Chapter 10

Katya

SOMETHING WAS obviously bothering him. Like really bothering him. He sat in the back of that town car, elbows on his knees, forehead in palms, fingers threading through his dark hair, never looking up. Either he was about to puke or was going through some serious family-induced turmoil. Possibly both.

But things were bothering me too—him, for example, and his behavior this entire evening. I wanted to yell at him and fought hard to hold back, curbing my own burning irritation.

It took a minute to figure out which was the right button, before I pressed it to raise the divider between us and the driver. No need for him to know all the juicy details of our non-marriage. I’d never been in a car like this before but I’d seen enough movies to know it could be done. Then I cleared my throat and turned to him.

Lucas’s hands, where they supported his head, were strong and laced with bulging veins and a light dusting of dark hair. For some reason, I found them fascinating, my eyes wandering to them even as I spoke in stern tones to their owner.

“So not like you’ve cared to ask my opinion, but my entire summation of this evening can be put into three little letters. WTF.”

He massaged his temples with his thumbs, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. Still, he said nothing.

“And on a scale of one to ten, your husband rating tonight is damn low.”

“Great. You and Claire can form the ‘Lucas is a shitty husband’ club when this is all through. You can arm wrestle for the positions of president and vice-president. Tell me something I don’t know.”

I folded my arms tightly against my chest. “Yeah, so when were you planning on telling me about that little tidbit? After I’d failed the immigration interview for not knowing a thing about your previous marriage?”

His head jerked up, and he peered at me through narrowed eyes. There was something there at the back of them. Some deep hurt I couldn’t name and knew instinctively that it had been there long before I’d set foot into this whole hot mess of a family. Somehow, our coming back here tonight had dredged things up for him.

I could identify—all too easily, as a matter of fact. But even though I felt bad for him, it didn’t give him an excuse to be a complete and total dick to me.

He spoke through a clenched jaw. “It’s not like you’re exactly forthcoming about your own family, are you? My in-laws—your parents, your brother—I hardly know anything about them either. I also have no idea why you’re avoiding them to the extent that you dropped everything and left your country. And that for some reason, getting mail from some lawyer in British Columbia terrifies you.”

I blinked, swallowing a bit of guilt at that reminder. Yes, he spoke the truth, on all counts. But tonight wasn’t about me and my family.

“Nice way to turn that back to me but you didn’t come face to face with an ex-spouse you didn’t even know existed. Nor will you because I’ve never been married before. You might have mentioned that, at least.”

For some reason, that revelation most of all, was the one that was sticking with me—beyond the Van Den Richie Rich parents and the glamorous socialite sister. Beyond the fancy European noble title and the sprawling mansion and family vineyard. Beyond that… was someone whom Lucas had married years ago. Presumably for love. Presumably before he became closed off, bitter and jaded on the entire idea of marriage.

His gaze intensified. “And what difference does it make to you that I was married before? This isn’t even real. And maybe you should be thankful that I think marriage is a joke. My marriage to Claire lasted all of five months, FYI. I probably never would have agreed to do this if I took marriage seriously.”

Whoa… I blinked a few times. “So this is a joke to you?”

He gave a stiff shrug. “Not you needing your green card, no. Or you keeping your job, which helped me out a great deal. But I’m all for mocking an outdated and ridiculous institution that I personally loathe. That’s the joke.”

I shook my head, frowning. “How are you so bitter about everything? You’re not even thirty yet.”

He clenched his jaw, cheeks bulging, staring straight ahead. “I have damn good reasons.”

I folded my arms tightly and shifted, staring at him sharply. “Maybe it’s about time you shared some of them, then. Since now this involves me too.”

He muttered a string of bad words under his breath, threading his fingers through his hair a few more times. It was standing straight up like a fright wig. I might have teased him for it had he not been so fully agitated already.

