Luke’s laughter is silent, his shoulders shaking as we sway together on the makeshift dancefloor, the moonlight making his emerald irises sparkle. “You know he’s just trying to rile you up, right?”
I grunt. “I think he outdoes you in the brat department. His future partner is going to have their hands full.”
His answering smirk is coy. “Are you saying I need to step it up?”
With a snort, I pinch his side. “I’m too old for that.”
Luke leans in, his soft lips grazing my ear. “Funny. You don’t fuck like an old man.”
My breath hitches. “Brat.”
As I tighten my arms around his waist, swaying us to the slow melody of a crooning love song, I marvel over how far he’s come now that Evelyn’s constant vitriol isn’t buzzing in his ears. Although her behavior at the end had been a low blow, causing him to enter a brief period of grief, sometimes going quiet and getting a faraway look in his eyes, he has slowly begun to blossom again. It’s much easier to coax asmile or laugh from him these days, and he doesn’t put himself down nearly as often.
With each day that passes, I realize Luke never needed anyone to take care of him. He just needed someone to be there for him when he was at his lowest. I’m more than willing to help shoulder the burden, but he’s much more resilient than he gives himself credit for. Still, I want to be the pillar he leans on—to be a part of his support system.
“I know your secret,” I hum into his ear.
His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
“You’re not a brat. That’s a cover-up so people don’t notice how soft your heart is.”
There’s a sharp inhale before he blinks up at me, his lips wobbling. “Think you got my number, huh, big guy?”
My answering smile is affectionate. “I see you, Luke Parker.”
He makes a quiet sniffling sound before burying his face into my neck, and I don’t even call him out on it when he takes discreet little whiffs of my mahogany body wash, or when one of his palms slides down my shoulder to squeeze my forearm.
This town thinks he’s an impulsive, irresponsible party boy? They don’t give him enough credit.
His heart is so pure, he nearly broke himself into pieces for a woman who refused to love him the way he deserves. I most certainly don’t deserve him either, but I’m keeping him anyway. I’ll make sure he knows just how fucking perfect he is every single day. I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing away the voices in his head that tell him he isn’t good enough, if I have to.
I’ll offer him what he has so selflessly given to me, the thing I’ve craved all my life: acceptance.
Loving Luke Parker is an honor and a privilege.
Maybe, at some point, I’ll even get the courage totellhim I love him—when he’s actually awake and not slipping in and out of consciousness in the back of an ambulance.
At forty-three, I was beginning to give up hope that I would ever get to experience this kind of love. The life-altering kind that makes even mundane experiences something special and new.
Speaking of new experiences…
I clear my throat. “Would you like to try something new?”
He lifts his head up, those inquisitive emeralds studying me. “What?”
My breath feathers over his cheek as my hand leaves his waist, my finger running along his sharp jawline. “Do you want to fuck me tonight, Luke?”
His eyes widen, his tongue darting out to lick his lip. “Is that your way of saying you want my cock?”
I nod, suddenly finding it hard to speak. It’s not something Ineed. I’ve always enjoyed topping—prefer it even—but I occasionally like to bottom as well. Although, admittingly, it’s been a while since I’ve done it. Maybe that’s why the idea of taking his cock makes my mouth dry, a flurry of excitement and arousal swirling around my stomach.
And okay, I’m curious to see if Luke might enjoy an occasional switch-up as well.
There’s a hitch in his breathing, something that looks like intrigue and hunger crossing his features, and then his hand is palming the back of my neck and pushing me down until our lips are brushing together. It’s a deep, passionate kiss that tells me exactly how intriguing the idea is to him. The heat in this kiss has my body instinctively leaning forward, as if it wants to melt into him. That gooey, tender feeling erupts inside my chest, spreading through my limbs and warming every cold part of me.
Honestly, I’m surprised that little shit—also known as my son—hasn’t interrupted us.
Luke pulls away, dragging in a lungful of air as he licks his bottom lip. There’s a dazed expression that I suspect mirrors my own. “I’ll take really good care of you,” he promises breathlessly. Then he blinks. “But you’re still going to tell me what to do, right?”
