Bad Divorce Read online

  Categorizing Luke was harder.

  Or had been harder.

  Because after last night . . . things had changed.

  She glanced up at him sleeping. They’d tumbled back into her bed with pleasantly full stomachs, eyes burning from too much B-list celebrity drama, and had promptly passed out.

  But now it was after seven. She was wide awake and needed to go in to work.

  And . . . she didn’t want to move from Luke’s arms.

  They’d each revealed something last night, and she didn’t know how she’d survived the discomfort of it.

  Then why did you demand complete honesty and communication?

  Because, clearly, I’m a fucking idiot.

  Yup. Arguments with herself at seven in the morning, she was so fucking together.

  “I can smell the smoke from here.”

  Bec blinked, glanced up, and found Luke’s gorgeous green eyes on her. “What?” she blurted and . . . so fucking smooth. But it was hard to be her usual calm and put together self when she felt like she should be running, pulling all those pieces of armor back around her, stitching them tightly together. It had been so easy last night to lay it all out there, but in the light of the morning?

  Not so much.

  Luke shifted, sliding down on the bed so their faces were level. “Good morning.”

  And he kissed her, ignoring all signs of morning breath—and hers was no doubt horrible, after their three A.M. booty call with pizza and beer—slipping his tongue past the threshold of her lips and giving her a thoroughly dizzying wakeup call.

  Eventually, he broke away, both of them breathing hard.

  “I knew you’d be doing this.”

  Her brows drew down. “Doing what?”

  “Freaking.”

  She started to protest, but there was something in his expression—as though he were expecting her to withdraw—and that smug expectation gave her the courage to push on.

  The bastard probably knew it, too.

  Ugh.

  “Fine. I am freaking out,” she said. “But only a little bit.” He snorted. “I’m not used to this. To feeling like this—”

  Smugness faded from his face. “It would probably be better if I left you alone, let you get back to your own life—”

  Just the words made Bec’s heart throb. She wouldn’t let him leave her, not now, not when things were different—and not even just with the two of them, but also within her.

  She felt different. Inside.

  Fuck all this noble shit. She wanted Luke, and even though it scared her so damned much, she was keeping him.

  Sorry, not sorry. That was just the way it was—

  “But I can’t,” he said.

  She blinked, the argument she’d been whipping up inside her brain promptly fading away. “Good,” she said. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

  His eyes warmed. “Possessive little thing, aren’t you?”

  “You’re only a few inches taller than me, Pearson. I wouldn't push your luck.”

  Fingers traced down her neck, her arm, sliding to a stop on the bare skin of her hip. “I’m six inches taller, at least.”

  She raised a brow, doing some sliding of her own. “Sorry to say, but six inches isn’t going to cut it.” She followed the trail of hair that began at his belly button and disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs.

  “It’s not the”—he broke off with a hiss as she ran a fingertip over his cock—“size that counts.”

  Her mouth curved. “But how you use it?”

  “Exact—fuck.” She stroked him from base to tip.

  “Mmm.” Bec pushed up on her elbow, watching his face as she glided her hand up and down. His eyes were squeezed tight, his jaw clamped, his hips jerked off the mattress, pressing closer to her hand. Moisture pooled between her thighs as she stroked him up and down, up and down, up and—

  Strong fingers on her wrist, staying her movements.

  “Luke—”

  The rest of her sentence was lost in a gasp of air as she was flipped onto her back. All Bec saw was a pair of molten emerald eyes before the T-shirt she was wearing was yanked over her head and Luke was all but attacking her breasts.

  He sucked one nipple into his mouth, drawing on it in almost desperate pulls. His other hand was on her stomach, her hip, in between her thighs, delving into the liquid heat of her.

  And he was ruthless.

  Thumb pressing against her clit, rubbing in firm circles that had her crying out his name. But he didn’t stop, just switched breasts and kept the rhythm of his thumb constant as he slipped one thick finger inside her.

  Bec gasped, hips flying up, desperate for more than that minimal intrusion.

  She wanted him pushing home, filling her to excess, the burn of his thick length mixing with her desire until she was engulfed in flames of pleasure.

  “Luke—” He stole the rest of her words with a kiss, fingers continuing to work as his free hand angled her head and he replicated the rhythm of his thumb with his tongue in her mouth.

  She couldn’t breathe. Every muscle in her body was taut and coiled, desperate for release.

  “I . . . Luke . . . Oh God. I need—”

  He slipped another finger into her, pressed firmly on her clit.

  And implosion.

  Stars behind her eyes, pleasure radiating out from her core, spilling into her limbs, making them heavy and lax.

  Nothing.

  She felt nothing but those waves of bliss, and it could have been thirty seconds or a minute or an eternity before they slowed and finally, finally she was able to wrench back her eyelids and look up at the only man who’d ever held any power over her.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

  Her lips curved. “Condom. Nightstand. Now.”

  She’d almost expected Luke to laugh at her caveman instructions, but instead of teasing her, his eyes went somehow hotter. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt—”

  Bec reached down and gripped the hard length of him, loving the way his head fell forward and his hips thrust toward her. “I need you, baby,” she murmured, knowing that the reassuring words came from some place inside her that only Luke had access to. “Please, come inside me.”