“Fine.” He let out a long sigh and straightened, falling back against the seat, posture stiff. “Why not give you something else to mock me about? When I was way too young, I screwed up and made some shitty decisions to make other people happy. Finding out it’s almost impossible to reverse some of those mistakes helps you get bitter fast.”

I rubbed my forehead, attempting to curb my irritation with him out of concern. His tone of voice sounded weird… flat, emotionless. And not in his typical emotionally unavailable way.

“I don’t plan on mocking you about it, FYI.” Then waited a moment to ask him the follow-up. “So you, uh, got married to make other people happy instead of yourself?” My eyebrows knotted into a frown. This sounded weird. Maybe people who had titles and lots of money still acted this way.

He rolled his eyes and fixed his gaze out the window to avoid turning toward me, most likely. “I was nineteen. She was my high school girlfriend. The wedding was a full blown over-the-top ridiculously expensive party that everyone wanted. Every reason why I married her was the wrong one.”

Hmm. I sank back against the luxurious leather of the town car and it squeaked as I shifted toward him. “What were the reasons, then?” I asked a little quieter than before.

The more he seemed to get agitated talking about this the more I felt myself calming down. All of this in spite of the fact that I was still reeling from this weird ass night and still annoyed with him for the secret-keeping. I was willing to hear him out, anyway.

“Idiocy of youth. It seemed like the thing to do. We met during our sophomore year and had been going out for a few years. But I was on my way to Cambridge, a big unknown, foreign country. She really wanted to come along. My family liked her family. She wanted it. They wanted it.”

“Everyone but you wanted it?”

He shrugged. “I had no idea what I wanted. I was a kid. I just wanted to make everyone around me happy. Live up to my family’s expectations, toe the line. Be the good firstborn and do what I was supposed to do. Until I couldn’t anymore. I figured out that making myself utterly miserable to please the world around me was not a good idea. On top of that, I wasn’t ready to be a husband—hers or anyone else’s.”

I paused as he stared blandly out the window and my heart hurt. I found a familiar echo of his story in my own. We’d both been motivated to toe the family line and be the perfect child, even if perhaps for different reasons.

I glanced at him again. It was hard to rid myself of that image of Claire looking at him. She’d never taken her eyes off of us and it had been… uncomfortable. They’d been split up for six years, for heaven’s sake.

“Could Claire still be in love with you?”

One hand went to cover his face as he laughed. “Oh don’t read anything more into her behavior tonight than self-pity, and a constant craving for attention. She never loved me any more than I loved her.”

I shook my head. How messed up was all this? “Well if that’s the case, then your parents really didn’t seem to consider your feelings when they invited her tonight.”

He shrugged. “Or yours, for that matter. What if you were actually my brand new bride who cared about me? They gave us zero warning. I shouldn’t be surprised. Claire’s hung around a lot in the last six years. They like to keep the relationship with her parents and make themselves look progressive and welcoming. It’s all about how it all looks to everyone else.”

I shook my head. “Damn, that’s insensitive of them not to consider how you’d feel, though.”

He gave another dry laugh. “Not shocking since they’d never claim in a million years to be sensitive. She managed to get her claws into our family. She’s Julia’s BFF and party pal after all.”

“You all went to high school together?”

He turned, watching me out of the corner of his eye acerbically. “You just saw my family house, do you think I went to a normal public high school even if I wanted to?”

I bit my lip. “Let me guess, high end prep school in New England somewhere?”

“Bingo. New Hampshire to be exact. Claire was from Upper East Side New York City. Financial district money. My parents consider themselves inclusive and open-minded enough to accept the nouveaux riches into their inner circle.”

I laughed, and the car swerved suddenly, probably to avoid a pothole. The driver called something I couldn’t hear through the partition, possibly an apology. I lost my balance, falling against Lucas who caught me in his arms as quickly as I fell against him. I turned to apologize for falling all over him and our faces were dangerously close. Electricity sparked. There was no denying the sizzle and crackle between us. And then there was his smell, that clean bergamot and suede scent. So delectable, so masculine.

