Her eyes widen in shock at the way I’m talking to her. But then she licks her lips. “Both.”
“Naughty girl,” I say with a wicked chuckle.
“I ask for what I want and I get it.”
I let go of her breast and grip her around her waist, bringing her in as close to me as I can while my other hand continues to increase her pleasure.
“You’ll get what you want all right.” I sink two fingers into her channel and let the pad of my thumb find her clit. She gasps. Her body tenses up and her brows knit together when I swipe against the swollen little button.
Stella’s hands grip my shoulders, hanging on tight to me as I tower over her shorter frame. Her skirt is hitched up around her waist. “Hook your leg around me,” I tell her, and she does.
Her pussy fits in my hand perfectly, like she was made for me.
But it’s me who was made to please her. To take care of her.
I do just that, stroking in and out while circling and swiping her clit, over and over, increasing the pressure until she comes. When she does, she presses against me so tightly she climbs up and wraps her other leg around me.
I feel her release pulse through her, her body jerking against me as her arousal soaks my hand and makes me hunger to throw her down and taste her.
As soon as her body calms, I gently set her down, painting kisses over her face, smoothing out her skirt. I grab her jacket and help her put it on before I send her on her way.
“I really don’t want to go now,” she says. “My undies are soaked through.”
Her eyes widen when I kiss her on the nose and hold out my hand. “Then take them off and let me wash them for you.”
Chapter Twelve
Stella
All day long, I can feel the imprint of where his fingers were. Every time I swivel in my office chair, stand up, sit down.
If that’s all it takes for him to leave his mark on me and make me crave for hours to see him again, I can just imagine what other things he could do to me.
My whole body flushes.
I gulp down water all day but nothing helps.
All through my meetings all day, and through phone calls with important international clients, all I think about is his touch, how he made me drip, how his lips made me feel thoroughly kissed.
I pack up my things and call for the valet to bring my car around. I’m so ready to do unspeakable things to Luke, my hands shake when I use my phone.
I thought orgasms were supposed to calm you down and help you focus on other things. All he did this morning was make me want more. Want all of him. Want him to take all of me.
Had I known my skin would be crackling with lust all day and that my knees would be buckling at the memory of his lips on my neck, I might have called for a rideshare driver today.
My car is waiting for me at the front doors when I leave work, the seats already heated. I slam the door shut and instantly turn off the heat and blast the air conditioner, and drive like a madwoman.
When I arrive home, kick off my heels and spring up to my room, however, everything seems off.
My stacks of books are no longer where I left them. They’ve been put away on a bookshelf that I don’t recall being there before. And I don’t even care where it came from because there is a deeper matter at hand at the moment.
“You moved the journals,” I say, my voice trembling, not even knowing where Luke is or if he is within earshot.
Soon enough I feel his presence behind me. I’m staring at the floor by the wall of the guest room, at an empty space where my mother’s journals used to be. I have to work hard to remind myself that I gave him complete permission to do exactly what he did. So why am I getting emotional?
Dammit, that tremble. I hate it that I start to well up when I’m feeling some kind of way. I can’t bring myself to turn around.
“I did,” he says. “I needed to vacuum and I needed to get everything off the floor, so I used an old bookcase in the garage that wasn’t being used. It’s all organized by date—”
“Wait a minute,” I say, my stomach starting to kick like a mule. I spin around. “You looked inside them?”
He shakes his head. “No. The dates are on the outside. I just put them in order. Look, I’m sorry…”
I don’t reply but I brush past him to go to the office where the rest of my parents’ things were.
“Where are the newspapers, and the notebooks?” I ask, looking around and seeing nothing where it should be. Yet also feeling a creeping sense of relief, combined with guilt over feeling said relief.
“I took the liberty of organizing everything…”
I turn to him, my eyes surely looking crazy even though I try to keep my voice calm. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.
“The library.”
Five minutes ago I was aroused with the anticipation of seeing Luke again. Now I’m mad as a wet hornet. Not mad at Luke, but mostly mad at myself for giving him free rein just because I woke up in a good mood and was surprised and excited to see him. And mad at myself for the teeny, tiny sense that it’s probably for my own good that all my parents’ clutter is out of sight.
I storm down to the library. Luke follows me but says nothing. Does not plead for me to fix my attitude, nor does he remind me that I agreed to this.
Damn him for not judging my out-of-control reaction to change.
Entering the library, everything looks different. All the furniture is in its place, just moved slightly. But I knew if I had to look for something I lost, it would take ages. My methodical madness was gone.
“I knew it would be changed, but I wasn’t prepared for it,” I say.
“Stella, I should have gone slower with it, to get you used to everything. But I just started and I couldn’t stop.”
“Where are my cookbooks? And my vinyl? And my comic books?”
“Follow me,” Luke says.
He takes me around the entire house, showing me every last thing he’s moved, put away, reorganized and alphabetized. I don’t know if home organization porn is a thing, but he could star in it.
When we finish at the kitchen door that leads out to the pool, he rests his hands on the doorknob and looks at me hesitantly.
“Are you mad?”
“A little,” I say.
“Sorry.”
I offer him a small smile. “Don’t be. It just feels like my mom and dad aren’t here anymore.”
He nods. “OK. And it might get worse; I have more to show you. Are you ready?”
I can’t imagine what that is but I say yes. He opens the door and outside on the back patio are half a dozen plastic tubs. “What’s this?” I ask.
With concern in his eyes, he replies, “Random junk. Broken things. Outdated papers that need to be recycled. Old clothes that should be donated or tossed. And, actual trash, I’m sorry to say.”
I am shocked to my core. “I didn’t have any trash just lying around my floors.”
Luke speaks softly. “Not out in the open, but once I excavated the guest room and the office, well, it was clear that a lot of things had not been moved or cleaned for a very long time.”
I know what he’s saying. I didn’t clean or sort anything belonging to my parents. I let them live this way before I arrived, and I’ve been putting off dealing with all of this mess.