Preston Brothers: Lucas Part 9

On the third time, I begin to panic, because seriously? What the f.u.c.k am I doing here? I turn to leave, but the door opens and my panic triples.

"How dumb am I? I tried calling you," she says, and I face her.

She's looking right at me, her hair damp and loose, cascading around her shoulders.

I blink.

"Your phone, right?"

She's not wearing pants.

Jesus s.h.i.t.

She's wearing on oversized shirt-her dad's work one-and nothing else. Well, maybe something but I can't see it, and so I let my imagination take me away.

"Luke?" She waves a hand in my face. "Are you here for your phone?"

When I don't respond (too busy imagining what's beneath the clothes-or cloth... or whatever the singular for clothes is), she says, "How long have you been knocking? I was in the shower."

G.o.ddammit. Now I have naked Laney in the shower in my head.

"Luke!"

Of all the things I can say, I choose to tell her, "My name's on your shirt."

"What?" she asks, looking down at her chest. Then she glances up, her eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Preston Construction," I say because apparently she needs help reading. "My name."

She shakes her head. "It's not your name."

"Is so."

"Is not."

"Is so."

She spins on her heels and walks farther into her room, leaving the door open for me to follow. Which I do. Because did I mention she's not wearing pants! Girl's got legs for days and doesn't even know it-this I learned the summer we were fifteen, and she showed up at my house in a bikini top and cut offs and kept asking why I was walking behind her, looking down at her shoes. I wasn't looking at her shoes. Obviously.

She walks to her desk, hidden beneath the staircase leading to the rest of the house. "I think it's dead," she says, her back turned. I stand behind her, look over her shoulder, sniff her. G.o.d, she smells good. Her shoulders straighten, but she doesn't turn around. "Did you just sniff me?"

I ignore her question, move closer to her. Just an inch. My chest is touching her back, her bare legs skimming mine. And I ask her something that's been infiltrating my mind all d.a.m.n day. "How far do you go on these dates?"

"What?" she breathes out. Her breaths are rapid, matching the rise and fall of her chest. b.o.o.bs. "Are you still going on about this?"

"I haven't stopped thinking about it," I tell her truthfully.

She's struggling to breathe now.

So am I.

She turns slowly. Oh, so slowly. I don't budge. Not a bit. Her dark eyes meet mine through her gla.s.ses. "Do you want to charge your phone?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

"Yes," I say, but neither of us makes a move to do so.

She stares.

I stare back.

Six seconds.

Eight heartbeats.

Her throat moves when she swallows. I zone in on the movement and lick my lips, wanting them there, kissing her, tasting her. "Do they touch you?" I murmur. Her gaze drops, and my hands are quick to move. One goes to her waist, the other to her chin. I make her look at me. "Do they?"

"Luke."

"Where do they touch you?"

"Who?"

"Any of them. All of them." Jealousy can make someone insane. I'm proof.

Her hands are on my chest. I like her hands on me. Anywhere. Keep touching me, Laney. She's fighting against herself. I see it in her eyes. In her fists, balled against me. She wants to push, but she wants me closer. Choose to be closer, Laney.

She pushes. "I hate when you do this."

"Do what?"

"Tease me."

I almost laugh. Almost. She has no f.u.c.king idea. "You think I'm teasing you? You're the one who answered the door without pants."

"I knew it was you," she whispers.

"Exactly."

She shakes her head, her arms extended, palms an inch from my skin. There's s.p.a.ce between us. I don't want s.p.a.ce. I want her.

One year.

Tick. Tock.

She says, "You didn't come here for your phone, did you?"

My lips twitch. Curve.

Hers do the same.

She leans back against her desk.

I lean into her.

Bye-bye, s.p.a.ce.

I say, "I came here for you."

"Why?"

"Because I want to kiss you, Lane. Because I want to wipe the memory of every other a.s.shole who's ever touched these lips." I skim my thumb across her bottom lip, and her eyes drift shut. Her lips part. My thumb's in her mouth now, against her tongue, her soft, wet tongue, and Jesus Christ, I've never been this f.u.c.king hard in my life and I've barely touched her.

My mouth waters.

My pulse pounds.

She sucks harder.

"s.h.i.t."

She releases my thumb and her hand curves around my nape, pulling me to her. Her legs spread, welcoming me. My mouth's on her neck, on her throat, right where I wanted to be. She arches her back, makes a sound that has my knees buckling, collapsing into her. She's warm between her legs and she's moving, searching, wanting. I finally, finally, go for the kiss. Her mouth's open when I get there, her tongue warmer on my own than it felt on my thumb, and she's grinding, grinding, moaning, moaning. And I'm falling, deep, deep, deep into her web, and swear, if she kisses every guy the way she's kissing me I'm going to find every one of them and kill them dead.

I want to rip her shirt open, devour her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Move lower so I can devour her some more. But I take my time. I reach up, undo one b.u.t.ton. Another. My mouth doesn't leave her. Her fingers are in my hair. Tugging. Pulling. She breaks the kiss. I miss her lips. Another b.u.t.ton and I'm kissing her collarbone, listening to her make those sounds. Those d.a.m.n sounds.