And drunk with whisky breath or not, he still looked magnificent in that suit.

Our gazes held, and I had to force myself to swallow even as I slowly sat back. He seemed to be holding his breath, too. And right then I knew that if I hadn’t pulled away, we would have kissed in the next moment and… well I didn’t want that did I?

Did I?

After an awkward minute where we both stared out of our respective windows, Lucas spoke again, his voice losing that previous tightness. Now it seemed like he’d gained some distance, like he was telling someone else’s story.

“One good thing came out of all this, though. I learned that I’m not a good fit for marriage. I was young and stupid and didn’t think through any of it. I was living someone else’s life.”

“Whose life?” I asked.

He gave a tight shrug. The hand that rested on the seat alongside his thigh tightened. “Lucas van den Hoehnsboek van Lynden.”

I blinked. “But… isn’t that you?” Jesus, was he about to confess to me that he had multiple personality disorder or something? Just how many Lucases lived inside that head?

He shook his head, lips thinned. “Not anymore.”

I opened my mouth to question him further but thought the better of it, since he seemed like he wanted to tell his story in his own way.

“I don’t expect you to understand based on just the tiny fraction you now know. What you saw tonight was the glittering outside, the glamorous wealth and ease in which they live. But that life comes with certain… expectations.” He shook his head, still looking out the window. “I tried. My whole damn life I tried to fit myself into that framework, to do what they expected—go to the right school, study the right subjects, marry the right girl. Everything.” His voice was strangled now, as if it hurt him to let that all out. He was silent for a long moment and we watched the lights of the city streak by in the window.

Suddenly the car slowed as we exited the freeway and headed along surface streets toward home. It seemed to jostle him awake from wherever he’d drifted off to.

He ran a hand through his hair and gave a self-conscious laugh. “Sorry to ramble on like that. It was a lot to dump on you in a night where you’ve already had a lot dumped on you.”

I echoed his shrug. “Well, I did ask.”

He threw me a quick glance, then rested his head against the seat to stare up at the darkened roof of the car. “I’ve really never talked about all this out loud before. Haven’t had anyone to discuss it in a long time or, ever, really. Or maybe I’ve just had too much to drink.”

Suddenly we were slowing and pulling up to the curb of Lucas’s house. Before Armando could pop out to get the door for Lucas, he was gone and halfway across the lawn. He called out his thanks to the driver who graciously opened my door for me.

The other driver parked Lucas’s car beside mine in the driveway and I was dealing with getting the car keys back and giving him a tip. At which he blanched and flat out refused to even touch the money, waving it away as if it were a lump of dog poo—or Canadian dollars. Chalk up yet another of my middle class faux pas for the evening.

Jeez.

By the time I was able to catch up with Lucas inside, he was already standing at the little wine cart in his living room. He’d thrown off his jacket and tie and tossed them on the sofa. Max had jumped up from his bed to greet his human, nuzzling Lucas’s free hand and wagging his tail furiously. Lucas patted the dog on the head absently, fixated on the selection in front of him.

The cart had various bottles of liquor on it but no wine, ironically. He apparently used it as a small wet bar. It was a lovely cart, fancy and mirrored. Like maybe it had been a wedding gift. I suddenly imagined Lucas and Claire going through all their things and deciding how to split them. How much of this place had she helped furnish, if at all?

He had poured himself another drink and was halfway through it, knocking it back quickly. Shit. He was obviously still in pain and I had no idea how to handle it. Should I let him sit out here to drink and retreat to my room? Or should I be the good little wife and make sure he was okay?

He had just finished his first glass and uncapped the bottle to pour another. Max sniffed at the air but sidled out of the way while I moved up beside Lucas. As much as I would have loved to get out of the dress and wash the makeup off, I just couldn’t leave him like this.

But once I stood beside him, he slipped away from me, beating a very determined path to the piano, drink in hand. Max and I both gazed after him, then the dog turned around and slipped through the kitchen and out the dog door into the yard.

