Page 37 of Rebel Without a Claus
I should feel vulnerable, exposed beneath his gaze in the half-light. But how can I with the way Luke looks at me like I’m a revelation; something sacred discovered in the most ordinary of places. I reach for him, drawing him down until his weight settles partially atop me.
Our remaining clothes disappear in a slow, deliberate dance—my underwear slips down my legs; his pajama bottoms are tossed away, discarded somewhere in the darkness beyond the bed.
When there’s no clothing left between us, we pause a moment, locked in each other’s eyes. Then after a small, shy smile, Luke slides down my body with purpose, leaving a trail of kisses that burn like stars against the night sky of my skin. His hands grip my thighs gently, easing them apart as he settles between them. The first brush of his breath against me makes me gasp, my fingers clutching at the sheets beneath me.
"Luke," I breathe, the word somewhere between plea and prayer.
He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, before lowering his head again. The first touch of his mouth is tentative, exploratory, but it sends a shock through me that arches myback off the bed. His tongue traces patterns that seem calculated to unravel me. His hands hold me steady as I tremble, his grip on my thighs anchoring me to earth as the rest of me threatens to float away.
Each flick of his tongue pulls a sound from me that borders on the edge of inconceivable, building in urgency. The knot inside me winds tighter and tighter, a coil of sensation that he controls with infuriating skill. Heat coils low and tight in my belly as he keeps his lips and tongue moving against me, relentless and gentle all at once,
I grip his hair, trying to steady myself, but I'm coming undone beneath him. His tongue moves with unwavering focus, and my breath shatters into a thousand pieces, each one carrying his name.
My fingers thread into his hair, and I hear myself cry out, half a moan, half his name.
He works me like he’s memorizing every contour of my body by heart, the sensation a crescendo building inside me until?—
Until I’m gone. Just gone.
Until pleasure pulses through me, shattering in waves like glass and light. My mind blanks out and my body tenses, clutching at him as if I might slip off the edge of the earth and not return. I come apart in a rush, the world folding in on itself.
Luke holds me through it, one hand gripping my waist as I arch and shatter against him. My vision blurs, my pulse a roar between my ears, and I come apart with his name on my lips—a broken praise that falls like stardust between breaths. He doesn’t stop until I’m shaking and gasping, helpless and undone beneath his touch. He murmurs my name, a low sound that vibrates against my skin, drawing out the last tremors.
When I finally find my way back, I’m gasping, soft incoherent sounds spilling from my lips. Luke’s head is still cradled between my thighs, his breath gently cooling the fire he’s just ignited.
He presses a kiss to the hollow of my hip before sliding back up my body with the kind of slow, smug confidence that only a man who just reduced someone to rubble is entitled to have.
I glance at his nightstand and find a vase there… filled with candy canes that I definitely didn’t notice sooner. I reach over and pluck one from the stack. “I had no idea you liked peppermint so much.”
Luke's kisses against my neck falter as he processes my words, his expression shifting from intense concentration to surprised amusement. "Are you seriously thinking about Christmas decorations right now?" he asks, a laugh rumbling in his chest.
“Well, you can’t leave an entire vase of candy on your bedside and not expect questions!” I gesture at the cut crystal vase.
He snickers and with a shake of his head, he admits, “I actuallydon’tlike candy canes. But Aunt May thinks I do… I don’t have the heart to tell her I hate them.”
“You hate candy canes?” My jaw drops. Actually drops. “How can you hate candy canes?”
He gives a one shoulder shrug. “Dunno. They taste like sweet toothpaste.”
“Exactly,” I snap. “Who wouldn’t want sweet toothpaste!” I throw my hands up dramatically. “Well there go my naughty plans for those candy canes.”
He lowers his forehead to mine, laughing through a groan. "You're ridiculous," he says, but his voice holds nothing but affection. Then, as if accepting my challenge, he adds in a lower tone, "Then again, maybe I'd actuallylikethe taste of candy canes… if they tasted more likeyou."
I swat his shoulder playfully, still buzzing. “Shut up.”
He grins. “I’m serious! If they made Eve flavored candy canes, I’d stock my bedside vase with them.”
“This turned weird,” I joke back and push at his chest.
“You started it,” he returns, but lets me roll him onto his back, laughter bright in his eyes.
“You’re right,” I say, straddling him, pulse racing as I look down at him. “I should probably finish it, too.”
The first delve of my fingers into his chest hair is like a match thrown onto gasoline. He groans, eyes sliding shut as I brush against his nipples. But when I trail down, lower, the rough stroke of my palm against his cock is enough to make him growl and roll me onto my back with a strangled warning.
“Eve,” he gasps in a voice that bears no resemblance to his usually gruff cadence. He reaches into the bedside drawer and produces a foil square that he swiftly rips with his teeth and slides onto himself before positioning his head at my opening.
He pauses, eyes dark and consuming. The world holds its breath. Then carefully, slowly, he pushes inside me, a slow glide of bodies meeting, fitting, until he’s seated deeply. Until he’s rocking me with each measured thrust.The initial stretch and fullness makes my breath catch, my fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. Time seems to suspend as we adjust to each other, our bodies learning a new language of give and take, pressure and release.
