The needy whimper Sal lets out has Luke on his last nerve. Only Sal has the power to absolutely wreck him.
He grabs her hips and thrusts. Hard. Unrelenting.
“Oh God, Luke,” Sal cries out, her nails digging into the hard muscle of his chest.
That’s when her entire body clenches. The most gorgeous sight Luke’s ever seen—his wife in the throes of orgasm. A pink flush spreads across her chest, her slender throat, as her small frame shudders from the release. Her body rigid, her nipples tightening. Lashes fluttering, Sal’s mouth moves around his name. A chant. A reverie. A primal promise that Luke has given her everything she wanted.
And he’s right behind her. Now that Sal’s satisfied, he lets himself go.
He spills into her with a mighty bellow, his dick pulsing over and over as he reaches that final, explosive climax.
Chest heaving, he opens his eyes, raises his head. Sal sways slightly. Then she falls forward, covering Luke’s throat, his chest with fervent kisses.
For a long moment, they lie there, Luke still inside of her, chests heaving as they bask in each other’s closeness.
Then he slips out and, cradling the back of Sal’s head, he gently rolls her over into the pillows.
She’s frowning slightly, her expression dazed, her face pale.
“Hey.” Luke cups her cheek. “You okay?”
Her mouth parts, her lips moving for Luke. “You wore me out.”
He smiles, catching her kiss on his lips.
Sal sighs. “I love you, Luke.” She closes her eyes. “So much.”
His breath hitches. His heart grows heavy.
Love. Sal loves him. And what did he do?
The entirety of the night comes back to him. The BBQ. The birthday. The words on his lips. What he had been planning to tell her before Sal’s confession of love had hijacked his own confession.
Guilt halos around him. What the hell was he doing? Clearly, his wife. But he should have been telling her the truth. Would she still feel the same way about him after learning about everything he’s been keeping from her?
He glances up to see her watching him, her pretty brow furrowed.
“I’ll get you something to clean up with.” Luke presses a kiss to her temple and disappears before she can say another word.
Sal groans as she sits up in bed and touches her temple. She’s lightheaded—from Luke or from the migraine she can’t tell. She also can’t tell Luke. He’ll worry. He’s done enough of that for her.
Rolling onto her side, Sal runs a hand over Luke’s pillow. She buries her face in it, drinking in his scent. Saying those three little words to Luke—she’s given her heart to him. Completely. She’s where she’s meant to be.
The way he tasted tonight, the way they came together, the song on his lips and the love in his eyes. She has a big, big crazy crush on Luke and it looks like it’s not going away anytime soon.
Pushing herself up, Sal slides out of bed. She contemplates talking Luke into a shower. Thinking about those big, lean hands soaping her up has her smiling.
Only the fantasy has to wait. Her head throbs so hard she can barely get a breath. Blood pulses in her ears. Her vision blurs. She takes two steps forward. Dizzy, Sal braces herself on the bedpost.
“Luke,” she whispers. She should call out. Louder.
The world waters at its edges. As the migraine grows big enough to swallow her whole, Sal makes one last stumble to the bathroom. Before she can call Luke’s name, vertigo reels through her. Her eyes flutter and roll backwards. With one last gasp, she slips over the edge of the bed to collapse to the floor.
Her last conscious thought: Luke.
“Get a fuckin’ grip,” Luke tells his reflection in the mirror. He straightens up. Groaning, he swipes a hand through his damp hair. Great. Now he’s talking to himself? He was so devastated when he thought Sal was dead, now he’s so lovesick he can’t see straight.
He’s acting like a damn fool, but when it comes to Sal there’s no way he’d rather be.