After another deep gulp of the drink, Lucas settled on the piano bench. I had to admit I’d been wanting to listen—and more so watch—him play again ever since the first night he’d revealed his hidden talent to me.

And I had to admire, too, how he held his liquor. I mean, he was obviously drunk but there was no wobble in his walk. He still had that same upright—almost snobbish—posture that had always made me wonder if he were a secret dancer or trapeze artist. Now I knew that the so-called and fabled “aristocratic bearing” had a source, with a noble title and everything!

He began to play some morose tune I’d never heard—slow and with lots of flat notes—in what sounded like a minor key. I didn’t know a ton about music but I knew enough to know that this was the equivalent of some forlorn drunken melody. I moved to stand behind him and he flicked an unreadable glance up at me as he continued.

I couldn’t help it. I felt bad for him. Family could be so shitty. Complete with all the expectations heaped upon you just because of whom you were born to and whose DNA you shared. I knew enough of that, even if my family didn’t have millions on top of their billions on top of their aristocratic titles. Family could pretty much suck at all echelons of society. No one knew that more than I.

I crooked a half smile of encouragement and put a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “You okay? Holy crap, you’re tense.” Especially for being drunk… His body felt like a thick rope twisted around rocks and tied into unyielding knots.

He did not react aversely to my touch, nor did he reply. He just continued to play his slow, sad, obscure tune.

“You—I could give you a back rub. My roommate—well my former—well, you know. Heath likes back rubs and apparently rates mine with two thumbs-up. It’s a perk of having me in the house… if you want.”

His fingers glided across the keys. He still didn’t speak—just sent me another enigmatic look from those fathomless dark eyes and shrugged one of his shoulders. I frowned but took the gesture as tacit permission.

I moved behind him. Then I laced my fingers together, cracked my knuckles, rolling my shoulders and my neck like a pro wrestler about to enter the ring. Gently, I placed my hands at the base of his neck.

The sad melody continued uninterrupted, but he finally spoke in a quiet, hoarse voice. “Try not to strangle me.”

“Tempting, but no.” My hands worked down his extremely tight neck to where it joined his shoulders. I massaged small circles through the soft, slippery material of his shirt.

He hit his first missed note when my thumbs smoothed their way up the back of his neck, working parallel to his spinal column. His skin was flushed, presumably from intoxication. He missed his second note the moment the tips of my fingers touched the base of his hairline. That missed note came with a sharp intake of breath.

And as I worked my way back down his neck, it was clear that he was only growing more tense instead of less. Suddenly he missed a bunch of notes in a quick jumble, then stopped playing altogether. Perhaps it was when my fingers slipped around under his jaw while massaging light circles under his earlobes with my thumbs. His skin felt hot and rough with whisker growth though he’d shaved before we’d left for the “family dinner”—or whatever proper label could be attributed to that spectacle.

Lucas now sat completely motionless, fingers splayed across the keys without playing. I took a breath and let it go, allowing my hands to fall away. “I’m sorry. Did you not like it?” My hands rested lightly on his shoulders, but before I could make any other move, he reached up with his right hand and snagged my wrist within his grasp. The grip was firm, tight… possessive.

“I liked it. I liked it too much,” he muttered in a thick, low voice.

Then he stood and turned to face me. Our gazes caught and my breath froze in my chest. He was visibly aroused. Though I vowed to keep my eyes fixed on his face, it was noticeable. I didn’t even have to glance down there to reaffirm my assessment. His dark eyes were scorching me to cinders where I stood, boring deep inside of me. I held that dark gaze with my own and swallowed thickly, hoping he’d reach for me. Hoping he’d initiate something.

“Do you… do you want to talk some more about what’s bothering you?” My voice was a husky whisper.

I knew goddamn well that he didn’t want to talk, but what else was I going to say? Please pull off my clothes and fuck me at last? Yeah, I might have wanted to say that. I might have been broiling where I stood, desperate to feel those strong, capable hands all over my body. But I didn’t say it. I wouldn’t tell him that.

