about this. Except...Oh shit. I try to piece together the loose details I know of their plan. They were never coming to dinner. They knew Luke would join me, and presumably they knew, or hoped, this is how the night would end. They’ve both readLove To Loathe You. Those scheming bitches. Those brilliant angels. No matter what happens now, they’ve certainly made my thirtieth birthday a night I’ll never forget.
That was so much better than anything I’ve imagined in my head. The way Luke touched me, the combination of Matthew’s moves with a few of his own thrown in for good measure. I want to know every single thought he had when coming up with plans for tonight.
This is the first time I’ve properly touched his skin. Jesus, I could get drunk on his skin. What is a man as rugged as Luke doing with skin that soft and supple and why can’t I stop thinking about touching it again.Holy shit.I’ve had sex with someone else and it was good. Better than good. Incredible.
A gentle knock at the bathroom door pulls me from my unravelling thoughts.
“Do you want something else to wear?” He’s a mind reader. I’ve wriggled myself back into my dress and already feel exposed.
“Yes, please.”
“I’ve got some stuff here.” I open the door a smidge and he hands me one of his t-shirts and a pair of his cotton boxer shorts. “Um, I don’t have any women’s clothes, but I figured these would be comfy. You can have a jumper too if you’re cold.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll see you in the kitchen. For pancakes.”
I’m more nervous to walk into the kitchen than I was to walk through his front door. More nervous than when I kissed him. More nervous than when he peeled off my clothes. Back then, I wasn’t nervous at all. It all happened just as I hoped, and it was good.So. Fucking. Good.But now? Now I have to walk in there and have a conversation with him. What are we supposed to talk about? Coffee? Books? Work?
I don’t know how long I’ve been hiding in the bathroom, but any second now it’s going to tip into ‘an uncomfortably long time’. His navy t-shirt is ridiculous, practically a dress on me, and no way will these boxers stay up. I’ll have to stick with my underwear or nothing.Or nothing.A clench in the pit of my stomach.What the fuck.Why am I getting turned on again thinking about walking around Luke’s house wearing only his t-shirt?
I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I close the bathroom door and make my way down the hallway. The clothes he abandoned have been tidied away. If the evidence wasn’t written all over my body, you’d never know what happened here. In the kitchen I find him whisking eggs in a bowl, and I quietly take a seat at one of the high stools on the other side of the breakfast bar, tugging his t-shirt down as far as I can.
He’s changed into jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt, and I want to rip it all off and go another round. It’s a fucking gift that I’ve seen him casual in loungewear and brooding in a dark suit on the same night. For the rest of my life, when I picture him in my mind, it will be him sitting down across from me in that beautiful suit. Did he have it already, I wonder? Or I’ll picture him the second before we kissed, the tiny smile when we both knew what was about to happen. Or I’ll picture him hovering over me, pinning my arms above my head and…
“You’re ruining my house, Kara.” He pushes a glass of water towards me and I down it, quenching a thirst I didn’t realise I had.Never mind your house. You’ve ruined my body and my mind.
“How’s that then?” I ask.
“I can’t eat at my dining table. I can’t sit on my sofa without picturing you getting yourself off, and now every time I walk through the door, I’m going to be thinking about pinning you to the floor.” Despite my filthy thoughts, his bold words make me bashful. We’ve never mentioned the night on the sofa, and it makes me feel woozy to know he’s replayed it in his mind, too.
