Chapter Nine
My heart is thumping so hard in my chest. Sat up with my knees tucked under my chin in Luke's bed, I hear him down the hallway on the phone to his coworkers, explaining the lie that his car has broken down, and he will be in early in the morning to resolve the situation.
I have no idea what he will say to me. I'm nervous, and I feel so ashamed of my actions.
How can I possibly explain this? I have nothing to say that won't mortify him. Will he think I'm vile? That my fantasies are so fucked, that what I desire is so twisted that he is repulsed by me, and he will make me leave him.
I don't know how I could cope without him.
I hear him end the call and make his way back to his bedroom and my heart rate spikes, nervous.
His blue eyes meet my gaze instantly. "That's all sorted," he says.
I nod, too embarrassed to speak, and I can feel that my cheeks are hot, red with embarrassment of what we will now discuss.
He wants to talk about this? Talk about what? About how I have been masturbating in his bed to the thought of him? Is he purposely trying to embarrass me? Does he enjoy this?
"Luke, please... if you're trying to embarrass me you really don't have to, I'm already mortified and I really am sor-"
"I liked it?" he interrupts my nervous rambling, quoting me, throwing my own words back in my face, in a tone that sounds like he is in disbelief, but I'm not sure if it's because I had the guts to say it, or because I meant it. "I liked it?" He says again, more to himself rather than me, as he takes off his work jacket and drops it to the floor.
With his eyes never leaving mine, he starts to undo the tie from around his neck. "You know what I think?" He asks, his voice suggestive, like he wants me to answer.
My lips tremble. What is he pulling here? Too nervous to speak, I say nothing.
"I think you loved it. I think you do it often. I think the mere thought of me makes you wet and you don't know how to control yourself," he says, his tie now on the floor with his jacket, and he starts to unbutton his shirt. "I've seen how you look at me, Helen."
My heart is beating so fast as I watch him slowly unbutton his shirt that's hugs his muscles so perfectly. More of his sun kissed skin being revealed, his pectoral muscles on display all for me to see, perfectly sculptured as if he has been crafted out of marble. The hours he spends in our at home gym definitely pays off.
Fuck, Luke shirtless is my favourite thing.
"You watch me. Constantly. I catch you looking at me all the time. You crave me," he says as a matter of fact, his shirt now fully unbuttoned, hanging off his broad shoulders, and I see his perfectly sculptured abs. His V-lines make a perfect arrow downwards below the waistline of his trousers.
He leans forwards over the bed until his large hands wrap around my ankles. With one quick yank, he has pulled me to the bottom of his bed, the force making my body fall, now laying down with my feet hanging off the bed.
He places his knee between my legs, coming up onto the bed, his hands at either side of my head as he is now hovering over me.
I am beneath him, with only his shirt and my underwear to hide my skin. His eyes roam down my body as I lay beneath him, starting on my lips, then my breasts, to the lace of my underwear, then back to my meet my gaze.
Coming down onto one elbow, decreasing the distance between us, his left hand falls to my hip, his fingers brushing my skin under his shirt I am wearing. The pads of his fingers trace small circles, making me quiver beneath him and my skin covers with goosebumps.
My heart is beating so fast, every pulse making the most sensitive spot between my legs ache for a release. My chest is rising and falling so fast, and every breath I take makes my nipples brush against his chest, and I know he can feel it.
"Look at you, your body is going crazy and I'm barely doing anything," he says.
His fingers dip lower, underneath my underwear, touching the neat slim strip of hair I allow to grow there, and he releases a small breathy laugh with a crooked smile, before shaking his head playfully. "You have no idea how much I like that," he whispers into my neck, his nose nuzzling the skin just below my ear, making my whole body tremble.
I'm panting, and I'm in disbelief. What is happening? God, I've dreamt about this a thousand times.
Thoughts enter my head and leave just as fast. All my senses are full of him, touch, sight, sound, smell, all I need now is taste, and God, do I want to taste this man. He consumes me, every thought, every desire, it's all him.
His fingers dip lower, tracing my entrance.
