Page 94 of When the Smoke Clears

Without hesitation, I lower us onto the couch. I settle back, and she straddles my lap, her thighs warm against mine. I tug her sweatshirt up over her head in one pull. Then, I lift her T-shirt off, inch by inch, until she’s clad only in a lacy white bra that frames the gentle swell of her breasts.

I let my hands roam: the hollow of her waist, the gentle slope of her ribs, the tender blast of that soft lace.

She shifts, grinding lightly against my hardened cock.

I lean forward, lips brushing across the top of her bra strap before flicking it down. The fabric falls away, and I cup her breasts in my calloused palm. Her pulse thrums under my fingertips; delicate peaks harden at my touch. She bites her lip as I pinch one with my index finger and thumb, rolling it between us.

A low growl escapes me. I capture that tiny bud in my mouth, tongue swirling around it. She lets out a sharp cry, arching into the heat of my face. I suck, bite, and swirl alternately, then switch to the other, mapping every inch with my tongue. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me deeper.

It’s as if my body is waking up, flipping an insatiable switch, and the need to taste her, fuck her, own her, is more than I can resist.

My hand slides lower, past the waistband of her yoga pants. My fingers brush the silken heat there—slick, inviting. I pry the fabric taut and shunt her panties aside.

Before she can catch her breath, I thrust two fingers inside her, pumping roughly. She cries out, body shuddering under my hand.

Her hips roll against my knuckles, soaking them through. I curl my fingers, rub her inner walls, seek her pulse of wetness. My thumb finds her clit and draws small circles while she rides my grip.

“Luke…” she gasps, voice ragged as the sky at dawn. “I need you—naked.”

I press my lips to the hollow behind her ear, feeling the rapid thrum of her pulse. “Shh, baby. Come on my fingers first.”

Her hips stutter. A tremor winds through her spine. She throws back her head and unleashes a deep, shuddering cry as her body collapses around my hand. I hold her through the quake, fingers curling ever so lightly to milk every tremor.

When she stills, head lolling, I draw my hand free and guide her slick fingers to my mouth. I slide my tongue along them, tasting her release in slow, maddening licks.

Her eyes find mine—wide, glowing with fire and satisfaction. She parts her lips, and I capture them in a kiss that tastes of everything we’ve waited ten years to share.

On trembling legs, Isla rises. She slides a foot free from her worn canvas sneaker, then the other, peeling away ankle socks to bare pale skin. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her yoga pants, sliding them over rounded hips and down silky thighs, before doing the same with her panties.

At last, she stands before me—hair tousled, cheeks flushed, every inch of her seeming to glow in the warm light.

I can’t tear my eyes away. If every hardship in my life led to this moment, I’d choose them all again without hesitation.

She arches one perfect brow. “You’re staring.”

“You’re perfect,” I murmur.

A slow smile curves her lips. “Then let me stare next.”

Without another word, Isla drops to her knees on the plush rug. She tilts her head back, heavy-lidded eyes locking onto mine. The sight of her there—vulnerable yet so in control—has my blood pounding, cock straining against denim.

She unlaces my scuffed leather boots, fingers brushing my ankles as each boot comes away with a soft thud. She peels off my socks next, kneading at my calves with gentle fingertips before standing.

I rise to meet her as one careful hand slips beneath my jacket; the other works to undo the Velcro straps of my shoulder brace. When she tugs my shirt up and over my head, a jolt of pain stabs my ribs, but I clamp my mouth shut so she won’t hesitate.

She stands before me now, fingers trailing my abs before she unbuttons my jeans and eases down the zipper in a slow, tantalizing glide. My cock jumps, hungry for release.

“Dammit, woman,” I rasp, leaning back into her touch. “If you don’t get my cock out soon, I’m going to come in my pants.”

A mischievous laugh ripples from her chest. She hooks slender fingers in the waistband of my boxer briefs, then tugs both briefs and jeans down in one fluid motion—the cool air of the room ghosts across my skin.

Isla straightens and steps back, eyes dark with want. I sink onto the couch, legs splayed, and wrap my hand around my cock. The head is slick with precome, and I pump it twice, watching her swallow at the sight. Her bottom lip slips between her teeth.

“Do you have any condoms?” She asks, throat tight with longing.

I shake my head, exhaling a frustrated laugh. “Haven’t needed them in years.”

A nervous laugh escapes her. “Same with me.”