His gaze was intense, a thing alive, a palpable touch. And his voice, when he spoke, was hoarse with desire. “I don’t want to talk… at all.” With the free hand that was not currently clasped around my wrist, he reached up and ran his thumb along my jaw. Then hooked that hand around the back of my neck and gently tugged, pulling my head to his.

Firm lips on mine—fire and smoke, whiskey-flavored, insistent. He had my lips parted in moments, his tongue pushing into my mouth, tasting me, taking me.

And with a startled whimper, I went along for the ride. That kiss crackled down my neck, spine and straight to my center where smoldering embers erupted into flame. My breasts ached for his touch and gooseflesh rippled over my skin.

From just a kiss, he could do this to me. I had to admit, no other guy had ever achieved that so quickly. Either he’d earned a secret PhD in kissing somewhere, or there was something about him and me and our coming together. A crackle and spark. A smoldering energy that had always been there between us and now was finally striking sparks.

Maybe it was like a chemical reaction that bubbled and smoked the moment two inert substances came in contact. We were like ammonia and hydrochloric acid—two reactants flaming to smoking heat the moment they came together.

He only pulled his lips away to speak. His breath and mine were coming fast, the warm and humid puffs of air mingling, thickening the air between us. It was a wonder he could form the words. “I want to taste you everywhere.”

His voice was urgent, full of need, full of heat and longing. With a loud clack, he slapped the cover closed over the piano keys. A shove of his leg scooted the piano bench out of the way. Then, without a barrier between us, he pulled me flush against him.

“You’ve been drinking…” I mumbled against his lips where they were fixed to my own.

“But you haven’t. And I know what I’ve been wanting for a whole lot longer than just tonight. This is no sudden impulse out of the blue. What do you taste like?”

I gulped and everything inside me plummeted, sucked toward the ground, the world turning slightly. As if I were also suddenly drunk—intoxicated by his persistent mouth and lips. They were now enveloping my very willing and tingling earlobe.

Holy shnikes. Like… before I even realized what I was doing, my arms were locked around his neck, holding him to me. Like he was a life raft, and I was clinging on for dear life instead of for his near-perfect foreplay. This man could kiss the sizzle from a pan of frying bacon.

And he was serving me up just the way he wanted me.

And I was completely okay with that as I let the current of this river snatch me up and carry me away wherever it may take me. He wanted to taste me? I wanted to be tasted by him. Perfect.

His lips slipped down the side of my neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there, and his hands slid down my back to rest on my ass. He had to bend slightly to do this. Lucas was tall, and I was on the shorter side of average. Maybe I should have kept the piano bench in place after all and used it for a booster seat.

He seemed to have a similar idea when he decidedly adjusted his grip and hitched me up against him. Without thinking, I locked my legs around his slender hips, the handkerchief hem of my dress bunching up. And our mouths were locked together in a fierce battle of the tongues once more. He let out a soft growl, and I released a tiny sigh in answer.

I was on fire and hoping we’d soon be repairing to his bedroom to quench it.

But apparently he didn’t even want to go that far. Instead, he hitched me higher and slid me onto the top of his grand piano. The silky material of my dress eased effortlessly along the glossy black top of the instrument and my feet dangled over the front. I flicked my toes to kick off my heels.

Sex on a piano. “How Pretty Woman of you,” I whispered, almost shivering from the crazy arousing thought of what was to come. My panties were already soaked.

His dark eyes pinned mine down as he eased a warm hand up my thigh. “If it’s good enough for that dude in the movie, it’s good enough for me,” he replied.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Lucas hitched the hem of my dress up to my hips and pulled down my panties, tossing them to the floor. I was suddenly thankful for having been extra fastidious about shaving this afternoon. His hands glided up my smooth skin to rest on my hips, positioning me just at the edge of his piano.