"Is this what you wanted?" he whispers, as he gently pushes his fingers inside of me.
I'm so turned on, so wet, that his thick, long fingers slide in with ease, and I can't help but let out a moan.
Luke groans loudly, and it's a sound I thought I would never hear. "Fucking hell, you're so wet."
He pushes is fingers in deeper, curling them inside of me as he traces my clitoris with his thumb, moving it in small circles. "I watch you too," he whispers into my skin.
My hips buck involuntarily at his words. His words are something I have experienced before, but him saying it, they way he says it, it is the most erotic thing I have ever experienced.
My hands grip both sides of his open shirt, the fabric clenched in my fists. "Oh fuck," I say in a breathy moan.
His fingers move faster, his thumb never stopping circling, and my hips move with the movement of his hand.
Still resting on his elbow, he lowers onto his side, laying beside my on the bed, his hard erection resting against my hip.
He lifts up my shirt revealing my breasts. His free hand cups my chest, over the thin lace of my bra, as his lips envelope around my nipple, over the fabric, sucking and nibbling, as his fingers inside of me moving faster, fucking me with his hand, and he begins to rub the heel of his palm against me, just like I did to myself. Only this time, I don't have to use my imagination.
"Oh fuck, Luke," I moan so loudly, I should be embarrassed. But I'm not. All I see is him. All I smell is him. All I feel is him. Him, him, him.
He pushes his hips into me, to ensure I feel how hard I am making him.
I want him inside of me, so badly, and I can only pray he wants it just as much as I do.
My hands push into his hair, gripping tightly as I direct his head up to mine. With a quick glance into his ocean blue eyes, I close mine, reaching my lips to his. But they never meet.
His mouth goes to my neck, as he kisses there, hard. His tongue trails up my neck before his mouth closes around my earlobe and the small crystal stud I have pierced there, and bites gently.
His hand on my breast cups harder, massaging, then his fingers find my nipple, under my bra, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure, and it makes me cry out loud.
"More," I beg. "I want more."
"Greedy girl," he says, as he removes his hand from inside of me, and I can't help but whimper at the loss of contact. "Move up, rest your pretty head on the pillows," he commands.
I do as I am told, already missing his touch, missing the warmth from his fingers inside of me.
But not for long, as he grabs my knees to spread my thighs apart. He lays between my thighs, his fingers trailing up and down my skin.
"So beautiful," he says more to himself than me, as if confirming his own thoughts.
His fingers tug at the thin wet lace of my underwear. "These... I like these," he says, and begins to kiss my inner thighs, making my whole body shudder with anticipation of where his mouth will go next. "But I don't like them that much," he finishes, as his strong fingers push through the fabric with ease, tearing it away from my body, and it's probably the hottest thing I have ever experienced.
He stuffs the torn lace into the back pocket of his trousers, then wraps each of his strong arms around each of my thighs, ensuring I can't close them, before he nuzzles my pubic bone.
"You drive me crazy," he says into my skin, then places desperate kisses all over me. Over my hips, my stomach, my thighs, my pubic bone.
My body bucks with anticipation.
My hands push into his hair, before gripping tightly, directing his head to where I want him most.
He chuckles between my thighs. "Patience," he says. His mouth kisses, nibbles and bites everywhere except where I want it most, building up the anticipation.
I'm so desperate for him, my body aches, desperate for release.
"Please," I pant. "Please."
With that, he grips my thighs tight, his fingertips digging into my skin, as if he's as desperate as I am, and is tongue finally traces the most delicate part of my body.
I moan loudly, my fingers tugging on his hair tightly. "Fuck."
His mouth is relentless, his tongue an expert in my pleasure, and my hips buck and dip at his touch. My legs shake, my body convulsing. My skin is on fire, and I can feel the pressure building inside of me.
His mouth sucks, as is tongue never stops circling around me, causing my eyes to close involuntarily, my head burying into the plush pillows.
