He leaned in so his lips were by my ear, and he gave one of my ponytails a small tug. “Are you getting shy on me?”
My cheeks burned hot. I was, but didn’t want to admit it. Every breath I took was a struggle to sound normal and not rushed. I’d been metering it out, hoping he couldn’t hear how nervous or excited he made me.
“No,” I answered. “I’m fine.” I commanded myself to touch him casually, and rested my hand on his thigh once again. “I haven’t been thinking about this for the last two years or any—”
I snapped my mouth shut, horrified. Shit! I was never drinking tequila again. How in the world had I said that out loud?
“Have you?” he asked. His breath ruffled the wisps of hair over my ears, drawing more shivers. His hand found my knee and gently urged me to uncross my legs. “You’ve thought about touching me?” His fingertips skated along the inside of my thigh, and I watched in disbelief as my legs fell open. Encouraging him.
I was reeling and he took advantage. This time I didn’t stop him when his fingers went all the way up my skirt. They settled right at the junction of my legs, and I flushed hot. Could he feel how badly I was turned on? It was so embarrassing, but I couldn’t stop him. All I could do was stare, just as I’d done two years ago in that classroom.
Yet it wasn’t only the environment and situation that were different, it was Luka as well. His face was hauntingly serious, like he’d aged ten years from that final day in December when I’d last seen him.
“What happened to you?” I asked in a whisper. The alcohol had disrupted my ability to filter anymore.
His eyebrow lifted. “What?”
“You look different.”
His fingers stirred and applied pressure, pulling a gasp from me, but he didn’t slow down. “Not as much as you.” The pads of his fingers danced and manipulated, each stroke bringing foreign pleasure. So different than my own touch, and he shifted closer as if making himself comfortable. “I never got to see this perfect body you were hiding under all those clothes.”
“Oh, God,” I moaned, unable to contain it. “I’m not perfect.”
“Tell me you weren’t five minutes early to every class. Say you didn’t care how you looked, or how neat your homework was,” he said. “Even your scratch notes were clean. Go on and lie to me.”
My body reveled in his touch even though my mind was chaos. I endured his teasing, unable to do anything but process. Holy crap, it felt so good. My head tipped up, thudding onto the back of the couch as he touched me. Blood rushed loudly in my ears, drowning out the sound of the music pounding from below us, and my eyes fell closed.
Was I that obvious to him? It was important to me that I looked my best. That I always tried my best.
“You like this?” Luka’s voice seemed to invade my head.
There was no reason to lie, he could feel how terribly excited I was. “Yes.”
Pleasure built in waves, each bringing more heat to the fire. His two fingers rubbed aggressively on my clit and I choked back a moan.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
I lifted my head and found his gaze. Luka was turned, leaning into me, his face only a breath away. His forearm disappeared beneath the plaid fabric of my skirt, but the movement of his wicked hand was obvious.
I swallowed a breath as his fingers curled around the crotch of my panties and pulled them to the side. His deep eyes studied me like a hunter watching his trapped prey. His fingers stroked over my slick, heated flesh, which made my heart gallop and my hands clench into a death grip on my skirt.
His finger eased inside.
To the first knuckle, and then he pushed deeper. My mouth dropped open, rounding into a silent, “Oh.” The stretch of his intrusion was pleasurable, but the idea of it was infinitely hotter. The man I had lusted after for what felt like forever, was now between my legs, touching me. Possessing me.
Luka’s thick finger retreated and slowly pressed inside me once more. I whimpered. It was quiet, but he certainly heard it. His gaze hooded, making him look intoxicated. I had the strange feeling he was drunk off of me, and not just the alcohol. At least, I hoped.
“Tell me,” he said, “what you thought about me doing to you.”
It was hard to do that. My brain was sluggish and foggy, swirling from the tequila. I felt reckless and stupid, and unable to think of a reason why I shouldn’t tell him the truth.
“This,” I whispered. “You touching me.”
“Yeah?”
He kept his finger buried inside as he moved over me, kneeling between my legs. He smoothed his other hand down the front of his pants, massaging himself for a moment, but he didn’t keep it there long. It slipped around the back of my neck, cupping at the nape. Something dark and dangerous flickered in his eyes. A second finger worked to join his other inside my body.