Soon after arriving at home, Lorelai was upstairs, getting ready for bed. So to speak. For she had a promise to keep, a thank-you to fulfill.
Sitting on the edge of the tub, she slowly pulled the sheer black stocking up her leg. Repeating the motion, she followed the sheer fabric's path up her other leg with her fingers. Did these things really stay up for long, she pondered? Or were they destined to be thigh-high for just ten seconds before collapsing in a puddle around her ankles? No matter. With any luck, within a few minutes, they'd be snagged beyond wearability. A shudder of anticipation ran down her spine as she anticipated Luke's hands making quick work of the flimsy stockings.
Lorelai stood and appraised her appearance in the mirror. Not bad for a woman closer to forty than thirty, she thought. The lingerie had been a gift for her first engagement. But Max was not the type…Max just was not. The ensemble, one of several, had lain neglected in a corner of a drawer for years. Half-a-decade, she thought. Waiting for its moment of thrill.
Luke would probably laugh his ass off, she thought, when he saw her. Oh well, either way, she couldn't lose. If he laughed, she'd suggest a session of mocking. If he reacted as she'd hoped, well she'd be doing a lot of thanking.
Since the fall, their sex life had been perfunctory, even often lacking. At first, she'd chalked it up to her being preoccupied with Rory's return, but Luke had then dropped his bombshell and it became all too clear. Many nights it seemed like he was still just so overwhelmed by everything to have any energy left over for anything, anyone. So maybe it would be good to shake things up, take a risk. After all, the lacy demi-cup push-up thing she was wearing, which was only a bra in the most loosely-defined definition of the word, did look damn good on her.
An adjustment here, a tug on the string panties there, fingers crossed that the stockings would stay up for the next few minutes, and she was ready to make good on a promise.
Entering the bedroom, she saw that Luke was seated at the edge of the bed, back to her, looking at the list she and Michel had meticulously put together.
"I still hate this list," Luke intoned, not quite as irritated as he had been earlier that evening.
She froze, suddenly feeling out of place and silly.
Luke turned, ready to pontificate on item number thirty-seven on the list.
But when he saw her, he was sure his heart had stopped beating.
He was normally not a lingerie guy. Ridiculous prices for little scraps of fabric that were just going to come off anyway. But seeing Lorelai standing there, he thought he just might become a regular at one of those stores in the mall. He watched her watch him, each observing the rapid rise and fall of the other's chest, each otherwise immobile.
Were those thigh-high stockings?
Luke suddenly became a lingerie guy.
Lorelai somehow found her legs and began to move in his direction, pushing her way through air so fraught with sexual tension that she could swear she was getting a workout just taking those few steps. She stopped, two feet in front of him, watching as he followed her with his eyes, his hands suddenly gripping the comforter at the edge of the bed. Neither one of them had spoken; her expression was tentative and he was looking at her as if she was a Star Trek character about to dematerialize in the poof of a transporter beam.
It's Luke, she thought. Luke. And he's not laughing his ass off. As a matter of fact, he's looking for all the world like every fantasy he's ever had has just come true.
That thought further emboldened her to draw closer, and Lorelai planted herself in front of him, suddenly feeling empowered as she looked into his eyes.
His eyes. The look she'd been missing for the past few months was back again.
"I told you I'd thank you for spending four hours…" She felt his hands slide around her waist, cool hands against her warm flesh. "…with my parents…"
"Lorelai," he whispered, as he drew her closer.
Three syllables, that from him conveyed more than a name.
She started to sway, as she felt his lips graze her stomach, slow kisses bestowed all over.
He was still dressed in his clothes from Friday Night Dinner. She reached out and trailed her hands down the length of his chest, over his heart and to his belt, then seated herself in his lap, straddling him. His arms went around her, holding her tightly to him.
All she wanted to do was breathe him in.
She savored the rich mixture of his scent, the fresh scent of the room and the scent of their arousal. She pressed her lips against the hollow of his throat, feeling his pulse against her lips even as she felt his arousal harden against her already damp panties.
"You didn't have to do this," Luke ran his hands over her lingerie.
"Yeah, well..."
"But I'm glad you did…"
"I promised you…"
"You don't ever have to thank me for helping with the Inn," he continued. "I'm the one who should be thanking you, for staying with me…"
"But I want to," Lorelai quickly interrupted, suddenly uncomfortable with the emotion in his voice, "…thank you," as she began to move her hips in a circular motion,
Luke's reaction was swift. His mouth came crashing against hers, as her lips automatically parted to allow his tongue to dance its way inside. Quickly, his tongue found its partner, and as he tightened his hold on her with his arms, their tongues continued their frantic exploration. No matter how many times they'd done this, it never got old.
After an eternity, they mutually agreed to let each other catch their breaths.
"You look…amazing," Luke rasped, as his hands moved down her back and then onto her thighs, caressing the space above the stockings.
"Not done with the thanking," Lorelai answered, resuming her slow dance on his lap.
Luke's eyes closed and his head tipped back a bit, and Lorelai smiled.
"Good, huh?" she teased.
His eyes slowly opened. "Oh yeah…" he whispered on an exhale.
"Wait…" he continued, setting her back a bit, so he could take all of her in.
One finger began tracing the outline of her bra, from shoulder to shoulder, across her breasts, and not making it back up the other side. Suddenly, she felt weightless, not caring where she was, only wanting to melt in his arms. Instinctively, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, even as he remained seated.
"Not done with the thanking," Lorelai repeated, this time snaking a hand downward, unzipping him. After a moment of fumbling, she began caressing him.
The touch of her hand on him always made him incoherent.
"Want…"
Stroke up.
"You…"
Stroke down.
"So much..." he finally completed.
"Back atcha," she whispered.
Luke thrust his hand between her thighs, finding the edge of one panty leg. Shoving the flimsy material aside, at the same time, he pushed up, up, up into her. Filling her, he did not give her any time to adjust. He was in, all in, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for the ride.
It was hot and furious and primordial, she thought, this thanking.
Which was over all too soon. Lorelai heard herself cry out, and then collapsed onto him as he fell back onto the bed. She felt his fingers tangling in her hair. This was great, she thought, the best since she found out about April...
Plenty of time to deal with that later. This moment was for love, for enjoying each other.
"Sorry," he said as his chest continued heaving against hers.
"Sorry?" she echoed softly.
"Didn't mean…so quick."
"Do I look like I have any complaints?" she chuckled back at him.
"Well, no, but…"
"Besides, I'm the one supposed to be doing the thanking tonight…"
Her mother had been right. She was a woman of means. Just not quite the type Emily had thought of. She had the means to give thanks. And not just once.