Page 152 of Deep End

That’s where it lives, my love for him. In the space between the things hecoulddo, and what hechoosesinstead. Care, swallowingviolence, swallowing care. Over and over again, until it’s all exquisitely tangled up together.

“But I don’t need a picture, since I’m never going to forget this.” He presses maybe a fraction of an inch deeper. My breath hitches. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” he says, a comforting hand up and down my back. Somehow, his words make it true. “A little more. You were made to be fucked by me. Is it too much?”

I nod.

“Liar.” His laughter is low and gentle against my skin. “I’ll give you more. Since you want it so much.” He knows my body better than I do. When to stay still. How long till the burn fades. All my tells.

He knows me. I know him.

Than sharing the same sexual—

I let out a single, pitiful sob. A warbledsorrythat has nothing to do with what’s happening.

“Baby.” Another kiss. On my cheekbone. “It’s okay if you want to cry. It hurts, doesn’t it? It all hurts so fucking much, huh?” He sounds like I’m gutting him with a rusty knife—because it has nothing to do with his cock sinking into my ass.

Whatreallyhurts is pushing him away.

The balcony in Amsterdam.

His name in my phone.

Self-professed belonging.

“Lukas.” Despair and heat spill into me.

“Sweetheart. I’m here to pick you up,” he whispers. “Fuck you into a thousand little pieces, and then put them back together. You don’tneedme to do it, but it’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to fix you?” It’s horrifying, the truth of it. Even more so when I feel his lips against my ear, a whisper rolling out of his mouth. “You want to come, baby?”

I nod. I’m almost there, and yet a million miles away.

“I could make you wait for it. I could force you to tell me all thethings you cannot say.” His hand slides between my hip bone and the mattress. “But I won’t. You know why?” He finds my swollen clit. Index and middle fingers draw circles around it. A tap that makes me shiver. “Because I know all of them already.”

A wet explosion in my brain. I burst just like that, wedged between his hand and his chest, clenching around his cock until I’m so narrow, he almost slips outside of me. His groan rolls through me—There you go, such a good, beautiful girl—and when I’m mellow again, he orders, “Be nice and quiet while I finish, okay?”

He can’t manage proper thrusts, but he drags his movements out anyway, like he doesn’t want this to end. I lie patiently, loving every second of it—being his, being used, being wanted, it’s all a contented, indistinguishable hum reverberating inside my body. His pleasure makes him speechless, a handful of noiseless grunts and foreign words and my name, hands gripping my breasts and teeth holding my neck. He throbs and jerks, and then we lie there, waiting, catching our breaths.

Then he lifts my hips up, knees wide on the bed. I feel his gaze on me, studying, memorizing, and I’m about to beg him to stop, when his mouth is suddenlythere, tongue lazy and broad against my clit, painful bites where my ass joins my thigh. Orgasms sweep over me, and I’m sobbing, choking on my own cries. He’s the one to push my face into the blanket and remind me that I have tohush, c’mon, Scarlett, just bite hereandyou’re fucking ruining me, and then I’m coming again.

I’m outside my body. It’s the best and worst thing I’ve ever felt. I space away. Perfect.Perfect.

Afterward, he disappears in the bathroom, door open, not bothering to turn on the lights. I watch him, boneless, sweat slowly drying on my spine. When he comes back to clean me up, little tears pebble under my eyes, and he wipes them away with his thumb. Tucks me into bed. Doesn’t join me.

Instead he crouches by my pillow, holds my hand to his lips, and asks, “What are you scared of, Scarlett?” His eyes look . . . sad, maybe. I’m not sure. Traces of emotions crease the corners.

“Everything.”

A deep sigh. “When it comes to what matters, you’re fearless. Try to remember that, okay?”

I make no promises. Instead, I snooze. Dip in and out of sleep, but Lukas stays there, watching me, for what feels like a long time. Then he presses a kiss against my forehead, turns off the light, and lets himself out.

The following week, Pac-12 starts.

CHAPTER 59

PAC-12 SWIMMING AND DIVING ARE SEPARATE EVENTS, ONEafter the other. Lukas and I are out of town at nonoverlapping intervals: while he’s flying back from Seattle, I’m waiting for one of the assistant coaches to drive me to the airport, trying to decide what polish to pack in case I get time to do my nails.

However.

“I think the guys’ plane just landed,” Pen announces while we’re waiting at SFO, sitting up in a burst of excitement. “The gate’s five minutes from here—shall we go say hi?”

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