Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

MACI

K ayla spins around on the desk chair in my bedroom, her eyes beaming like two stars as she hugs a cushion to her chest. She holds the cushion as though she wishes it was Ethan.

"It went well, didn't it?" she says.

"It seems so," I reply, trying my best to smile.

After Kayla asked me if I was okay at dinner, I reminded myself that I had to pretend at least that I wasn't being eaten up from the inside. I had to try to be normal, but it was so difficult sitting right next to her dad without any intimacy between us. I don't know what I was thinking, wearing that dress. It was the only thing I packed that seemed appropriate for a formal dinner.

Maybe, deep down—or not so deep—I wanted him to notice me.

"He's so romantic. He said he couldn't kiss me when he left out of respect for Dad. How amazing, awesomely old-fashioned is that? "

I smile, nodding. She didn't like it the last time I told her to be careful. Anyway, it's not like I'm in the best position to give advice.

"I like old-fashioned," I murmur.

Or, more accurately, I like "experienced." I like salt-and-pepper hair, savage breaths, and bubbles popping like boiling water on the surface as my man stubbornly stays beneath the surface, refusing to emerge until he's given me the most toe-curling orgasm of my life.

"Really?" Kayla says enthusiastically.

I laugh. Sure, it's forced, but forced laughter seems better than sitting here with a glum look on my face, like the ghost at the feast.

"You don't have to sound so surprised," I say. I've made a mistake. I shouldn't be telling her what I like or want because if I reveal even a shred of truth, it'll lead to her dad.

I like tall billionaires with big muscles and big dicks, and it helps if their name is Lukas, too .

"I didn't know you were dating anyone."

"No, I mean, theoretically." Another lie. Guilt twists in my belly. I yawn, covering my mouth. "Aren't you tired?"

It's past midnight. Kayla playfully tosses the cushion at me. "Not really, but I can take a hint. Don't worry. There's so much energy in me, buzzing around. It's like it's teasing me. I can't stop thinking about him. Do you think I should text him?"

"Honest opinion?"

"You think I should calm down and take it slow."

I nod. "I'm not saying he's not the man of your dreams. I'm not saying he's not going to change your life. I'm not saying you won't get married one day. Let's say that's all true. Taking things a bit slower won't change any of that." I hope this is more tame than the advice I gave her at dinner.

"You're right. Thanks, Maci."

She leaves the bedroom. I turn off all the lights and bury my head in the pillow, making my world as dark as possible. I'm determined to fall into a deep, restful sleep. The issue is, I don't think determination has ever made somebody fall into a peaceful sleep.

I toss. I turn. I wage a war with the sheets, which are intent on wrapping uncomfortably around my body. Sweat clings to me. I check the clock—one a.m. I check it again—one-thirty. Soon, it's three, and I haven't slept at all. I've got a tired feeling draped over my body, but my mind is too active. My thoughts rush to the pool, the coldness at dinner, and the impossibility.

When the floorboard creaks outside my bedroom door, I sit up, my heart pounding as a familiar yet new tingle dances up my legs. The creak passes, and then it returns. Maybe it's my overactive imagination, but somehow, I'm sure it's Lukas. It might be because the footsteps sound heavy.

Standing, I sneak across the room and place my ear against the door. I can hear breathing—heavy, manly, deep. I open the door slowly to find Lukas standing in a pool of moonlight, turning his hair almost blue, his eyes gleaming. He's wearing nothing but his underwear, his chest rising and falling dramatically. It's like he's been standing out here struggling to hold himself back and not leap in here to claim me.

Snatching his wrist, I drag him inside and close the door before Kayla sees.

"What are you doing?" I hiss, but I can't stop from smiling. I don't have to try this time. The smile spreads across my lips, my body gleaming with light, with lust.

"I don't know," he says, his voice husky. "I just… need to be close to you."

He grabs my hips and pulls me right up against him. His manhood is already hard. My sex is already wet. Our bodies clearly have no doubts about our logic and our loyalty. He groans as he leans down for a kiss. Our lips clash in an explosion of heat, and then he guides me toward the bed.

I put my hand on his chest, meaning to push him away. Instead, I curl my fingers, scraping my nails along his solid muscles, feeling his heart thudding powerfully.

He lays me down with surprising gentleness, especially considering how hungry he is and how close to an explosion. Obviously, he wants to be quiet.

We keep kissing, sinking deeper into the passion. Our tongues clash as we push our bodies closer somehow, every possible inch making contact, the heat bursting between us. Then he leans back, getting some separation to glide his hand up my thigh. I'm wearing PJ shorts, his fingers caressing my bare skin.

"Are you wearing underwear?" he moans.

"Nuh-no," I whisper. "Sometimes I don't."

"Oh, fuck ." He presses down on my sex over the fabric. "You're soaked already."

"Thinking about you and you being here…"

He greedily palms me, moving his hand up and down, his eyes glinting in the moonlight as he stares down. There's something like awe in his expression. It's as if he's never seen a sight as hot as me, and he's never even imagined it.

Then he pushes my loose-fitting shorts aside and strokes his finger around my entrance. The tingles get even more intense, moving deep inside me, telling me to forget about Kayla. Forget it's the middle of the night. I should scream like we have nothing to be ashamed of or like nothing can ever come between us.

He drives his finger inside slowly, my body aching, his eyes on me the whole time. Deeper, deeper, until he's all the way in, with his palm pushed against my clit. His body heaves with muscle. His shoulders bulge.

