Page 87 of Lucas & Melissa Falling in Love
Chapter 29
Iget home to Margo’s late. Everyone’s asleep and I tiptoe to my room—the guest room. I can’t seem to get that out of my head. I’m not sure if I’m glad or disappointed that Margo isn’t up to talk. I’m exhausted from the emotional energy of telling my parents and then rehashing it on the way back with Lucas. For once he didn’t argue with me about staying the night with him. I’m not sure if I’m glad or disappointed about that either.
Of course I’m disappointed. As I crawl into the big cold bed by myself I’m annoyingly aware of the lost opportunity to snuggle with a warm hunky man.
Next time he asks, I vow I’ll say yes to staying overnight with him. Either that or I ought to sign up to live in a convent because I hear nuns are into self-denial.
The digital alarm clock stares at me with its old-fashioned charm not making up for the fact that it’s one a.m. I need to get up at five to get to work early. Shit. Forcing my eyes shut, I pull the covers over my head.
The shrill sound of my phone forces me to jump, sitting straight up and diving for the bedside table where I left it plugged in and charging. I’m too well-versed, courtesy of my mother, in the emergency nature of late-night calls not to answer it without hesitation—and without even checking to see who it is as my chest pounds.
“Hello?” I wait only a fraction of a beat before I hear his voice, then Lucas purrs into my ear.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he says. I smile when I should be irate.
“So you figured you’d spread the misery?”
He laughs low and deep and vibrating and I settle back onto my pillows.
“I’ll need a couple of double espressos to get me through the day I have planned.”
“Heavy dealing with bigwigs?”
“Marketing and advertising. I hired a publicity firm. More arrangements with suppliers and a meeting with the dreaded lawyers.”
“No one I know, I hope.”
“No. Fierro Motors uses an international firm with an office in New York. I’m working with them.”
“Madison Ave and lawyers. The only people you’re not dealing with tomorrow are the finance guys,” I say, impressed that he holds his own with them all. His name carries a lot of weight.
“I have that covered too. My father is the financial guy. Did I not tell you that in addition to being an engineering genius, he’s also a financial guru?”
“No, you didn’t let that slip. But I’m not surprised. And I have to say that it looks like the multitalented apple hasn’t fallen far from the giantly impressive tree.”
“Flattery like that will go right to my head, Melissa.” His voice is a husky whisper and I know which head he’s talking about. It’s not the one that wears hats. I squirm and sink deeper under the comforter, switching my phone to my left hand.
“Then my ploy is working. I want to give you a big head. A very big head.”
I hear a muffled growl from him and it turns me on. I reach my right hand down under the covers and slip it into my panties.
He says, “And hard. Very hard. Is that what you had in mind . . . Melissa?” He whispers my name in that tigerlike half purr, half growl, the one that sends a buzzing through my blood stream, heating me up. Pushing my fingers into the moist folds of my pussy, I let out a breathy moan. Unintentionally. I’m not sure I meant for him to know what I’m doing. But now it’s too late.
“Are you hot and wet for me, Melissa?” His voice has a strangled edge to it now. The way he says my name is like a caress, a tease. I suck in a breath as my fingers find the nub in full blossom, and I flick it.
“Yes.” I can barely talk. “I’m hot and bothered.” I move my finger and my hips and feel that sensation of coiling growing as I listen to him groan with tortured pleasure.
“Are you . . . hot and bothered, Lucas? Are you taming that hard-on?” I struggle to talk, but I have to know. I need to know if he’s stroking himself. My face catches fire at the thought and I back my hand off, slowing down, wanting to make this last.
“I have a vision of you pleasuring yourself right now, touching your pussy, slick and swollen . . .” He grunts and sucks in a breath and then continues. “Am I right?” His voice is impossibly raspy and the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
I move my fingers back over my clit, playing wildly, flicking and running circles, feeling the tightness spiraling.
“Tell me,” I nearly gasp into the phone. “Are you masturbating with me?” My voice sounds desperate and I’m almost lost, but I hold on for his answer. I hear him panting, his breathing heavy and filling my ears as I squeeze the phone, pressing it to my ear hard. My finger is rubbing and pressing now and my jaw clamps in tension.
“Yes . . . Melissa . . .” His voice is strangled and he moans and I hear a clatter and movement and I let go, pushing my fingers inside and then squeezing my clit to bring the dizzying shudders to the surface. My eyes shut, and I see stars inside my lids but hear nothing. I only feel the explosions quaking me from within, the hot pulsing under my fingers as I keep moving them, as I press my thighs together, not breathing.
Finally, I let out a moan into my pillow and remove my hand. I try to catch my breath, heart thudding, as my muscles unclench and I feel that overwhelming sense of wellbeing settle over me. Searching the messed-up bedclothes, I grab the phone and clamp it to my ear.
