Luke's Absolution (The Colloway Brothers Book 3) (16 page)

“Addy?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t sneak out again on me or I swear I will redden your ass this time.”

I don’t miss the hitch of her breath and shit…Honor. Honor. Honor. Put it on repeat, fucker.

“I won’t.”

Is it wrong of me to feel disappointed in that answer now?

“Night, Luke,” she tells me quietly, placing her small hand in the center of my chest. I grab it and hold onto it like a damn lifeline, my other feathering up and down her arm.

“Night, fireball.”

Later, as sleep takes me, I don’t think I would have heard her murmur softly against my chest if I hadn’t felt her warm breath scatter over me. Falling into a deep slumber, I can’t help the smile that curves my lips at her quiet confession.

“I like you a lot, too.”

That night, I dream of us making wild, passionate love with bubbles containing her declaration floating to the ceiling, so many of them they almost suffocate us. Suddenly, the dream changes into a nightmare as the bubbles pop and the words drop all around us, morphing into venomous serpents. They coat every surface. The bed, the floor, the walls. I fight them off with my hands, blood pouring from my wounds in rivers. I fight tirelessly to protect Addy as the red-eyed reptiles slither around us, trying to sink their poisonous fangs deep into our happiness.

I wake with a start, my heart pounding. Addy snuggles beside me, burrowing deeper into my side and I tighten my hold. I lay there for a good hour, shaken by the dream, wondering if it’s a premonition or a warning that I’ve latched onto an innocent woman and that one act alone handed me a one-way ticket to hell.

Even if it is some kind of omen, I decide I don’t care. Bring it on. I’m battle ready and not even a showdown with the devil himself will make me give up my color now that I have her.

“
T
hanks for meeting
me for dinner,” I say when Livia joins me at the table. After the last few days of swirling in a maelstrom of confusion, I need my friend and I need to put this misplaced guilt behind me.

“Of course. I miss you.”

She takes a seat. A perky blonde comes over with waters and menus, leaving us to look over them for a few minutes. When our waitress returns to take our order, I actually get a good look at her. With her clown makeup and blinding lipstick, Wanda, according to her nametag, could almost pass as a fifties pinup girl. God knows the outfit fits. Skirt so short her lady bits almost hang out and the buttons on her blouse are stretched so taut those suckers could be projectiles if she takes too deep a breath. The only things she’s missing are garters and high heels and I bet if she could get away with wearing them, she would.

“What can I get you?” she asks, chomping her gum loudly.
Ugh
. Unprofessional much?

“Salmon salad for me.”

She turns to Livia. “And for you?”

“I’ll have the falafel wrap,” she replies sweetly, handing her the menu.

“For your side?” she asks, tapping her pencil repeatedly on her notepad as if she has a nervous tick. “Fries, please. Thanks.”

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Livia and I exchange knowing glances and giggle like mean girls.

“Warn me when you see her coming back. I’m going to need to put on my sunglasses. Her lipstick practically burned my retinas and her buttons could easily put out an eye,” I tell her.

I don’t know what it is about women that makes us so judgmental, but we all are. We do it in elementary school. We sharpen our skills as teenagers, and when we grow into women, we’re practically Oscar winners at it. Sometimes, I think just having a vagina gives us a license to step into the ring of castigation, wielding caustic words and biting remarks like verbal weapons, while we keep the manicure we just spent sixty dollars on yesterday all smooth and shiny and unchipped. Men fight with fists. Women with words.

I’m not proud, by the way. Just want to make that clear.

“So how are things going with Luke?” Livia dives right in, a slight smirk on her lips. She takes a drink of her iced lemon water, watching for my reaction over the rim of her glass; now dripping condensation. I know her so well and exactly what she’s asking.

“Great! Perfect, actually,” I lie, a plastic smile plastered on.

Aaaand…Livia knows me just as well. “Mmm…I can see what Kam and Alyse are talking about.”

Of course, my friends told her I was glowing brighter than the White House Christmas tree at the sheer mention of Luke’s name. Is nothing sacred anymore?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Liv.”

Livia reaches across the table, laying her hand over mine. “It’s okay, you know, Addy.”

Is it? Really?

I want to ask her so many questions that are none of my business. Questions I have never asked before about her past, about her relationship with Luke. Not knowing what went on between them and if she’s okay with this—this
thing
that’s blossoming faster than I can stop it—is killing me inside. I need to know if she’s all right with me being with a man who means so much to her. And against my better judgment, I’m going to ask the forbidden questions anyway, even though I very well may not want to hear the answers.

