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15
Luke
“Luke.” Her voice held a note of warning.
“Natalie?” Mine held an unspoken question. Her real name still sounded foreign on my lips.
“We can’t.” Yet we’re going to.
It wasn’t a matter of if, but of when, where, and how.
“You need to stop touching me like that.”
No. I need to fuck you.
“I don’t need to do any such thing. More to the point, you don’t want me to.” I studied her face, waiting for the lie to follow. She peered back at me, unable to mask her desire. She held my gaze and let her see her truth. She wanted me as much as I wanted her, and if I played my cards right, she was mine.
I moved my hand higher up her arm with each movement. Such a small, innocent-seeming gesture, yet so incredibly hot. I was getting harder by the moment, and we hadn’t even kissed. I inched even higher, and, as I stroked the dip of her shoulder and neck, she reached up and squeezed my fingers, imploring me with my eyes to stop, even as she moved her head to the side, allowing me better access.
“Luke.”
“Shhh… Don’t.” I hushed her gently.
“Don’t what?”
“Stop saying my name like you want me to stop. Don’t lie to me or yourself.”
I’d been watching the deep rise and fall of her chest as we spoke, but with my final words, the movement stopped completely. I waited. She was as still as a statue.
“Natalie. Breathe.”
She inhaled sharply, looking at me as though seeing me for the first time.
“I am breathing. I’m just trying to work out what the fuck is going on here, and what I’m going to do next.”
Now it was my turn to freeze, waiting for her next move.
Moments later, she turned her head sideways, taking me by surprise by angling her lips toward the palm of my hand and kissing it gently. I didn’t miss a beat, not wanting to give her chance to change her mind. Instead, I slid both hands behind her neck, leaned down toward her, and gently pulled her lips to mine.
This kiss was different to the ones we’d shared before. We’d crossed a line—I knew her real name and where she worked. I knew she wanted me, although she didn’t want to. I knew she’d been on my mind night and day since the night we met and that having found her again, I wasn’t going to let her dodge me this time. I pressed my lips into hers, slipping my tongue into her mouth. The kiss was frantic and consuming. I wanted to somehow absorb the essence of her. To possess her.
I wanted to take the kiss further, but given we were in a public place, I held back, wrenching my lips from hers.
“Let’s dance.”
She blinked at me in confusion, her light eyes flashing shades of amber and jade as I stared into them.
“What?”
At some point while we’d been speaking, the DJ had started playing, and the dance floor had begun to fill up.
“Dance with me?”
“Okay, but I warn you: I may be black, and built like this”—she motioned to her perfect body—“but I don’t twerk.”
I stifled laughter.
She was ridiculous—beautiful, smart as all get out, a film buff, and funny as hell. I was pitching above my weight, for sure.