The pleasure is so intense, it has never felt this good before. My whole body is shaking, rocking to the rhythm of his tongue. My hands are clawing at him, his hair, his face, his shoulders, anywhere I can reach, so desperate to come on his tongue.
He knows exactly what he is doing, making it so pleasurable, but never allowing me to get over the edge, making this last, and I can't bare it.
As if he can hear my thoughts, his fingers push into me. His fingers curling so deep inside of me, hitting all the right places, as if he knows exactly what my body wants, what it needs, as his tongue flicks over my clitoris.
Beads of sweat form between my breasts, my skin so warm, as the pleasure builds higher, higher, higher.
"Come for me," he demands between licks. And as if my body has been conditioned my him, with one last curl of his fingers, and one last flick of his tongue, I come, my body trembling with my orgasm.
"Oh, God!" My toes curl tightly, my back arching off the mattress as my fingernails dig deep into the skin of his shoulders.
With one last shudder of my body beneath him, my hips twitch one last time, as the relief hits me all at once.
Euphoria floods over my body, my mind, and being this close to him, this intimate, I believe this is the happiest I have been for a very long time.
With my eyes still closed, my breath returns, and my muscles unclench.
I feel Luke's fingers gently trace across my skin, erasing all my thoughts, soothing me, and I feel myself drift off into a blissful sleep.
~*~
I don't know what wakes me, but I find myself in Luke's bed, alone. The room is dark, and I can hear rain hitting the pane of the window.
His heavy duvet is atop of me, and I notice I am wearing nothing but his shirt.
Memories of the intimacy we shared together flood my mind. If I wasn't in his bed right now, with no where for my underwear to be found, I would believe I had made it all up.
However, I have a distinct memory of him stuffing the torn up lace into his back pocket, and an ever-so-pleasing ache to my muscles indicating my earlier satisfaction from a man so forbidden.
He must have tucked me into his bed before he left me all alone.
Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, I notice it is just past 2am. The house is quiet, with no indication of him being upstairs.
Getting out of his bed, I head to his large chest of drawers and dig out a pair of his black boxers, pulling the soft designer fabric over my hips. The material is baggy on me, but it will do for now, as I head out of his room in search for him.
With no trace of him upstairs, I head down our mahogany staircase, where I begin to hear faint noise from down the hallway, coming from our home gym.
Following the sound, I open the door to see Luke punching the punching bag that dangles from a thick heavy chain, bolted to the ceiling.
He's topless, wearing grey jogger bottoms and black hand wrap around his knuckles and wrists, supporting his joints from the heavy blows he gives to the black leather of the bag.
He's facing away from me, punching the bag unaware I'm here.
The room is dark, but a single spotlight above illuminates him, emphasising the size of his shoulders and the definition of his muscles. His skin is glistening with sweat, showing he has been in here for a while.
Stepping closer, I can here his rhythmic breathing corresponding with the punches he gives to the bag, causing the chain it's dangled on to clash and sway, the noise allowing me to go undetected.
"Luke," I say, to gain his attention.
He punches the bag harder, faster, as if he is trying to rid himself of frustration, grunting loudly with every punch he gives.
Can he hear me?
"Luke?" I say again, stepping closer.
He catches the bag from its sway, his knuckles holding it in place. He rests his head against the bag, his breathing fast, deep and heavy, his shoulders rising and falling with each inhale and exhale, illuminating the definition of each and every muscle that sits perfectly under his skin, and only then do I notice the evidence of our act.
Red raised scratch marks and small fresh bruises scatters across his shoulders and neck. Scratch marks showing my desperation, the frenzied reactions I had to how he made me feel.
They look good on him, evidencing the marks I have left on him, showing I have been there. Indicating I have touched him. Every inch of this man is truly beautiful.
"Are you okay?" I ask, so close to him now, if I reached out I could touch him and feel the heat of his skin.
His breathing is still heavy from his midnight workout, but I still hear him sigh.
Ignoring me, he lets go of the punching bag, allowing it to swing softly, until his fits begin to hit it again, even harder now, the noise of his fist hitting the leather echo around the room.
