When I hesitate, he pulls back just enough to look at me. “Tell me, sunshine.”
“Yes.” The admission comes out shaky. “Yes, I thought about it.”
“That’s my girl.” He bites and then kisses the inside of my wrist.
The staircase groans, and we both freeze as we hear my dad’s heavy footsteps coming upstairs.
Then a devilish look lights Luke’s eyes. Licking the tips of my fingers one more time, he covers my hand with his and slides them both into my pants.
22
LUKE
She’s wet. She’s so fucking wet.
A floorboard creaks in the hallway.
I know I shouldn’t, but when have I ever done what I should? I curl my middle finger over hers so the tip presses against her clit. Then I grind my hand down on hers to rub it.
23
HARPER
My breath catches as I swallow a moan. My eyes go wide, my free hand clutches his wrist.
He presses a finger to his lips.
Bastard. I glare at him even as my hips start to move against our hands.
Another creak. Footsteps move past my door toward the bathroom.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure Luke can hear it in the silence of my room. His eyes are locked on mine in the darkness, electric and bright with the danger of being caught, the thrill of it.
The bathroom door closes.
A minute passes. The toilet flushes.
Water runs.
Finally, footsteps retreat down the hall and a door closes—Dad’s bedroom.
I gasp softly, my body arching, wishing it was his fingers playing with me instead of my own.
He grins at me. “That was close.”
“You think this is funny?” I’m so turned on I don’t know what to do.
“I think it’s hot as hell.” He leans down, his mouth brushing my ear. “You, in your girlie room, trying not to make a sound while I touch you. Trying not to let your old man hear what I’m doing to you. It’s like a redo of high school, only a hundred times better.”
I hiss as he moves my fingers to push into me. “Luke?—”
“Shh.” He kisses my cheek, and the sweetness of it contrasts the naughty way he’s fucking me with my own fingers so my brain practically short-circuits. “You’re going to be very, very quiet for me, aren’t you? Because if you make a sound, if you let him hear you, he’ll know exactly what I’m doing to you. And I’ll have to stop, and then you won’t come. You want to come, don’t you, sunshine?”
“Stop calling me that,” I say with a moan, my hips arching up.
His cheek grazes mine, his stubble deliciously raspy on my skin. “Answer me. Unless you want me to stop.”
I almost sob at the thought. “I’ll be quiet.”