Page 122 of Deep End

“Fuck,” he mutters. He slides one finger inside me while thumbing my clit.

It’s sogood, I cannot believe I managed to do without him for over a month. I squirm against his touch and slide my hand back around his cock to do the same to him.

Lukasgrowls. Grips my wrist again, and this time pins it next to my head. “I think you forgot who’s in charge.”

“I haven’t.” It comes out as a whine, and earns me a near-painful bite at the base of my jaw. I hate myself for the way I can’t stopwrithing against him, but I’m not sure he’s in control of himself, either. And Iknowthat he isn’t when I feel him nudge against my opening right there, against the door, when beds, couches, a table exist.

Thing is, I don’t think he can wait to be inside me. Because he is guiding me down onto his cock right now.

The first few inches glide in all at once. I close my eyes, let out a small, breathless whimper of adjustment, arching to make him fit.

“Lukas,” I moan.

It’s smooth sailing—until it’s not. His eyes on me are wild and soft. “You are very beautiful. Have I told you?”

No idea. I can’t even remember my own name. “I . . . maybe?”

“I was watching you dive the past few days.” He starts moving, and I whimper into his neck. It’s as always, with him. A little painful. Unbelievably good. Annihilating the possibility of any other thought. “And I was thinking . . .” A particularly hard thrust, and he stuffs himself deeper. His mouth exhales against mine. An almost kiss. “I swear, Scarlett. I think about the ways I’ve fucked you all the time. Replay them in my head so much, I’m afraid they’ll wear off.”

One more inch. He’s just big enough that this is never going to be easy. The pressure of him, impossible to breathe around. I feel feverish, too hot, pliant, and it’s justnice, the way he holds me and fills me. Concentrating on his words is more effort than I can spare.

“But I can’t remember whether I told you how beautiful you are. And it’s been driving me crazy.”

Deeper still. For a split second, it’s too much, and I almost push him away. Then it passes, and . . . “Oh my god, Lukas.” I think I could—it’s insane, I must be losing my mind, but I think I could easily come just from the drag of him inside me. I roll my hips, trying to get closer, but the hand under my bottom stops me. My other wrist is still pinned to the wall, and I let out a restless groan. “Please.”

“Hush.” He kisses my cheek calmly, like his cock is not throbbing inches deep inside me. “Did I?”

“W-what?”

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are?”

I’m fluttering around him, ready to burst. I think—I remember—I’m almost . . . “Yes. Yes, you did.”

His mouth twitches in satisfaction. “Good,” he says, pulling out and then filling me again. “My brilliant, beautiful girl.”

He fucks me like he’s thought of nothing but this since the last time we touched. We both come like avalanches in less than a minute.

“Isn’t there a party somewhere?”

Lukas gives me his bestWhy would that matter?look and spoons an indecent pile of fried rice on my plate. “More?”

I shake my head. I should feel embarrassed at the way I have to lean against the counter, boneless and dripping, cotton-brained and flushed all over. I can’t, though, not when he moves around my kitchen like he’s been cooking in it for months, not with the lingering glances he sneaks at me every few moments.

He takes both our plates to the table, and must notice my post-orgasm uselessness, because he returns to pickmeup, his palm firm under my ass, my legs wrapped around his waist. He’s a wonderful means of transportation—safe, timely, comfortable. I want a yearly pass.

“I was going to let you eat first,” he says, taking a seat next to me. “Couldn’t, though.” He shrugs and dives into his rice.

“Is this an apology?”

“Come on, Scarlett,” he chides. “You know it isn’t.”

Good, I think.

“Now that I got a better look, it’s not as bad as I thought,” he adds.

“What?”

“Your apartment. I expected muddy shoe prints and sentient mold.” He glances around like a judgmental landlord. “This is livable.”

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