My body wants her.

My mind knows I have her.

Another b.u.t.ton.

Then: "Luke, wait."

I freeze. Blink hard. Keep my mouth on her. I try to stay focused on her. On here. On now. And not where I want us to be in ten minutes. Each and every one of her exhales. .h.i.ts me like a punch to the gut, bringing me back to reality. She says, "I've forgiven you for a lot before, and if this is some weird territorial thing because you realized I've been with other guys, then you need to leave. Now. Before we do something we'll both regret and can't take back."

Each word is like rapid fire going off in my head. I try to stay calm. But it's been four seconds, eight heartbeats. Thump thump thump. "We were supposed to have college," I murmur, my mouth suddenly dry.

She isn't pushing me away. Not yet.

So I keep going. "I was supposed to have four more years to make you fall for me, Lane. For you to see me the way I see you and now... I'm not ready yet. I'm not good enough yet."

She tugs on my hair, makes me face her. She's looking at me, concern deep in her eyes. "What are you talking about, Luke?"

"I screw up," I admit. "A lot. I make stupid mistakes and forget important things, and as your friend, that's okay. But I can't be that if I want to be more, and we were supposed to have college, Lane, where I don't have to worry about raising my brothers and making sure they get to all their activities. And there won't be this pressure to train so I can break Cooper f.u.c.king Kennedy's stupid high school records and get to all-state. It'll just be me and you and I can focus on you so I don't f.u.c.k up and make mistakes and forget important things like you asking me to meet you after seeing your mom and I'm sorry. But I don't want to be sorry. I don't want to give you a reason where I have to be sorry. I want to be better." I shut my eyes tight and pinch the bridge of my nose because I can't believe I just said all that. To her. Spilled the truth I'd kept secret for so long. Girl after girl, night after night, trying and failing at not thinking of her when I was with each one of them and now we were here: crossroads.

"Do you love me, Lucas?" she asks, and I can tell from the weakness of her voice that she's crying. I wonder how often I've made her cry without knowing. "And I don't mean like a friend or a sister. Do you love me and want to be with me and only me? Because I need to know that you do. You have to show me. Anything less and this will ruin everything."

I blow out a heavy breath and open my eyes to see her watching me, waiting. My response is instant. "I've loved you forever, Laney."

I go slow with her, take my time, worship her body the way she deserves. She writhes beneath me, around me. Her skin's light against mine, pale porcelain against sun-kissed tan, something I don't notice until we're tangled limbs on our bed. I spend a lot of time outside, running after my goals, after my brothers. She spends a lot of time inside... click click clicking with her knitting needles.

She giggles, makes a joke about it.

Then she comes once on my fingers.

Another time on my tongue.

She wants to do the same with me, but I know I won't last, and it'll be messy and "We'll have time for that later," I tell her. Besides, I want to be on top of her. Inside her.

She keeps condoms in a box under her bed. I don't ask why. I don't want to know. But I know she hasn't done this before. I feel it when I enter her for the first time. She whimpers, and I ask if she's okay. I kiss her neck, her jaw. I stroke her hair. She whimpers again, and I ask if she wants to stop. She doesn't. "It's perfect," she says.

It is perfect.

She is perfect.

Every inch of her is perfect.

I want the moment to last forever.

But it can't.

It's hard to control your body, your l.u.s.t, your desire. Especially when it's connected to a girl you've been in love with before you had a grasp on what love was.

I pull back, kiss her once. Her fingers strum across my back. "It's okay," she whispers, then smiles. "We'll have time for more later."

She watches me slip my boxers back on, her dark hair a mess against the white pillowcase. Her cheeks are flush, strands of her hair caught in the sweat on her brow. She's smiling, and I feel like a G.o.d that I caused that. I grab my phone off her desk and connect it to the charger on the nightstand. I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for it to switch back on so I can make sure I have my alarm set. I'll definitely need a run in the morning.

The bed shifts with her movements, and I turn to her, her fist wrapped around the blanket, covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s so they're not revealed when she sits up to kiss my bare back. I like that she finds it necessary to hide parts of her even though I've already seen them up close. She's still shy. Still innocent. Still Laney.

I turn enough to kiss her forehead, taste the sweat. "You okay?" I ask again.

She shrugs, her chin on my shoulder. "I'm still a little sore."

"I'm sorry," I tell her.

"I'm not."

My phone powers back on and she lays back down, her fingers stroking my back. My phone vibrates, again and again, and my eyes narrow as I pick it up, still connected to the charger. My pulse begins to race because I have no idea how long I've been here, no means of contact, but if something were wrong at home, Laney would be the first person they'd think to call. The alerts for messages and missed calls aren't from home, though. It's worse. My breath halts and the world shifts from this dream, this fantasy, to a harsh reality where the naked girl in the bed is not the girl who's been calling all day, not my girlfriend.

"Is everything okay?" Laney asks.

And the only thing I can say is, "It's Grace."

Silence pa.s.ses.

I don't count the seconds.

"Oh my G.o.d, Luke," she whispers, "What did we do?"

I turn to her, the girl I love, and I give her what she deserves. "You didn't do anything, Lane. This is all me."