“Yes,” she agreed. “They do.”
I stroke her hair from her face and tilt her face to mine. Fear is not what I see in her face. “You’re nervous.”
She doesn’t look away. She holds my stare and says, “In a good way, Luke.”
The way she uses my name, the certainty of her voice, exudes confidence, but it’s also her way of letting me know she makes her choices decisively. She’s here. She wants to be here. I matter enough to make her nervous, but it’s the good nerves, the kind that doesn’t cripple but instead excites. I kiss her, savor her, mold her close, a possessive need clawing at me.
My lips part hers, lingering there, a breath from another kiss, the sweet taste of her on my lips, the flowery smell of her teasing my nostrils. I think about her nerves, and while I do believe they are good nerves, they’re also about the unexpected, about fear, about the inability to fully trust someone you don’t really know—at least, not yet. I find myself craving her trust in the most physical of ways.
I brush my lips over hers again and then stand her up in front of me. “Undress for me, Ana.”
It’s a power play, I know, but she wouldn’t be with me right now if she wanted a man who begged instead of demanded, if she wasn’t aroused by the idea of a man who promised her an escape and the pleasure that comes with it and actually delivers it.
“You want me to undress?” she asks, her voice softer now. “Why don’t you undress first?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It seems I only have so much willpower when it comes to you,” I readily confess.
Her eyes widen and then narrow. “It feels more like a power play.”
“Because you don’t feel like you’re in control right now.”
“I’m not out of control,” she assures me.
“Because you need to be in control.” It’s not a question.
“Always,” she assures me.
My lips curve. “I should have expected that answer. You are Kurt’s daughter.”
“Stepdaughter,” she corrects.
“Stepdaughter,” I amend and then I get back to the point of control. “Why do you always need to be in control?”
“It’s been bred into me.”
“Don’t you ever just want to let go? To let someone else take responsibility for what comes next?”
“I don’t know how to do that,” she confesses.
“Try it, right here, right now, with me. This is just you and me, and how much I want you, and I hope you want me.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Then just be here, don’t think, and don’t try and compete. Live in the moment. Undress for me, Ana.”
“While you watch.”
“Yes. I want to watch. Very much. Will you let me?”
“It feels like a challenge.”
“It’s not, sweetheart,” I say, and I dare to push her. “It’s an order. I know you understand those. Step back and undress for me before I lose my fucking mind from wanting you naked.”
Her lips curve and she scrapes her bottom lip with her teeth, her hand pressing to my cheek. “Since you put it that way, I was also taught to never disobey a direct order.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
ANA
Present day…
I’m as nervous as the first night I undressed for Luke, my hands trembling and I don’t know why. But then, this is Luke, the man whose ring I wore, the man I intended to marry. Maybe that’s the entire point. He is Luke, the only man that ever made me feel wholly female, whoever allowed me to be vulnerable without there being regret in the aftermath.
I still to this day don’t believe he’d ever intentionally hurt me.
And yet, I feel as if I have no right to be with him, as if I dishonor my brother, but what do I do at this point to make it right? When do I admit that Kasey is responsible for his own demise? When do I just accept, rather than simply speak the fact that I am not whole without Luke?
I can’t walk away from Luke and life threw us back together for a reason, and while it might be to stay alive, quite literally, I certainly feel more alive than I have in years just being with him, being challenged by him.
I’m not going to do something foolish like walk away from this night. Or afternoon. Whatever it is right now, with him.
He takes off his boots but I know that’s all he’s taking off. This isn’t my first rodeo with Luke Remington.
I follow his lead and remove my own boots, and then unsnap my pants. The zipper follows before I slide my pants and panties over my hips, giving a little intended shimmy in the process. It all goes down my legs, and soon I’m kicking them aside. After which, I do what I know he expects. I stand there, letting his eyes roam my body freely, which is, in my book, the definition of vulnerability. I’m naked. He is not. He is in control. I am not. Only what I know now, and couldn’t know that first night, was the skill Luke has at being my equal and still being a hell of a damn good lover.