"You're so tight," he says in a gravelly voice. "My tight, horny, perfect virgin, but you'll take my dick. Every inch."

"I… don't… know…"

"Why don't you know?" he growls.

Kayla. Betrayal . "You're so big."

He leans down and starts kissing down my PJ tank top, pushing aside the fabric with his mouth, finding my nipple, and sucking. All three pleasure points combine in a flurry that almost sends me sprinting over the edge. He swirls his tongue around my nipple at the same time as he swirls his finger inside me, his palm caressing and heating my clit.

"Your young slit will stretch for me," he snarls, almost desperately, like he's trying to hold himself back but knows he can't. "Your body needs my dick as badly as I need your pussy."

His words set me on fire with the heat of a taboo I shouldn't find appealing. It's like we've turned each other into animals. We become wild and hungry just by being close to each other. He fingers me faster, my body making wet noises.

I turn my gaze away.

"What are you doing?" he growls, clearly struggling to keep his voice a whisper.

"The sounds…"

"That's your body talking to me," he snaps. "Telling me how close you are to creaming all over my hand and soaking these fucking sheets. That's your body telling me you want my dick. Bad ."

There are more wet noises as he fingers me even faster, each stroke of his hand bringing his palm against my clit and sending a jolt of pure ecstasy through my body. I can't even try to cling to the best friend thing when we're floating in so much pleasure. He returns to my nipple, sucking it, caressing it with his tongue.

Starlight bursts across my vision. Stars explode deep inside me. Heat surges through as my hips shudder, chasing the pleasure. It's somehow even more intense than the pool. Maybe it's because of how wrong it is. Maybe that makes me messed up. Maybe I'm wrong.

As he pumps his hand, my hips buck, grinding on his finger. In the final moments, I imagine it's his dick, and that ups the intensity like crazy. No nerves. No doubt. No wondering. Just our bodies and the heat and the need. Just our bodies and the perfection.

I gasp, biting the pillow. When it's over, I find him staring at me with that same awe-like look.

"Do you know how perfect you are?" he whispers.

"Lukas…" I bite my lip. "We can't."

"I know," he snarls, but then he stands up and pulls down his underwear, his huge cock springing free. A vein moves up one side as if his lust is almost bursting out of him. His tip glistens with precome. My core aches with need. "Take off your shorts."

Before giving myself time to think about it—knowing a lot of thinking will come later—I grab my shorts and wriggle out of them. A shudder moves through him as he walks to the edge of the bed, looking like he's ready to collapse with lust.

"Oh, fuck ," he whispers, staring at my pussy. "You're so wet. You're glistening for me."

He climbs onto the bed, leans over, stares into my eyes, and then pauses. It's like he wakes up. For a crazy second, I wonder if he is sleepwalking.

"What are we doing?" I whisper, tears almost springing to my eyes, my voice getting choked up.

"I know," he says, with the same desperation.

He reaches down and brings the massive, hard tip of his dick to my entrance, pushing against it. My walls spread slightly, a kiss of burning pleasure, but then he pulls away.

"Tell me to fuck you," he growls. "Beg me to claim your tight virgin hole. Tell me, Maci."

"I want you to so badly."

He strokes around my entrance, then pushes in just a little. I thought there would be some discomfort. I thought my body, not used to it, would struggle, but I knew if he kept pushing, I'd take him like he said—every inch.

"Then tell me," he groans.

Something deep inside screams at me to do it and stop delaying, shouting at me that this is the man of my dreams. I need to give my body to him. "But I can't," I whisper.

He pulls away with a savage, trembling sigh. Jumping to his feet, his cock bounces, so big, glistening with precome. He turns to the bed, then actually covers his face, like looking at me is going to turn him savage. Maybe it would be better that way. If he just snapped and grabbed me, flipped me over, and drove into me from behind, so we didn't have to lock eyes and acknowledge the shame we shared.

"Dammit," he whispers, reaching down for his underwear.

"I'm sorry."

He glares at me. "You never need to apologize to me , Maci. I should know better."

"No, don't do that. This isn't an age thing. You're not taking advantage of me. We're both in the wrong."

He pulls on his underwear, made more difficult by the fact his cock is still bulging. I ache to reach over, grab him again, and rub my hand up and down like in the pool. It made him so crazy the first time I did it. I want to hear his panting breaths again. I want to see that obsession in his eyes.

"That doesn't make it any better," he says miserably, heading for the door.

Somehow, I manage to get a few hours of sleep. It's fitful and filled with vivid dreams of Lukas. I'm not very refreshed when I wake, but it's better than nothing. I head downstairs for coffee. A note of paranoia touches me when Kayla smiles at me from the kitchen bar, but there's nothing suspicious in her eyes. She has no idea what I did last night, what I almost did, what I wanted to do.

"Coffee?" I ask.

She raises her cup, showing me she already has one. "Oh, by the way, Dad left," she says casually.

She's got no reason to say it any other way. Why would she? She's probably just telling me to make conversation, or so I know. It's no big deal. I'm glad I've got my back to her, facing the coffee machine. That doesn't change the fact I can see my reflection on the gleaming metal surface. It doesn't change the fact I can see the pain in my eyes and the terror in the twist of my lips.

"Oh," I murmur.

"I guess he needs to get back to work," Kayla says absentmindedly. "At least we'll have the place to ourselves now," she laughs.

I laugh with her, but mine is hollow.