Page 21 of Ruin Me Sweetly

“Hello, everyone.”

My head snapped up, and I saw Luke standing in the kitchen doorway, a bottle of bubbly in hand. I abandoned my cookbook as he began closing the distance between us. I met him halfway.

“Hello, poppet,” he said, before his gaze landed on Zach. “Hello, son.”

He really was too much. He reminded me of Rhea, in a way—always picking and prodding at people, finding someone’s wound and toying with the scab until they’d blabbed their whole life story to him. That was how our own love story had started, if I was honest.

“I brought some champagne,” he murmured, his eyes landing on my lips.

I shouldn’t. But I did.

He lowered his lips to mine, and I caught the scent of his cologne. Our kiss deepened, and I clung to his suit jacket. That familiar slow burn began low in my belly, and I nearly rubbed my thighs together right there in the kitchen.

The kids were in the room, though, so it stayed firmly PG.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss, his lips still slightly wet.

“Miss me?” he asked.

“You know I did.”

He smiled and slid the champagne into the fridge to chill, then shrugged off his jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair.

“What can I do to help?”

I handed him the potato peeler and a bowl of apples.

Christmas and New Year’s with my family.

The warmth in my kitchen had doubled this year.

❧ ❧ ❧

“Does it feel strange, seeing Amber drink?” Luke asked, holding the blanket up for me.

I settled on the couch beside him and considered the question.

“No. She could have gone off and done so many things in her teen years, but she didn’t. Half a glass of champagne was fine.”

“Hm. I hope she stays this way once she’s at university.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m really worried about,” I said.

“Didn’t you give her half a million talks on contraception and STDs?” he asked, chuckling as he put his arm around me.

I glanced up at him.

“Says the man who’s allergic to condoms.”

His head snapped toward me, his body stiffening against mine.

“I’m clean. You’re clean. I absolutely refuse to have anything between us. The feel of your soft pussy and all that lube it produces,” he said, before sliding his hand past my waistband to settle between my thighs. His fingers moved slowly along me, teasing. It wasn’t enough, muffled through the fabric of my knickers. “That muted feel isn’t for me.”

His fingers slipped beneath the material. He nudged my foot to the floor so I could spread my thighs.

I gasped as his fingers began to rub me—small circles first, then up and down, brushing against my clit every so often.

“Feel the difference, Bella?”