  One long look.

  One hard swallow.

  Then he reached over her left shoulder and extracted a condom from the nightstand. A few seconds later he’d rolled it on, was staring down at her with anticipation and worry and—

  Bec pulled his head down to hers, kissing him this time, thrusting her tongue into his mouth for a change. She hitched a leg around his hips, lifting off the bed, bringing herself close enough to rub against the hard length of his cock. They both caught their breath, and she moaned into his mouth at the feel of hard gliding through silky folds, of hot meeting wet, of—

  She tightened her leg, sinking back down to the mattress and bringing him on top of her. Chest against chest, hips against hips, hard against soft.

  “Becky,” he groaned as she wrapped her other leg around him.

  “Mmm.” She changed the angle of her pelvis, catching the tip of his erection at her opening, teasing them both by allowing just the slightest bit of him inside her.

  The smallest dip before retreating. Another dip. Another. Until she felt sweat break out on Luke’s back, until she couldn’t take it anymore. Until he couldn’t either.

  She shifted just as he drove home.

  “Fuck,” she hissed, eyes going wide, lips parting.

  He paused, worry written in the lines of his face. “Shit, sorry. I—”

  “No.” Legs tightening around his waist, she pulled him closer. “Do that again.”

  He slid out, pressed back in.

  Hard and deep and not particularly finessed, he drove into her. And fuck, but it was the best ever. Raw and hot, shooting her up the precipice and straight over the edge.

  She screamed, actually screamed as she came, and her sore throat would serve as a t
estament to that later.

  He pushed once, twice more, before calling out her name.

  “Becky!”

  In that moment, heart racing, lungs sawing, and pleasure coursing through her limp body, Luke still somehow found the energy to cradle her like she was the most precious object in the universe. The only man she’d ever loved was next to her, and she found she didn’t even care that he hadn’t called her Bec.

  Becky.

  She could live with that.

  At least it wasn’t sugar pie.

  Her lips twitched, her eyes shut, and she forgot all about the pressing matters at work. She just cuddled closer and soaked in Luke Pearson.

  Yeah, she could live with that.

  Seventeen

  Luke

  “No,” he said to his group back in Texas, interrupting the presentation they’d been videoconferencing. “That’s not the right strategy. Come on, guys, this is basic science. If you roll all the variables out at once, you won’t be able to pinpoint cause and effect.”

  The table turned to look at the camera, at him.

  Years ago that would have made him uncomfortable.

  Now, Luke didn’t mind stepping up and being the leader they needed. In fact, he found he thrived under the pressure.

  “I didn’t think of it that way,” Trevor, one of his leads in the R&D department at Pearson Energy said.

  “Think about it,” Luke told him before turning his attention to the rest of the room. “We have a chance at something good here, guys. The product is great, yes, but there are flaws that need to be worked out before it goes to market. That’s what the site here will bring us—existing infrastructure to tie into, a huge grid to practice on.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “We play this right, and this technology will be big. We fuck up, and—”

  He didn’t need to elaborate.

  The project would crash and burn before it got anywhere.

  And the years of effort, research, testing? They would be for naught.

  “Go back to the drawing board,” he said. “We’ll discuss next week.”

  He clicked off and sighed, shutting off his laptop before pulling out his phone to go through his ever-filling inbox.

  “You’re sexy when you give orders.”

  Luke turned, not having heard Becky come in. It had been a week since that night—the best sleep of his life, followed up by the best sex of his life—and his sugar pie had graciously offered him the use of her apartment.

  “You already know the codes anyway,” she’d told him.

  Not being a stupid man, or not all the time anyway, Luke had readily agreed.

  No more hotel.

  No more pitying looks from the maids.

  Just Becky and trying to get her naked at every opportunity.

  He pushed to his feet, crossed over to her, and took her into his arms. His heart pulsed, just like it did every time she allowed him to do it.

  “I missed you,” he said and kissed her.

  “You’re just trying to bribe your way into knowing what my date is,” she said when they broke apart.

  “I’m trying to bribe my way into something,” he agreed, slipping his hands down and gripping the lush curves of her ass. She was wearing a black pencil skirt and fuck, did it drive him crazy with the urge to tug it up, bend her over and—

  Becky stepped away from him. Started unbuttoning her cream blouse.

  It hit the carpet silently.

  White lace. See-through white lace.

  “What—?”

  She turned her back on him, reached up to tug down the gold zipper that held her skirt together. Slowly. So fucking slowly it slid down, exposing porcelain skin bisected by the tiniest white thong Luke had ever seen.

  A shimmy of her hips, black fabric sliding down thighs he was desperate to get his mouth between.

  The skirt hit the floor.

  He was hard and aching, but watching the slow lift of one black stiletto-clad foot stepping out of that crumpled piece of clothing followed by the other, made him even hotter.

  Her ass. Fuck her ass.