What’s that saying? Curiosity killed the cat? It’s a damn good thing I’m not a feline then.

“Did you sleep with him?” I blurt. I probably could have phrased that better, but I’m not usually one for discretion. I was somehow born with a ‘what the fuck’ attitude.

Livia barks a laugh. “Well, no one can accuse you of being indirect, can they?”

“It’s a strength of mine.”

“And you know I love that about you, right?”

“I do.”

She studies me for a few moments and I start to get a bad feeling. “Did you? And don’t tell me it’s complicated, Livia. That’s just code for it’s none of your damn business.”

“I didn’t have sex with Luke. Our relationship wasn’t like that, Addy.”

“Then what was it like?” I ask, apparently unable to keep my damn mouth shut. “I know you’re with Gray now and deliriously in love and you’re going to pop Gray one and Gray two in just a couple of months, but I saw the way Luke was with you a few months ago, Liv. There’s no way you’ll convince me you guys don’t care deeply for each other.”

A pensive look crosses her face and she sits back in her chair. Lacing her fingers, she places them on a belly that’s big enough to be used as a shelf. And I have told her that to her face, by the way.

“It
is
complicated, Addy,” she says quietly, pain clearly evident in her voice.

I remember her telling me a couple of weeks ago she was running away from something when she moved here, which I’d already guessed. Suddenly, I feel like a piece of crap grilling my friend about her past when it’s so obvious it’s still like an open, festering wound. Wanting this man has made me so desperate, I’m doing things I wouldn’t normally do, such as treating my best friend like shit.

I suck.

“I’m sorry, Livia. You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”

“I just can’t talk about the whole story, Addy. It’s too painful. Luke and I share a unique bond and I do care for him deeply. He literally saved my life. I made some personal sacrifices and they cost me dearly. Had it not been for Luke, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you now and that’s no exaggeration. I do love him, but I’ve never been
in love
with Luke. I’ve always been and always will be in love with Gray.”

I look down at my lap where I’m anxiously twisting the cloth napkin laying there. I can’t decide if I’m relieved to hear Livia and Luke didn’t have that sort of relationship or devastated to know my best friend in the entire world has been through something so horrific that, years later, it’s still clear the scars run deep and probably always will. Both, I think. And the guilt returns once again.

My eyes mist as I start spilling my guts.

“I’ve always wanted a dog, you know. When I was growing up, my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Kravitz, had a bulldog named Gerard. I loved that damn thing. A lot of people don’t like bulldogs because they think they’re ugly, but I love their sad little faces. I think I could always relate, maybe. Anyway, I pretended Gerard was my own since my mom refused to buy us a dog. Said she didn’t want something else to take care of. I went over after school every day and walked him and played with him until he died when I was eleven.”

Livia waits patiently for me to continue. “He bought me a stuffed animal. Luke did. Last week. During one of my many rants, I apparently told him I wanted a bulldog and our complex has this ‘no dogs’ policy, you know, so instead he bought me a toy one.” I choke up on the last few words, still unable to believe he did that. I’m not sure I could ever make him understand how much that one small gesture meant. I’m not even quite sure I understand it myself. It’s just a stupid toy.

I look up through blurry eyes to see Livia with a knowing,
pleased
smile and I immediately know I have her approval. My entire body relaxes.

“Outside of my dad, no one’s ever done anything like that for me. No man I’ve dated has cared enough to bring me dinner or teach me to cook or make me coffee or buy me silly kid toys because I said something in passing.”

I’ve been thinking back to that night, trying to remember what else I confessed during my tantrum. The only other thing I remember was that I told him I wanted to be first, and he’s made that painstakingly apparent with his selfless acts, including denying my advances the other night. His rejection stung until he explained himself and I think at that moment, I fell completely, totally, and hopelessly in love with him.

“That’s because you’ve been with the wrong men.”

“Don’t I know it,” I mumble. “He let me sleep with him the other night when we had that thunderstorm.” That was Saturday, three nights ago now, and every night since I’ve secretly been praying for another torrential downpour. Is that wrong of me to need a storm to drive me into his arms? Yes. Yes, it is.

“I was worried about you when that hit.” We smile, remembering the times Livia let me stay with her during bad storms. We’d make an entire night of it and end up either eating ourselves sick or drinking until I didn’t care anymore about the rain or the pain I still feel in my heart at my mom’s indifference toward me. I will forever associate the lightning that cracks in the sky to the night my mother’s insensitive words cracked my heart wide open. She later said she didn’t mean it, but we all knew the truth.

