Her fingers moved to pinch his nipples just as she bent down and ran her tongue over his lips. She purred at the plush feel of his mouth and followed its form with the tip of her tongue.
He gave her the most delicious kisses—she couldn’t get enough of them. Him.
Her climax built. The slow, delicious pressure tightened and coiled within her, then Luke lifted his
hands to her hips and gripped her. Her heart shuddered as she drew back to look at him.
“Hey,” she breathed down at him. Her lips curled softly as she gazed into his heavy-lidded blue eyes. His expression was tight with desire as he watched her, and his hands were unyielding as he held down her hips so he could meet her thrusts.
And then she, Peyton Lane, the woman voted in high school as most likely to freeze a guy with a stare, cupped his face in her hands and kissed him as deep and well as she could, kissed him for all the kisses she hadn’t had in thirty years, shuddering when Luke kissed her back just as hard and with as much hunger.
He arched his hips to meet hers and pushed inside her with superhuman strength, his face contorted in ecstasy as he rammed his hips frantically against hers.
“Oh, Luke, please,” she gasped, clutching at his face and biting his lower lip.
She leaned back and rode him, her breasts bouncing as she circled and rolled her hips. His breathing was harsh and labored, and cords strained against his neck as he thrust continually inside her.
“You’re so good, baby, so tight,” he breathed. He watched her when she came, the waves rocking her completely. He came with her, stiffening the instant he watched her shudder in orgasm, and then he spasmed beneath her and rode those waves with his eyes closed, his face twisting in ecstasy.
She fell on top of him and buried her face in his neck, feeling drained and spent and delicious. Only a few seconds later, though, the sensations in her chest became so heavy and painful, she quickly rolled off him and inched toward the edge of the bed. Luke was faster, and he hauled her back to his side.
“I can’t believe it’s Sunday already,” he murmured against her neck, giving her a playful bite. “Fuck, Peyton! We should stay here for another month.”
She closed her eyes tight, suddenly at a loss for words, an awful heaviness settling deep inside her chest. Luke had sounded unexpectedly serious and just a bit forlorn when he spoke, and Peyton’s eyes were starting to burn so badly, she had to blink several times in order to clear them. But they’d known this was only a one-time deal—whatever this strange, magnificent thing between them had been—and maybe that was what made this moment so poignant.
They’d always known they’d say good-bye…only maybe neither of them had expected it would be difficult.
“I’d stay here a year with you,” she said softly, gazing into his eyes. “But I can’t miss my flight. I need to be in the office tomorrow.”
He’d never looked so serious to her. His smile was gone. All the sparks in his eyes.
When she couldn’t bear to stare into his achingly handsome face anymore, she wriggled free of his hold and went to clean up, then got busy packing the rest of her clothes into her suitcase. She dressed as quickly as she could, acutely aware that Luke watched her from the bed with a solemn, somber expression, his eyes dark blue and stormy, but she pretended not to notice.
As she applied her lip gloss, her eyes met his in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. He stood only a few feet away in white cotton briefs, and he looked more gorgeous, more golden, than ever. She swallowed as he walked toward her. Oh, God, she would miss his gorgeous face, and his intoxicating kisses, and him. All of him.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her gaze in the mirror.
Her dark hair and eyes were a sharp contrast to his light ones, and somehow served as a stinging reminder that this could never be anything but a one-time thing. They were from different worlds, wanted different things.
She smiled shakily at him and he placed a soft, tender kiss on her temple and murmured, “I hate good-byes so…I’ll just pretend I’ll see you around someday.”
“Yes. I’ll see you, Luke.”
The knot in her throat closed after she spoke his name. And with blurring vision, she watched him hop into his pants, watched that beautiful PRESTON tattoo disappear under his polo shirt, and then he walked out of her life forever.
Luke Preston had never understood how a person felt when they said they were “depressed.” As far as he was concerned, depression was an atmospheric pressure or a money shitstorm. Not a state of mind. At least, not his.
But now he understood how, exactly, you felt when you were depressed.
Weighed down. Not looking forward to anything. Like shit.
He stared gloomily out the window of his Gulfstream 550, seated all by his lonesome with the rest of the twenty passenger seats as empty as his insides felt, save for the two places for the flight attendants. Both women had been exchanging shocked glances ever since he’d refused his usual apple martini. Peyton Lane. Oh, yeah, speaking of shit, that had been one shitty good-bye.
He’d wanted to ask her where she lived, for her phone number, all her details. But no.
It was cleaner this way. Cancún was a goddamned beach, and everything looked better there. Luke wouldn’t be in a stupid long-distance relationship when he was a man who required sex daily, and Peyton had made it clear she was too busy for anything as well. But jeez Louise, his bullet wound hurt like a bitch.
He stared down at his iPhone. He’d gotten the following message this morning from Cade’s phone, but had ignored it.