Chapter Six
Ana
I stand in the center of the room that was once Kurt’s, and later Kasey’s, but never mine. It’s cursed, or so I thought it was if you believe in such things, because everyone who claimed it as their own ended up dead, only Kurt wasn’t dead. He lied. It’s a thought I can’t get off repeat in my head.
He’s not dead.
He lied.
All of it was a lie.
I’m on mental repeat, but with good reason. I need his betrayal cemented in my mind. No matter how connected I feel to Kurt, the man I called my only living parent before he “died,” the lie he told was a brutal lie and one that speaks of no confidence in my abilities and decision-making.
He didn’t trust me not to get killed.
If I was that incompetent, I shouldn’t wear a badge.
Or he just wanted to get rid of me. I can’t know which or what combination of all the above comes into play. Because he’s a liar. If he were Pinocchio, his nose would be too long for him to deny the truth.
I forget that thought, and easily, for one good reason: Luke walks into the room and in this moment, I am struck by how beautiful he is, and I know that would seem crazy to most people considering what is happening in my life at present. But he’s my person, the man I love, the one human being I know would never betray me. This point has been driven home more in the past few days than I ever thought possible. I’m just glad I realized that long before Kurt showed back up because Luke, more than ever, needs to know that I’m present and accounted for, and it has nothing to do with everyone else betraying me.
Right now is about him. And us. It’s about everything we’ve ever shared, and all the things I want to share with him in the future. And I do want a future with Luke. I also heard parts of what happened downstairs, which is why I wait for him to shut the door before I say, “I don’t need you to take care of me. I can take care of myself. So, his bullshit guilt-inducing blubber he’s spewing on you needs to go in one ear and out the other. And what the hell is this, Luke? I went to his funeral. I can’t be happy he’s alive and Lord help me, I don’t mean that how it came out. Okay, maybe I do. I really want to kill him right now.”
He’s already in front of me, big and tall. And strong, mentally and physically. He’s actually stronger than I will ever be when he’d say the opposite. He’d tell me I’m the strong one. He’d tell me I make him stronger. And better. But it’s me who is stronger with him. Me who is better with him.
His fingers tangle in my hair and he tilts my gaze to his, as he declares, “Screw Kurt and the horse he rode in on,” the rough quality of his voice sending a shiver up and down my spine and I swear the heat of his body burns through me. My fingers curl around his shirt, holding onto him in any way I can hold onto him as he adds, “You have nothing to feel guilty for. Think about it, Ana. What does it say about Kurt, that we both had to say that to each other?”
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m just confused right now.”
“You feel what you feel because he made you feel it and he’s not stupid. He knows that. He knows. And it works in his favor, be it simply a way to get you to accept him again, or a way to distract us from whatever he has on his agenda. He has a lot to explain.”
“He did explain,” I say, a pinch in my chest that might as well be a blade. “At least for my part, he told me everything I need to know. He disowned Kasey. We both know he did the same to me.”
“I don’t believe that’s what’s happening, baby,” he says, his thumb stroking my cheek, and it’s funny how little things like a gentle caress and an endearment mean so much in such uncertain times.
“Then what is happening?” I ask, covering his hand with mine.
“I don’t know, but at least right now, I’ll say it again, screw Kurt. You’re what matters. You’re my everything,Ana. You know that, right? I cannot lose you again.”
I’d tell him I feel the same. I’d tell him how much I need him and how thankful I am that he’s here now, but I never get the chance. His mouth slants over my mouth. And then he’s kissing me again, and it’s not the tentative, trying-to-hold-back kiss he’d offered me downstairs. No, this kiss is different. It’s possessive, greedy even, a fierce addictive demand of his tongue, that is as seductive as it is impossible to resist. This is what I need. He is what I need right now.
I lean into him, press to my toes, and reach for any and every part of him I can manage to touch. Touching him is as addictive as the kiss and I can’t get enough of his sinewy muscle beneath my hands. I want him naked, but somehow that feels too complicated, and everything is just so damn complicated right now. I slide my hand down the front of his jeans and press my palm to the thick bulge of his erection against his zipper.
A low, gruff sound escapes his lips and he lifts me and carries me toward the bathroom, which I suspect is because the lock on the door of the bedroom is broken and we are about to be naked and not soon enough. He sets me down, his hands sliding under my shirt, his fingers roughly teasing my nipples. I moan against the sensation, and his mouth on my mouth, drinking in the sound, drinking in me. I’ve had moments in my time with Luke when I’ve been desperate for him, but this time is different. This time it feels like everything we are together is on the line and I don’t know why. He is here. I am here. We both want to be here.
Maybe it’s the realization that we were never in control. We never chose to travel the path that divided us. Everyone else did, and one of those people is tied up downstairs. Someone I should be happy to see, but for reasons I can’t explain, that reach deeper than his lies, that’s not what I feel. I don’t know what I feel.
And I’m thinking too much.
Luke handles that though. God does he. He drags my shirt over my head, and my bra is gone in seconds. Already he’s leaning in, suckling my nipples, sending waves of pleasure through me. My fingers dive into his hair, twisting, and not gently. His mouth is not gentle either. He suckles me to the point of pain that is an absolute pleasure. How does he know exactly what to do? How does he get everything so right? My sex clenches, and I am so wet, it’s almost embarrassing, an intense throb between my legs, where I need him nice and hard and buried deep right now. Because that’s what I want. Him inside me. Me lost in every thrust and pump of his body. Lost in him. Connected to him, so much so that there is room for nothing but him. I reach for his pants again, impatient for him, God, I need him. He cups my face and tilts my gaze to his. “Say it, Ana.”
“Which part? I love you or please fuck me?”
His eyes glow with male satisfaction, which I love, as much as I do him. Because that look in his eyes means he’s the kind of animal I need right now. “Fuck me, please,” I repeat.
He kisses me, biting my lips, pinching my nipples and it’s a brutal, sweet perfection. I’m panting when his lips part mine, and he turns me to face the sink forcing me to catch my hands on the counter. I’d complain about not being able to touch him, but he’s touching me, and that makes up for it. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and he watches me as he plays with my hard, puckered nipples, my teeth worrying my lip, eyes fluttering. But even when they shut, I can feel his hot, hungry stare, feel his lust and desire.
And it’s such a turn-on.