“I think I’m in love with him,” I confess quietly, wiping a stray tear that’s escaped. I’m not being totally honest with her. I
know
I’m in love with him. There is not one doubt in my mind. The fear of being hurt paralyzes me, though.

“I know,” she replies just as quietly.

“I’m scared.”

“I know that, too, Addy. I’m going to give you some advice that a wise friend told me a few months ago.”

“Why does this sound backwards?” I manage to chuckle.

“Because it is.”

“Wise, huh?”

“Very.” Livia grins and she’s absolutely glowing. Pregnancy agrees with her. “Let’s be honest. You’ve dated a lot of frogs and each one has left his little damaging wart on you somewhere. Let it go. Let
them
go. I think the man you’ve been looking for all along is finally standing right in front of you, Addy, so give him a chance. Look forward, not backward. Besides, I know Luke and he’s just like his brothers. Once they set their mind to something, they’ll stop at nothing until they get it. And Luke wants you.”

“You think?”

“No. I
know
. Not one person missed the scorching heat between you two at dinner a couple weekends ago. He’s different around you. He’s different
with
you. He’s softer and happier and lighter than I’ve ever seen him. He’s in love with you, Addy. I can tell.”

I hold her gaze, silently questioning, and she nods in affirmation. I don’t know if he’s in love with me, but there’s absolutely no denying he likes me a lot. The fact that I was practically throwing myself at him in bed the other day and he did the honorable thing by denying me says more than his words ever could.

“So this…is okay with you?”

“My best friend and my brother-in-law? Hells yes.”

“Thanks, Livia. I love you.”

“Love you too, Ad.” Livia glances up and mumbles, “Incoming,” seconds before our waitress reappears and we fight to contain our laughter. I look down the entire time, just in case you were wondering. Gotta protect the eyes.

An hour later as I say good-bye to Livia, I now know the only person standing between me and Luke is, well…me. I think it’s
always
been me.

I
t’s
after nine p.m. when I get home from my dinner with Livia. I don’t miss Luke’s Ducati sitting in the lot, but when I walk through the door, I don’t see him in either the kitchen or the living room. I try not to be disappointed. I need some time to get my head on straight anyway and his presence always fills my brain with a fog of sexual need.

After talking things through with Livia and getting her “blessing,” I feel a little lighter as I head to my bedroom. I throw my purse on my bed, intent on changing into comfy clothes and vegging in front of the tube for a while, watching mindless, brain-cell-zapping reality shows. My skirt is halfway unzipped when I realize my shower is running. I stop what I’m doing and head toward the bathroom.

Once inside, I freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

My shower has clear glass doors, which are a pain in the ass—you have to squeegee them every single time you shower or they get hard water buildup that can barely be removed with anything except paint thinner. I hate those shower doors.
Every
day for the past four years I have cursed that clear glass. Every single day.

Now I am cheering those doors. Wildly.

I have no idea why Luke is in
my
bathroom, and at this moment, I couldn’t care less. That stupid song about the roof being on fire and letting the motherfucker burn rings in my ears. I agree. Let her burn, burn, burn, because nothing short of the floor collapsing from underneath me could make me budge an inch.

As I stand here like the voyeur I didn’t realize I was, but clearly am, I am in total and utter awe of the male perfection standing in front of me. A naked Luke is something magnificent to behold—a naked, wet, and very aroused
masturbating
Luke is literally mind melting. Like, commence total shutdown.

Eyes squeezed shut in pleasure/pain, he’s leaning forward, forearm against the fiberglass, head hanging low, so his chin almost touches his chest. His legs are spread wide, butt cheeks clasped tight so that sexy indent is even more pronounced.

As hot water sluices down his rippling, cut, decorated flawlessness, I shamelessly watch as he fists his thick, heavy cock with the other hand so hard it almost looks punishing. He strokes slowly at first, circling the plum head with his thumb each time. His breathing and pace pick up as he edges closer and closer to the end, and I anxiously wait for the explosive finale, my core pulsing, my own breaths coming in short gasps.

When he reaches the pinnacle, I have no way of stopping my own low moan while he throws his head back and groans on a guttural curse as endless ribbons of milky white shoot onto the fiberglass wall in front of him.

Jesus, he is glorious
.

I continue to look on as he starts the descent from his blissful high. I should leave, but I can’t, and so I stand frozen like a statue as his head slowly tilts my way, his heated eyes snaring mine. His chest heaves with his recent effort as he watches me through steam or lust. I’m not sure which. It could go either way.

