Disclaimers, etc. in chapter 1.
~Night~
The town is still buzzing about Kirk's engagement. Luke is still stunned about being Kirk's best man. I still want to know what Luke has on under his incredibly tight jeans.
I love holidays.
I'm standing in the middle of Luke's apartment clad only in my holiday-themed underwear. Luke is standing frozen in his doorway, his eyes glazed with lust and his flannel unbuttoned. I flip my hair and he practically runs to me, ripping off his shirts and mumbling something about shamrocks.
I wait until he's two feet from me and hold up a hand. "Stop." He does, panting. I'm thinking that has nothing to do with the little dash he's just completed. "Pants off, please," I command — hands on my hips.
Luke smirks and toes off his sneakers and socks then pushes his jeans down slowly, letting me get an eyeful of four-leaf clovers.
"You wore 'em!" I shout — victorious that I got Luke Danes to partake in some holiday spirit. Partake with me, at least; he better not have been partaking with anyone else.
He shakes off the jeans and stands before me clad in boxers and skin and I shudder in response. The boxers are cute, but they are covering up my second and third favorite parts of Luke. I glide to stand in front of him and give him a smile, "you look really good in those," I yank them down, "but you look even better out of them." He grabs me and kicks the underwear off his feet at the same time. Dexterous, Luke is dexterous, then Luke's kissing me and what does dexterous mean and why am I thinking about anything but his lips and his hands and…oh…my bra is now halfway across the room and we are moving back towards his bed.
He stops me from toppling backwards, yanks my panties down and, for the second time today, the festive four-leaf clover-covered underwear are thrown carelessly on the floor.
Luke settles in the middle of the bed and I join him. We sit facing each other, my legs spread up and over his. We kiss forever — long and deep kisses, short and hard kisses, fluttering kisses over cheeks and foreheads and noses, pecks at the corner of mouths. Neither of us is inclined to do much else anytime soon. Kissing Luke is fun and arousing and peaceful and, oh holy hell.
"You actually got into this holiday," I mumble against his lips; he almost diverted me again.
"Not exactly," he mumbles back.
"You did, too. You wore green and the shamrock boxers."
"Four-leaf clovers and I wore them because it was important to you," he corrects, "and wearing green was purely self-preservation." We're still kissing — I like to talk and he likes to kiss and we have found a way to do both at the same time. (I like the kissing, too, but don't tell Luke that. He thinks I've compromised for him).
"Just admit that holidays aren't the worse thing ever."
"Some holidays are fine," he concedes. "Any holiday that celebrates beer is a good holiday in my book."
"Cynic," I murmur.
"Sometimes."
"Grumpy."
"Usually."
Is it sick that this is turning me on? Do I care? Not so much, because Luke is starting to nibble on my neck and I'm turning into a quivering heap of Lorelai-Jell-O and we are now moving into the dirty portion of the evening. The dirtier portion of the evening.
He's working his lips and teeth up and down the tendons of my neck and I whimper a little, pressing closer to him — inviting him to move his amazing mouth lower.
He ignores me.
"Luke," I keen.
"Hmmm?" The vibrations on my pulse-point are dizzying.
"A little lower, please."
"Lower where?"
He wants to bring it? I'll bring it …right after he stops sucking on my shoulder.
I reflexively grab his hands and try to pull them up from my hips. He resists. I tug harder. He resists harder. This will not go unanswered. Luke will not be allowed to ignore my implicit request to lavish attention on my breasts.
I let go of his hands and run my fingers through his soft hair, lulling him into a false sense of security. That I am enjoying myself is inconsequential, he will pay. Right after he stops licking my collarbone in that unbelievable way.
I feel his hands relax a bit and I yank one up and pull back from him at the same time. He's startled, until I deliberately take his middle finger into my warm and wet mouth. Our eyes are locked and I slowly increase the pressure. I tighten my teeth over the base, I run my tongue along the length. I suck. I swirl. Never, not once, do I loosen my hold on his finger or on his eyes, waiting for the second his eyes darken from indigo to black.
And there they go, folks. I have now turned Lucas William Danes into a lust-crazed maniac. I'd hoot if my mouth weren't busy, but I'm not quite done with him. I pull back to nip at the pad, then suck the entire digit back into my mouth and increase the suction. He blinks slowly, then rips his finger from my mouth and simultaneously thrusts his tongue between my lips and his fingers between my legs.
Several frenzied moments later, we break from the kissing and fondling to stare at each other. He slides me forward and onto him. I expand to take him in and we sit quietly, getting used to the sensations, getting lost in each other's eyes. In silent accord, we begin to gently rock. He's sliding his fingers along my shoulder blades and stroking the sides of my breasts with his thumbs; I'm running my nails down his chest and across his stomach. He gasps my name and I moan his. He grabs the back of my head, thrusting his hand deep into my hair, and pulls me to his mouth.
He plunges deep between my lips and between my legs. He murmurs against my lips, love words, sex words, my name — sentiments I echo back. The tension begins to build - slow, deep, maddening — in this position our orgasms come slow — in ever-increasing waves — amazing sensations that hit hard and empty my lungs of oxygen and send my heart-rate into the stratosphere.
We just smile at each other for a good five minutes as the after-shocks die down. No matter how often we do that to each other, it's still astounding and miraculous. Finally, he eases me off of him and kisses me. We settle back onto the bed, entangling our legs and arms as I settle my cheek on his chest and listen to my favorite part of Luke begin to slow down. He strokes my hair and tells me he loves me and I tell him back and there is a moment of silence.
But just a moment.
"Told you those boxers were lucky."
He tightens his hand in my hair and his chuckle reverberates through my whole body. Twenty seconds later, his breathing begins to slow and deepen. As he drifts off, I smile because I know how very lucky, festive four-leaf clover underwear or not, we both are.