  Two perfect globes that jiggled just the slightest bit as she moved. Fucking perfection. But then Luke almost swallowed his tongue when she bent to pick up the skirt and glanced back at him over her shoulder.

  The pink tip of her tongue darted out, moistened her bottom lip.

  “While I did enjoy playing mini-golf with you Saturday night,” she said, straightening and tossing the skirt onto her couch, “I was thinking that date five could be a little more . . .” One blonde brow lifted as she waited.

  His words sounded like gravel. “A little more what?”

  “More sex,” she stage-whispered.

  His dick pulsed, threatening to tear through his zipper.

  Becky closed the distance between them, cupped him through his jeans. “I’m horny and wet, and I want you, Pearson.” She rose on tiptoe, whispered in his ear. “Dinner on the pier can wait.”

  He had enough presence of mind to file her date preference away to remember later before she undid his zipper and dropped to her knees.

  “Sweetheart,” he began. “You don’t have—”

  She tugged and his cock sprung free from his boxer briefs. Then her mouth was on him, tongue tracing the hard length of him, hand moving up and down in a rhythm that had his knees shaking and his eyes rolling back into his head.

  Fingers clenching into fists at his sides, Luke focused on not immediately blowing his load.

  But fuck it felt good.

  Her mouth was hot and wet, her tongue teased the underside of him, and her hand gripped him tightly as she stroked him straight to insanity.

  “Mmm.” She moaned, taking him deeper.

  Then she did something with her tongue that made his vision go black.

  And then she did it again.

  “Enough,” he growled, gripping her by her shoulders and yanking her up. He toed off his shoes, yanked a condom out of the back pocket of his jeans, and rolled it on.

  In one movement, he lifted Becky up into his arms and turned to pin her against the wall.

  “Lu—”

  Rip. Her underwear flew over his shoulder, but he didn’t look to see where it landed. Instead, he shifted so he was in between Becky’s thighs and pushed into her.

  “Oh,” Becky gasped.

  “Fuuck,” he groaned.

  Pictures rattled as he set a pounding rhythm. It was too much, too fast. He was rushing, needed to slow down. A framed print of something crashed to the ground and, worried he was too out of control, that he was going to hurt her, Luke forced himself to slow.

  “No,” she said, and her fingers dug into his nape, her legs wrapped tighter around his waist. “Don’t stop. Please, God, don’t stop.”

  And fuck if he could deny her that.

  Not when he was riding the razor’s edge already. Not when his control was all but eroded. Not when she was tight and wet and felt so fucking good clamping around him.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  More pictures hit the floor.

  Thank God Becky’s apartment was the penthouse and they were alone on this floor. But the neighbors below were going to be pissed.

  Luke couldn’t bring himself to care.

  He kept up the rapid pace, shifting his hold so it was his hands taking the pounding rather than Becky’s spine.

  “Yes. Please,” she said, pressing against him. “Yes. Oh fuck.”

  And then she exploded.

  One. Two strokes and he followed her over.

  He came to sitting bare-assed on the hardwood floor with Becky in his lap.

  Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

  “How long have we been like this?” she asked, laziness in every syllable.

  Luke shook his head. “Fuck, if I know.” He surveyed the damage around them, only one picture remained on the wall, the rest were scattered on the hardwood floor. Luckily, they must not have had glass in the frames, otherwise his ass would be sushi
and he’d much rather eat sushi than have his ass masquerade as it.

  “We should get up.” Becky started to push out of his lap, then sighed and snuggled closer.

  “I’ll get us to bed,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

  A good minute passed.

  “Are we moving?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “As soon as I can feel my legs.”

  Her breath was warm on his neck as she laughed. “God, I love you,” she said. “Let’s just stay like this forever.”

  And if Luke’s heart hadn’t already been branded with Becky’s name, this moment would have burned the mark right onto it.

  Eighteen

  Bec

  Somehow, Luke had managed to get them into her bed, which was a good thing because Bec knew there was no way she could have gotten there on her own.

  She’d been content to curl up in the living room, Luke as her personal blanket.

  But this was just as good, naked limbs intertwined, his hand snug around her waist. It was just the other thing, the reason why she hadn’t felt like going out that evening.

  The Phone Call.

  Yes, it deserved capital letters.

  Because her father had called her.

  And another one of the boxes she had carefully contained in her heart, locked up and wound with barbed wire, preventing pesky feelings from escaping, had ruptured.

  He’d disappointed her so much.

  And he’d called.

  Bec had let the call go to voicemail, not wanting to talk to the man who’d shipped her off when she’d needed him the most. She’d reached out to him so many damned times and . . .

  Brick wall.

  Like father, like daughter.

  “What’s wrong?” Luke asked into the silence.

  She didn’t ask how he knew to ask, was just glad that he did ask. And where in the past she would have brushed him off, just internalized the tangle of emotions she was feeling over the fact her father had called, today she told Luke what happened.

  “My dad called me today.”

  He never called.

  Ever.

  She was always the one to reach out.

  And the fact that he had? It terrified her. Would she turn back into that pathetic creature, striving, doing everything in her power for his approval?