I could, but it's been so long since I've wanted something this much. And it's good to want. It's good to feel. It's good to be with Luke.
Yeah, I bet it's good to cheat on your fiancé, you slut.
It is.
***
Previews flash on screen. Some romantic thriller, sappy and cheesy. Two pretty blonde teenagers, lean bodies, linen and blue skies. I sit next to Luke in the back. Except for us, the theater is empty.
“I never took you for an exhibitionist,” I say.
“Would you prefer my apartment?” And spend the entire afternoon without clothes, the ocean breeze rolling in from the balcony? No. Of course not. Of course I don't want anything like that. Who would want something like that?
Luke takes my hand. It's shaking. Why am I shaking? I am not usually so pathetic. I am not usually such a nervous wreck. Then again, I am not usually cheating on Ryan.
I feel Luke's breath on my ear. “If you're too nervous or scared or guilty, we can just watch the movie.”
I open my mouth to agree. To ask Luke to go easy on me, to leave this cool, dark room and go someplace safe and bright, where his body will not be pressed against mine, where I will not be close enough to feel the heat of his breath. I open my mouth to tell Luke this needs to stop now, that I am Ryan's, that I love Ryan, that I don't want to do this.
But why deny the truth?
“I'd think about it,” I say. “But this movie wasn't very good.”
Luke grins, that million dollar smile of his. And his eyes, those fucking brown eyes, sparkle with electricity. No, lust, need, passion. Because of me. He is filled with lust because of me. Because he wants me. Because he needs me.
The lights dim as the last preview ends. We're watching some indie drama, quiet and subdued and easy to ignore. Luke laces his fingers with mine. Somehow, I'm both sweaty and shivering. How can I be so hot and cold at the same time?
Maybe cause you're about to cheat on your fiancé in public? Ever hear of guilt?
I push away my thoughts. So what if I shouldn't do this? I want to do it.
Deep breath.
I turn towards Luke and press my lips into his. And with every motion of his lips and tongue, my doubts are pushed further and further away. Every part of my body wakes up, and every part wants his touch.
But it's only his lips on my lips. I slip my tongue into his mouth and swirl it gently. He's responsive. He kisses me harder, dragging his fingertips up and down my arms and shoulders. The straps on my dress are so flimsy they fall off my shoulders with a single shrug.
I sneak my hand under his shirt and explore the muscles of his hard body. He shifts and groans as I touch him, his kiss getting harder and harder. Finally, he pushes my dress to my waist and cups my breasts over my bra. God, keep touching me. More. I need more.
And then Luke's fingers find their way inside my bra, and all conscious thought flees my body. I am not in a public movie theater. I am not Ryan's fiancée. I am not in the middle of stepping back into the spotlight. I am not anything but here, right now, with Luke. All I know is how much I want him, how much I need him to touch me and to touch him in return.
I arch my back and shift onto him, my back against his chest. His lips hover over my ear, the soft rush of his breath sending shivers through my body. His teeth scrape against my ear lobe, gentle nibbles all the way down. I unzip my dress and push it past my feet.
His lips move to my neck. Hard kisses, then it's teeth. Soft at first. Then harder. And harder. Until it hurts just enough to feel amazing. I groan. “Fuck me.”
“Not yet,” he says. “Not until I'm finished with you.”
Hard to object when he puts it like that.
He pulls me close, my back flat against his chest, his hard cock pressed against my ass. He traces the outline of my bra, from my back to my front and back again, his fingers never slipping beneath it. Finally, he unhooks my bra and peels it off my skin. His hands slide over my sides, around my ribs, to my chest. He cups my breasts, rubbing his thumbs over my nipples in slow, easy circles.
He pulls his hands away from my breasts and returns with his fingertips. One at a time, each fingertip slides over me, around my nipples, softer and softer until I am shaking with desire. Then, his hand plants on my knee. It slides up my thigh, lighter and softer, until I can barely feel it. He brushes his hands against my inner thighs, getting closer to my sex, then retreating. Closer. Closer. Closer. Finally, I grab his wrist, and press his hand over my panties. He grins and kisses me, so hard and deep I lose track of where I am. I moan. I dig my nails into his skin as he pulls my panties past my knees.
“Jesus, Alyssa,” he says. “You're so sexy. It's driving me crazy.”
“Then fuck me,” I say, and I rub my ass against him.
His hands slide up my thighs, closer and closer, until his fingers slide over my clit. Jesus. I groan. I shake. I reach behind my back, rubbing his cock over his jeans. He groans and I know I've got him. I know he'll finally fuck me.