Then he bent and kissed the inside of my thigh. More gooseflesh bloomed where his mouth and tongue connected and pressed along the tender skin. I let out a tight breath, not even aware that I’d been holding it until I sucked in another one. Lucas’s hand cupped my knee and pushed it aside, opening my legs further apart.

Oh Lordy… Lordy. He was going to. He was… I couldn’t even form the thought, my mind was swirling and my heart was pounding with heated excitement, cold thrill and maybe even a little fear. What would happen next?

I’d been craving a good roll in the hay. It had been far too long. And all work and no play made Katya a dull girl but…

Would this change things? Would we cross some line that couldn’t be uncrossed? Was this a mistake? And why the hell was I angsting over it as his mouth—and that exquisite whiskered jaw and chin—crept closer and closer to my center. Oh Christ. My eyelids closed, and I slumped back on the piano, resting against my elbows.

His hands were firm, sure, but gentle, stroking me in ways that revealed his experience. He’d done this before—a lot—and if he kissed me there the way he’d kissed my mouth, I was in for an amazing orgasmic finish to my evening.

“Lucas,” I rasped, my legs suddenly tensing.

He stopped but didn’t raise his head. Instead he waited. When I didn’t say anything, he asked. “Do you want to stop?”

I swallowed, my head now spinning, my throat tight and my body ratcheted up and raring to go. I was hypersensitive to everything around me, including the light touch of the air. “No… Do you?”

“Fuck, no. I want to taste you until you come on my tongue. I want to know if it’ll be as amazing as I’d imagined it would be.”

My jaw dropped. “You’ve—you’ve imagined it?”

His mouth connected at the juncture of my inner thigh, his tongue slipping out to lick me there. I sucked in a breath.

“Yes, I have. And every time, you were hotter than the last time.”

He’d been fantasizing about me? More than once? With his whiskey-loosened tongue, he was now freely admitting all kinds of things to me. Dutch courage, so to speak. I almost laughed at the irony of that thought.

As for me, I wouldn’t be putting that out there—the myriad of dirty dreams and other, ahem, private moments when his handsome face had entered my mind unbidden. But I forgot all that when his mouth hovered over my sex, hot breath bathing me with promises to come.

I sighed. “Well… that’s a tall order. Not sure I can live up to a fantasy. I hope you aren’t expecting—”

“You already are, Kat. You already are.” A finger entered me and I gasped. Then another. He flicked his dark eyes up to look into my face, as if gauging my reaction. Then, as if satisfied by what he saw, he continued. His thumb parted me and suddenly his mouth enveloped my center, sucking relentlessly at my clit. Holy. Shit.

The hand on my knee pushed again to further open me and I complied with both knees, allowing him full access. My head dropped back, dangling on my neck. Behind my closed eyelids, brilliant light strobed in concert with his mouth on my sensitive center. My equilibrium spun and whirled, lost to sensation alone. Each flick of his tongue I felt everywhere, pooling into molten lead at the base of my spine.

I swear to God I almost forgot how to breathe. Pretty sure I did forget my own name. All that existed was his hand on my leg, his fingers gliding rhythmically in and out of me, his hot mouth sucking. His tongue lapped relentlessly over that sparking bundle of nerves.

Full speed ahead—from aroused to almost coming in less than a minute. Jesus Murphy. It was like the Daytona of orgasms.

“Say my name,” he said roughly as I gasped for air. Jesus, I couldn’t say anything at all. Nor did I even think I knew how to speak the English language anymore.

He stopped, stilling his fingers, pulling his mouth away. Everything in me was so tense, dangling on a precipice and he was toying with me, making me wait. I lifted my arm to reach so I could finish myself off with my hand. He batted it away easily. “Say it, Kat.”

My tongue dragged over cracked lips, and the blood blistered in my veins. Unable to focus on anything beyond the sweet pervasive ache. I was so close to that quivering elusive edge. So close. “Lucas,” I breathed.

He licked me again, and I cried out. So hot and yet not quite there. Not enough pressure, not enough contact. “Not enough,” I breathed.

