Page 97 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

He pushes two fingers in again, stroking me in a way that makes it impossible to keep my eyes open, to do anything but focus on the sensation of Lucas teasing me, rubbing and spreading my wetness as his fingers thrust in and out. I grip the fabric of my skirt as if it’s a lifeline—it’s the only thing I’m capable of tracking beyond my ragged breath, the feel as my muscles clench around him.

“What if this is all I can give you?”

He curls his fingers against my inner walls, and I drop the skirt again, reaching back for him, one arm trying to pull his head toward mine. I’ve already forgotten what I asked a moment ago, can’t think of anything beyond the fact that his thumb is stroking my clit, and I’m coming, my thighs shaking, my entire body canting forward. I would fall if Lucas wasn’t there to hold me upright, kissing my neck even as one long arm bands around me, curving me protectively against him.

He waits until I’ve stopped shaking before he picks me up, effortlessly, carrying me back inside and laying me on the bed as if I’m the most precious thing in the world.

“You’re saying just sex?” His tone is incredulous, and it makes sense.

“I’m saying . . . just this week.”

I can hide my condition for a week. I can not-think about Aurora and the girls, not-worry about my mother and Abe, can manage the lighting and clothes and positions. I can take painkillers and never mention any potential upcoming surgery. I can take better care of my hair when he leaves in the morning, and if I’m very, very careful, I can have almost a week of Lucas.

It’s the week my father stole from me, after worlds.

Lucas lies next to me, propped on one elbow, his fingers smoothing a sweat-dampened lock of hair away from my face. “Should be enough time to prove how compatible we still are.”

Because I hate the idea of lying to him, I ask, “What if I can only give you a week?”

“I would accept it . . .” He takes off his boxer briefs with one hand before lifting the hem of my pajamas up, looking at me for permission. I stop him when he’s lifted the skirt to my waist. “As a starting offer.”

He braces himself above me, waiting again until I nod before he starts pressing into me, inch by torturous inch. When one of his hands moves to touch me under the nightdress, I stop him by intertwining our fingers, bringing his fingers to my mouth and running kisses along his knuckles.

My entire body arches as he withdraws and then reenters, tilting his hips as he kisses me, setting a punishingly slow rhythm. From this position, all the control is his, despite the fact that I’m theoretically calling the shots, controlling how we are clothed and cloaked by the darkness.

“There is nothing as perfect as your body around mine.” Lucas breathes the words into my skin, and I use my free hand to reach up and around him, twining into his hair. He uses one hand to press my knee up more, angling it toward my chest, allowing him deeper access.

My eyes close again as I try to tilt my hips toward his. My free leg wraps around his hips.

“And there will never be anything as perfect as you and I, together.”

His words flow over me, caressing and also, somehow, destroying me within the same breath.

I use my leg and hands to bring his head and body closer to mine, to fuse our lips together and stop the flow of words I cannot bear to hear. I clench my muscles and arch my hips until Lucas groans into my mouth. He arches his neck away from the kiss and shouts something unintelligible as he pulses into me.

Afterward, I don’t protest as Lucas gathers my boneless body to his. He settles me against him and covers us both with a blanket. He kisses my head and again, at another point, I feel myself half waking, while Lucas has his arm wrapped around me. He drops a kiss to my head, and I hear his breath in my hair, feel the way his lips move against me.

It doesn’t count, I want to tell him, but I’m asleep before I can argue the point.

32

I DON’T NEED THE DETAILS

BEFORE

Despite having been together for well over a year now, Lucas and I have managed to go on very few dates.

There are always chores that are sometimes prioritized for us: His brothers and their schoolwork. Supporting his mother at a local town hall meeting. My sisters and their various academic and social needs. Schoolwork. Work work. And when possible, sex.

This Thursday, though, Lucas talks me into coming to the Huntington Library.

“There’s a special Chaucer exhibit, and since it’s the once-a-month free day, you can’t say it doesn’t fall within our budget.”

“You know what else costs less than ten dollars?”

“Don’t say condoms.” Lucas closes his eyes as if in pain. “I’m trying to be a good boyfriend.”

“You know what good boyfriends do?”