Starting to worry, I step even closer, so close that if he misses a punch, the bag will be knocking me over. "Luke, please talk to me. Is everything alright?"
With one final punch, he turns around, almost knocking me over himself. "No, everything isn't fucking alright!" he snaps. "Helen, I've fucked up... I'm fucked up." He clenches his jaw tightly, pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead, and sighs. He clenches his eyes shut and tugs on his own hair, groaning loudly. "What the fuck is wrong with me!?" He shouts, dropping to his knees in front of me.
His head is hanging as if in shame. His hands rest on his thighs, while his breathing begins to slow.
I've never seen him like this, so torn up. I know it's because of me, because of us. What we did. The intimate moment I cherish so much, that means so much to me is tearing him apart, and it's killing me to see.
"Nothing's wrong with you, Luke" I say soothingly, kneeling down on the floor beside him.
He repositions himself, sitting on the floor, bending his knees up to rest his elbows on them. His forehead is in his palms as he looks to the dark grey floor of the gym. "I'm supposed to look after you, not do... that," he says, emphasising the last word as if it is the most fowl thing he can imagine, his face plastered with disgust, and my chest hurts at his reaction.
"You do look after me, Luke," I say, ignoring how what he has just said is currently killing me on the inside.
"I'm supposed to be your step-dad for Christ's sake."
"I mean, I've never really seen you like that, it's different with us," I explain.
"I adopted you. I'm your legal guardian. I'm your legal parent, and then I just..." he shakes his head in his palms, his eyes still on the floor. "And then I did that to you. I'm so sorry, Helen." He looks at me now, his blue eyes searching mine. His face is torn, and I haven't seen him look like this since... since mum died.
"I'm so sorry," he says again, his voice cracking.
I shake my head, my hand finding his. "You have nothing to apologise for. I... I liked it," I say, my voice shaking at my admission.
He winces. "Don't say that," he says, his face looking like he is about to throw up. "Don't say that, that makes it even worse."
"But I mean it," I explain, inching towards him. "I have wanted to do that with you for so long, I-"
"Don't say that!" He interrupts harshly. "Helen don't you dare say that. It's- it's disgusting, Helen. What we did, it's disgusting. It's sick."
He regrets it. He regrets me. It's disgusting. We're disgusting. I've disgusted him.
What the fuck, of course I have. I'm vile. I pushed him too far. He's lonely. That I know. He's the shell of a man that once used to be. He is so lost and vulnerable and broken. He didn't know what he was doing. He wasn't thinking, it was instinct.
I pushed him too far. He thinks I'm disgusting and it's all my fault. How could I be so stupid to believe that this could ever be a thing? How pathetic am I to be pining after a man like this, so forbidden, something so taboo?
Of course it's disgusting. I won't even tell my best friend about my feelings for him. Surely that must be an indicator for how fucked up this all is.
He's suffering in turmoil and it's all my fault. This gorgeous man would be so much better without having to deal with me.
I am a constant reminder of his old life, of how happy he used to be. It must be agonising. Tormenting. He would be so much better off without me in his life. I am ruining him. Destroying every fibre of his being, eradicating his mental state all because I desire something I know I can never have.
How selfish of me.
I don't realise I'm crying until he sits back up on his knees and wipes away the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm so sorry," he says, his voice so gentle, so quiet, as if not to scare me. "I've violated you and I'm so sorry. Helen, please," he kneels up, bringing me with him, and embraces me tight in his arms.
He pulls me hard into his bare chest, my wet cheek resting against the warm skin of his hard chest. "Please, forgive me. I never meant to hurt you." He rests his head atop of mine, and he begins to sob, his chest rising and falling as he does.
I pull away to look at him, tears streaming down his face. "You could never hurt me," I say.
He pushes me back gently so his soft eyes can search mine. "I'll make this right, I promise you, Helen. I'll make this right," he declares, and pulls me back into his chest, giving me a tender kiss atop of my head, squeezing me tighter, as if he fears he will lose me if he lets go.
"I'll make this right," he says again, though this time it is more to himself than to me.