He laughed. It was a dry laugh. He seemed to be enjoying the level of control he had over me and were I not so overcome, I would have been annoyed. I moved my hand again to touch myself and he caught my wrist.

“Say you’re mine,” he ground out.

My eyes flew open in shock and my legs tensed.

“Lucas…”

He lowered his head to suck on me once more and my eyes rolled back into my head, eyelids fluttering. Here it came. On a monster wave that was about to crash down and swallow me whole. Oh God. Fuck. Yes. Yes. I’m yours, Lucas. I’m yours. Make me come. Make me come.

My body convulsed, driven to the heights of pleasure. Gasping, I sucked in air as if I’d been holding my breath for hours. A rush of pleasure and bliss and exhausted euphoria rained down on me like droplets of mist on a perfect autumn morning in the Pacific Northwest. Every ounce of tension drained from me.

I stared up at the plastered trim on the old-fashioned canted ceiling. What. The. Fuck. Had. Just. Happened?

Lucas straightened and stared down at me inquisitively with an almost arrogant curl at the end of his lip. As if he were quite pleased with himself for having made me lose my mind. And for having done it so fast.

Right now, lying here and feeling like I had bones and muscles made out of jelly, I quite agreed that he had the right to be a bit arrogant. Dude had skills. What else could he do with even more interesting parts of his body than just his mouth?

Slowly I propped myself up on my elbows while he quietly tugged the hem of my skirt to cover me once again. He avoided my gaze and with a heavy sigh turned to flop tiredly on the nearby couch.

I blinked. He had nothing to say after that? Where had this even come from? Last I knew, he’d been annoyed with me and practically two-fisting whiskey down his pie-hole as fast as he could swallow it.

But I’d gotten a killer orgasm out of it so who was I to protest? And the least I could do was offer to reciprocate because… if I was being honest with myself, I really wanted to. Not to mention that fact that after six months of marriage, I was beyond curious to see what kind of weapon my husband was packing.

The thought made my heart speed as a fresh wave of hot arousal seeped through my languid, satiated body. Swallowing, I sat up and carefully slid off the piano.

He was slumped awkwardly across the couch, so I came up behind him and kissed his neck, running my tongue along his ear. “My turn for a taste of that cock you were just pressing against me.”

He let out a low groan, head falling to the side, and I moved around to kneel before him on the couch. Hungrily, I tugged down his fly, struggling at first to pull it taut so the zipper would move. He was silent and, despite my struggles, didn’t help me. I made sure to slip an extra grope in the process. He was still rock hard and a surge of excitement rose up in my throat.

He was not going to one-up me in the oral sex satisfier department. Here was my chance to show him why my fellatio skills were considered well above average. Soon he’d be grinding and gasping under the power of my mighty wonder-tongue.

I tried slipping my hand in through his fly but that was awkward, so I unbuttoned his pants. And just as I was about to set eyes on the prize, a snore reverberated from his chest. My head shot up. What the…?

Lucas’s eyes were closed, mouth open, head slumped to the side against the back of the couch. More snores followed up that first one. I blinked, poking him sharply in the chest a few times to jostle him awake but there was no response.

Well… shit.

My shoulders slumped in defeat and I conceded, carefully zipping up his pants. Then I pulled off his shoes and gently eased him onto his side. There was no way in hell that I was getting him into his bed. He had to weigh almost twice as much as me.

After having fetched a pillow and throw off his bed, I set a glass of water on the coffee table. Then, I made him about as comfy as I possibly could. Then I retrieved my heels from underneath his piano and headed back to my solitary room to collapse.

Frustrating? Yes. But I’d definitely ended up on the better end of that bargain so… I wouldn’t fret too much. Tomorrow was always another day to get square with him, or maybe even… horizontal.

A hot image of Lucas and I tangling up the sheets of his fancy wooden bed. What a nice image to entertain as I slipped off into lala land hoping for another fun sex dream.