Page 45 of Love Again

He closes the blinds most of the way so I can get out of bed.

“That’s real powdered coffee crap, missy. No half and half for you.”

I smile and blow steam off the coffee. “So your suit is dry, but your clothes are still wet?”

Luke looks a little sheepish, and I have to laugh. His hair, usually wavy, is tight with curls. Between the moisture from the rain, the humidity in the room, and our night in bed, his tousled charm is on full display.

“That’s about right,” he says. “My clothes are still absolutely sopping wet. I guess only the inner layer of this thing is still kind of damp. Most of it dried over the heater, so it’s all good.”

Oh, it’s not all good. He hasn’t quite zipped up the extrication suit. I know I’m probably the only woman to think this, but I find these suits very sexy. There’s something about the hard stiffness of the material that’s such a turn-on. He’s sipping coffee and reading a text on his phone. I watch his throat as he swallows, and then he stands and goes over to the door to get his shoes on.

I think about what he did for me last night. My clit is still deliciously sore, and every time I think about his hands and his mouth and where they were, it throbs a little.

I’m thinking about this now and cross my legs at the edge of the bed.

I want to do this for him. I’m not sure I know what I’m doing. My heart trembles in my ribcage. I rise from the bed and slip on nothing but my long-sleeve sweater with the zipper, but I leave it open.

I want him to see me.

It’s like we’re in one of my dreams, but for once, I’m aware I’m writing it.

He’s busy pulling on his second boot, and I lay a hand on his shoulder. He straightens and looks at me. His jaw works. I step even closer to him and look into his face. He starts to say something, but I stop him. His eyes burn, and his mouth is warm against my fingertips. I don’t want him to talk right now.

Slowly, pulling in fits and starts, I unzip the suit. Despite his optimism, it’s still really damp and even heavier than it normally would be. The thick fabric opens to reveal his warm body underneath.

I pull the stiff material back, revealing the slope of his shoulders, his pecs and delts, and his biceps.

Now I follow that line of hair with my hand. He shivers again and goosebumps rise on his arms. He gasps as I grip his penis, and he leans over me and puts his hands on the wall above my head.

His head hangs down, and I take my other hand and guide his face toward mine and kiss him softly, deeply, as if I can only breathe through him.

Quietly, I stroke his shaft. He stands as still as he can, his hips bucking once, twice, and then he leans forward to find me again. I pull the suit further down, and it falls in wide accordion folds to the floor around his feet. I touch his side. Burying his face in my hair, he makes a guttural sound deep in his throat. In the pink of early morning, I can see several scars, thin silvery etching in his skin.

I know every inch of this man’s body.

Correct that—I knew every inch of this man’s body.

I kneel and he leans further into the wall.

At this angle, he can’t drop his hands, and he leans on them for support, pushing me against the wall, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I feel the smooth head and shaft lubricate with precum. I love watching his arms above his head quiver when I stroke him, his pecs flinching.

I take him into my mouth.

He gasps again and spasms, hard, his hips coming forward. My lips run up and down his length. My tongue flicks the head, then runs down the tip while I grip the shaft at his base.

Standing back up, I grip him even harder and rub my thumb under the top along the frenulum.

Suddenly, he arches against me, and I have to turn my head to the side. His chest is in my face. I can hear his heart beating wildly. He shudders again and again, semen jetting hot and sticky over my hands. Sucking in air, he finally stops. Shoving himself from the wall, he takes a step closer, wraps one arm around me, and holds me tight. Although the spasms slow and then cease, his chest is slathered in sweat and he’s still panting.

“Oh my God, Devon. Oh my God.”

I am inordinately proud of myself. I never feel like I know what I’m doing. I slip my arms under his and hold him for a moment.

I will learn every inch of his body again.

Chapter Twelve

Luke