Page 106 of Goal Line
My eyes follow his gaze in the mirror. The sight of us—of him taking me bent over like this, my belly resting on the counter and my breasts swaying each time he bottoms out—turns the heat within me up a notch. A few more thrusts, the drag of him along my inner walls, has me teetering right at the edge, and that heat turns into lava spreading through me as my core clenches around Luke and my entire body convulses.
I’m a shaking mess of satisfaction as I ride the waves of that orgasm, crying his name as his eyes stay locked on mine in our reflection. The minute my body grows slack, Luke picks me up, one arm under my knees and the other under my back and walks us into his massive shower. Turning the water on, he lets it warm up before setting me on my feet and pulling me under the shower head with him.
Facing him, I reach between us and grasp his length in my hand. He’s still coated in my cum, but the water is slowly washing it away.
“Fuck, Peaches,” he whispers, his head falling back into the stream of water, as he groans. “I need your mouth.” I sit back on the built-in bench with him still in my hand and greedily suck him in. He grunts softly and fists my hair as I take him deeper into my throat until he’s moaning with pleasure.
“Fuuuuuuck yes,” he growls, like he’s trying to hold himself back. His reaction only spurs me on. With my other hand, I reach between my legs and circle my swollen clit as I take him deeper and open my throat so he can press even farther in.
“Look at you playing with yourself while you swallow my cock,” he says as I glance up. “There’s nothing fucking sexier than this.”
And then I slide my fingers into my cunt and fuck my own hand as I take him all the way into my throat, whimpering around him. My hips buck wildly against my fingers and Luke’s soft grunts turn ragged as looks down at me.
He pulls out quickly, shooting his release over my neck and chest. The way he’s coated me in his cum, the warmth of it trailing down my body amid the hot steam of the shower, is the thing that sends my orgasm ricocheting through me.
Then he pulls me up into his arms and tells me, over and over again, how much he loves me as the hot water rains down on us. I hold my face up to the spray, letting go of the girl I once was: the one who actively pursued other guys, even though she was in love with her best friend, the one who’d convinced herself that finding someone—anyone—to love her would make up for the fact that Luke didn’t.
As I stand under the shower, he adds soap to a bath sponge and caresses every inch of my body with bubbles. Then, he massages my peach-scented shampoo into my scalp and trails the long strands of my hair between his fingers, before rinsing it out. He slowly and methodically repeats the process with the conditioner, running his hands through the strands and giving the occasional tug that sends shivers down my spine.
What should have been obvious all along is more than clear now: this is how Luke shows his love. It’s how he’s always shown that he loves me—by taking care of me, showing up, being there when I need him. His love isn’t transactional, it justis.
I follow suit, washing him and hoping my hands carefully moving over every part of his body communicate that I’ll always take care of him the same way he takes care of me.
When Luke says that we need to get out of the shower or we’ll miss dinner, I reluctantly let him wrap me in a towel. He heads out of the bathroom to give me time to dry off, but he’s back in only moments, my phone in his hand.
“You have a text and several missed calls from Christopher,” he tells me, handing me my phone, “and from Morgan.” And sure enough, my lock screen is littered with notifications from the two of them.
I look at the texts first—Christopher letting me know that he was repeatedly approached by fans asking about Luke and me when he was out this evening, and Morgan telling me that the magazine article has “kind of blown up ina good way,” and suggesting that we might want to lay low for a bit.
Luke chuckles and says, “Oh no, I guess we’ll have to order takeout and spend all night together naked.”
“Sounds like an awful way to spend the evening,” I reply with a growing smile as all my concerns from this morning about needing more sleep disappear.
Chapter Forty-Two
LUKE
“Why are you ordering drinks like you’re twelve?” Tucker asks as I take a Shirley Temple and a Coke from the bartender.
“I’m not drinking while Eva’s pregnant.”
“Why the hell not?” Preston asks.
“Becauseshecan’t drink. It’s not exactly a huge sacrifice.” I glance over to where she’s standing under the shade of one of the tents lining the polo field, her hand resting under her belly as she talks to Zach and Ashleigh. “Unlike what her body is going through right now.”
My brothers’ heads all turn slightly to follow my gaze. “I still can’t believe you baggedthat,” Tristan says, shaking his head.
“First of all, my wife is not a fucking prize, so watch your mouth and stop salivating over her. And second of all, of course we’re together,wewere inevitable.”
Tucker chuckles into his rocks glass before tipping it up to his lips.
“You still haven’t signed the prenup I gave you when we had dinner,” Preston says.
I grind my teeth together at the reminder. “I told you I’m not having her sign a fucking prenup. What’s mine is hers.”
“That’s a dangerous game to play with a small fortune,” Tucker says.
“Not when you’re this sure.” There’s no part of me—not even a tiny doubt in the back of my mind—that worries about whether Eva and I will make it. And in the event that anything should ever happen to me, I want everything to go to her and the baby. Or babies, if we have even half as many kids as I want us to make together. My brothers and the Hartmann Family Trust will do just fine without my portion of the estate.