“Enjoy the show, fireball?” His voice is heavy with wickedness and thick with promise.

Yes, very much. Thank you.

I don’t know how long I stare at him, mouth agape before I finally snap out of my desire-drunk stupor. It’s not easy, trust me, and my girly bits are already cursing me.

“Your shower suddenly not good enough?” I croak. I am so damn turned on right now I can barely speak.

“Broken.” Standing to his full height, he swivels to face me, indifferent to his nudity.

God almighty.
I got nothing.

“Oh.”

“Care to join me?” his gravelly voice drawls.
That damn drawl
. His voice alone tugs on your panties, but the silkiness of that drawl is like throwing gasoline on the raging heat flaring between my thighs. I feel like I’m burning up down there.

He stands proud, an arrogant smirk tilting a corner of his mouth, still palming his semierect staff, slowly stroking. His daring, cocky stare never drops mine. This whole scene is very distracting.

What was the question again?
Oh yes…care to join me? There is a wrong answer to that question, right? Because I’m quite sure I’m about to give it. Guess I’m still standing in my own way for some stupid, very stupid reason. Not one sane woman would walk away from this sinful proposition, except apparently me.

Reaching underneath the sink, I pull out the cleaner, walk to the shower door, and open it, careful to keep my eyes above sea level and off the bobbing raft below. “Make sure you clean up before you leave.”

He laughs loudly. Taking the bottle from my hands, his fingers purposely graze mine. Heat shoots up my arm and down to my core, joining the campfire below. “Your loss, fireball.”

“Don’t I know it,” I mumble, turning to leave. “Don’t I know it.”

I
t’s 3
:32 a.m. and the red digits on my clock mock me. Insomnia at its finest right here. I dozed off early yet have been lying awake for over an hour now, tossing and turning, unable to get the real-life porno shower scene I witnessed just mere hours ago out of my head. It’s running on a continuous, torturous loop.

The first thing I did when I locked myself back in my room, like the chickenshit I am, was to strip off my embarrassingly wet underwear.

Okay, fine
. So that wasn’t the
first
thing I did, but it was the second because they were even wetter after the first…
thing
. No amount of self-pleasure has helped; my body still aches for something I’ve been stupidly denying myself.

Luke
.

Finally, I give up and slide out of bed in a huff. Pulling on a light blue tank over navy lace panties, I quietly open my door. The apartment is dark, except for the blue rays from the full moon shining through the blinds. I easily find my way to the kitchen, not needing any additional light.

Opening a cupboard, I grab a glass and turn to the fridge to pour myself some milk. I take a sip and, deciding it’s not cold enough, pull on the freezer door to grab a few ice cubes, plopping them into my cream. I stare for a moment at the Bomb Pops I saw earlier this week. I haven’t had one since I was probably fourteen and yet here Luke is…enjoying them as a thirty-year-old man. Just another mystery that is Luke.

I lean my back against the fridge and sigh. Closing my eyes, thoughts of popsicles vanish. I once again replay the sight of Luke stroking himself to completion as hot water jetted over his perfectly formed physique. My chest constricts as I remember the throaty, purely male sounds he made when he neared his climax. Till the day I die, I won’t ever forget how he threw his head back in utter euphoria as he released, groaning as if almost in pain. My entire body vibrated with need. It still does.

“Can’t sleep, fireball?”

I’m so lost in my salacious memory, it takes me a second to register that the soft sound of Luke talking is actually real and not just in my mind. His presence startles me so much I gasp and drop the cup I was holding. Milk and shards of broken glass scatter everywhere on the linoleum floor.

“Shit,” I mutter. I take a small step and wince loudly at the pain that stabs my sole.

“Fuck, stay still,” he hisses as he rushes to me from the darkness. When he rounds the corner I notice two things.

First, apparently he was out here when I walked in because I see a barely eaten Bomb Pop in his hand, frost still coating the bottom layer.

Second, he’s utterly mouthwatering in his dark grey boxer briefs, which are not doing a damn thing to hide his very rigid package.
God have mercy
. I cannot pull my eyes away from the cock I’ve just been caught fantasizing about.

I can hardly concentrate on anything other than the intense throbbing between my legs as he sets his popsicle down on the counter and starts toward me. I hold out my hand trying to stop him from coming closer. If he touches me right now, I’m a total goner. At this moment, he’ll be able to get me to do anything he wants.
Anything
. “Luke, no. You’ll get hurt.”

“Steel’s impenetrable, baby.” He continues forward, heedless of my protests and regardless of the fact his feet are as bare as mine. He steps carefully, avoiding the largest pieces of glass and grabs me firmly by the waist, lifting me effortlessly as if I were a sack of flour. After depositing me on the counter, he hands me his frosty treat. “For safekeeping. This is one of my favorite sweets in the world. Don’t you dare lick it, fireball,” he says with a wink and a mischievous grin.

I don’t know about you, but when somebody tells me not to do something,
yeah
…makes me want to do it all the more, so while I watch him walk to the hall closet, retrieve the broom, and begin to clean up the mess, I lick away.

I slurp.

I suck.

I make a big production out of eating his red, white, and blue popsicle, laughing the entire time as his gaze continually slides to me, a slight smirk upturning his lips. He turned on the overhead light when he got the broom, so there is absolutely no mistaking the heat in his eyes burns hotter each time they connect with mine. And definitely not in anger.

A few minutes later, he dumps the broken remnants of the glass in the garbage can, along with the milk-soaked paper towels. Leaning the broom against the wall and the dustpan on the floor, he turns, and the second his predatory gaze lands on mine, my laughter dies.

Uh oh.

When I was a kid, the thing I loved about Bomb Pops, as opposed to other popsicles, is that they’re big. They’re a good thick inch of tasty girthiness, so they take a while to eat if you know how to savor them instead of biting your way through. So although I’ve been eating Luke’s frozen treat for the last few minutes, there is still plenty left for him.

I think at this point I should also confess when I was fifteen, my girlfriends and I used to practice our bj skills on Bomb Pops before we ever practiced on a real penis. And, for the last five minutes, I
may
have been reenacting my teenage days, except my skills are far more honed and refined now with “real-life” experience.

“You’re awfully good at that, fireball,” he husks, his eyes dropping to my mouth as I slide the melting delicacy out from between my probably now blue-stained lips. His voice sounds like it’s been steeped in sex, then double dipped in raw decadence.

“That I am,” I reply just as hoarsely. I don’t even recognize my voice it’s dropped so many octaves.

He’s now standing between my legs, having wedged them apart with his hips. His hand winds around mine, the one with the popsicle, and brings it to his own mouth, smoldering eyes holding mine as he draws it slowly between his lips, tongue snaking out to catch the melting ice.

Oh God.

Air. I need it.

He pulls it out just as unhurriedly and sets it on the counter beside me. “You didn’t follow directions, Addy.”

He runs a hand slowly down my leg, goose bumps following his touch like starstuck groupies. Grabbing my injured foot he draws it back to take a look, gently extracting the protruding piece of glass stuck in my tender skin. Leaning over, he throws it into the trash and I hear a ping as it hits the other shards.

“What can I say? I’m a born rule breaker,” I tease breathlessly. I try to laugh, but it comes out strangled.

I’m momentarily dazed when his tongue darts out, licking the injured spot that now mildly throbs.
Oh, fuck
. “Rule breakers usually need punishment to understand the err of their ways,” he purrs between wet kisses up my arch to my ankle.

“You think?” I’m panting now. Actually panting with excitement and hunger.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he mutters roughly, continuing his hot assault up my inner thigh to almost the edge of my panties. One slight turn of his head and he’ll be in the Promised Land.

Turn, turn, turn
, I silently beg.

I almost cry out when he does, his nose nudging my silk-covered sex. I hear him inhale before he stands up. He gently releases my leg, trailing his large hands up my bare thighs. The groupies are back, except this time they’re all over in hot anticipation to get closer to the sex god standing in front of us.

My eyelids are as heavy as my head. “Luke…” His name is a hoarse plea, but I’m not sure if I’m begging him to stop or continue. My breath hitches when his thumbs reach the edges of my panties, his thick hands wrapped tightly around my hips, kneading my flesh.

“Stop thinking, Addy. Let go. I promise I’ll catch you.”

“Oh God,” I choke as his lithe digits tunnel under the scrappy fabric. My head falls and my eyes squeeze shut when I feel the rough pads feather too lightly along my soaked, bare nether lips.

My heart is pounding so fast, had he not hummed the words directly in my ear, I’m not sure I would have heard. “Surrender to me, Addy. I’ve got you.” Hot lips suck ravenously and at a maddeningly slow pace down my throat, which I’ve tilted under his sensual onslaught.

My heart and body are on the same page, and for the last couple of weeks, the two have been ganging up against my stubborn will. They’ve finally just won. The last of my resolve withers away like wilted lettuce under his touch, his lips and his rough, but heartfelt demands. I can no longer deny what I’m feeling for this man. I no longer want to.