Summer (Four Seasons #2) (16 page)

******

I can’t sleep. I’ve been aimlessly wondering around my apartment in a t-shirt and shorts, sweating in the abnormally warm temperatures, trying to calm the hell down. Nothing’s been working.
 

My afternoon with Noah at the café was actually really quite fun. We checked out some recipes online and drank way too much coffee, and when it was time to leave he punched me playfully in the shoulder and told me he’d see me later. Then he turned around and walked away, presumably to find his way home, wherever that is right now, and I drove back to Williamsburg with a small smile on my face.
 

As soon as I walked through the apartment door, all that changed, of course. A huge surge of guilt washed over me, and I haven’t been able to shake it ever since.

I pace for what feels like hours.
 

Sometime after two in the morning, I’m trying to talk myself out of feeling like I’ve done something wrong when a knock on the door interrupts the otherwise silent apartment.

What the fuck?

Morgan? It can only be Morgan. I told Noah about my new place, but it wasn’t like I handed out the address. I don’t know anyone else who would turn up unannounced.
Must
be Morgan. I half walk, half run to the door and jerk it open, readying myself to ream her out for showing up so damn late. My heart stops dead in my chest when I see who’s standing there on the other side of the door.
 

Luke Reid.

His black hair is long. Longer than I've ever seen it. It falls across his forehead, throwing his features into shadow. I can still see those eyes of his, though. He’s never been able to hide what he’s thinking. I’ve always been able to look him in the eye and know
exactly
what’s going on in his head—what he’s feeling, or needing. And right now, when I look into his dark brown eyes, I can see that he needs
me
. That blatant lust is something I've seen so many times before, and yet right now with him standing two feet away from me on his own doorstep, it feels like the first time. It's been too long. He's wearing a tight black t-shirt and low rider jeans, his ink peeking out of the sleeves of his shirt as his muscles contract. He’s holding himself back. I can tell from the way his whole body seems to be vibrating.
 

He reaches out slowly and pushes the door open wider. He takes a step forward so he’s inside the apartment now. A foot closer to me. He moves to the side so he can swing the door closed behind him, and all the while he never takes his eyes off me.
 

I want to scream at him.
 

I want to lash out at him.
 

I want to kick him and smash my fists into his chest.
 

I want to hurt him deeply and irreparably, the same way he’s hurt me.
 

I can’t, though. I’m incapable. I fall into him at the very same moment he rushes me, wrapping his arms around my body, fiercely crushing me against his body. His tight grip is a good thing; without it, my legs would give out from underneath me and I’d be in a pile of tangled limbs on the floor.
 

 
“I hate you,” I whimper.

He pushes me back against the wall, using it to pin me up so he can cup my face in both his hands. His eyes are so intense, knowing, filled with sadness.
 

“I know. You should,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. So sorry, Avery.” He leans into me even further, aligning his body against mine, and carefully places a light kiss against my forehead. The heat from his mouth is searing hot, burning into me, setting me alight.
 

I choke out a sob, barely able to draw breath into my lungs. Having him pressed up against me like this is so painful. It
physically
hurts. Not because he’s being too rough, or too aggressive. No, if anything he’s holding himself back. It hurts because I’ve wanted this for so long, and now that I have it, I’m so angry I could die. And I want so much more.
 

I lean into him, inviting him to take what he wants. His breath catches in his throat, making a strangled, pained sound as he groans softly. When his kiss deepens, his tongue parting my lips, sliding through my teeth to taste me, I can barely hold myself back. I lift my leg and hook it around his hip; I want to feel the press of him between my legs so badly it’s like an undeniable ache.

He grabs the back of my thigh and rolls his hips, his hard cock grinding against my pelvis and my stomach, his height making it impossible to hit the spot where I need him most right now. I suck on his tongue carefully, and he groans. God, the sound of his groans are almost enough to drive me to madness. I bite down, my teeth digging into his tongue, and he sucks in a sharp, ragged breath. “Oh, god. Oh fuck, Avery,” he gasps. Jerking me upwards in one swift, fluid movement, he takes hold of me and wraps my legs around his waist.
 

My arms hold tight to his neck, my fingers yanking at the back of his t-shirt as he breaks the kiss. “Off,” I moan. “Please…take it off.”
 

“Yeah,” he groans against my mouth, licking and kissing at my lips and chin. I tug the shirt up as he moves us to the kitchen, setting me on the counter. He pulls the black material the rest of the way off and throws it toward the stove. Then his hands are on my clothes, gripping the bottom of my tee and pulling it over my head, his mouth finding the nipple of my right breast before I realize what's going on. I slide my fingers into his silky hair and reach with my other hand to undo his belt. I need him inside me. I need him inside me fucking
now
.
 

He can sense it. Shifting back for a second, he works himself out of his jeans, swiftly followed by his black, tight boxer shorts. I slip from the counter top and move to touch him, my fingers tingling as I make contact with his hot skin. Fuck, he feels amazing. I have missed this so much. Luke closes his eyes and lets his head drop back, his hands gripping the counter behind him as he thrusts against my tight grip.
 

“God. God damn it,” Luke repeats over and over again. His voice is full of emotion—sadness, pain and lust all combined together. He hasn't looked at me, but I can hear how badly he’s struggling to keep his shit together. How much pain he’s in right now, despite the pleasure I’m bringing to him. I drop to my knees in front of him and replace my hand with my mouth. I can feel him harden instantly. “What—god, Avery, this—this is too much. I can’t—I don’t—I don’t deserve this.”

He doesn't, but I want to taste him, to memorize the wicked thickness of his cock. I’ve missed him so much, it’s torn me inside out. I want to memorize every inch of him just now in case he ups and vanishes into thin air again.
 

It’s apparently all too much for him. Luke takes me by the elbow and guides me up. His eyes are shining and bright when I look up at him. He has no right to be upset. He left me. He abandoned me and left me here, alone, in his world, amongst his things, suffering. I should be the one hurting right now, not him.

I slap him. I slap him
hard
. Anger flashes across his face, darkening his beautiful features. “I guess I
did
deserve
that
,” he growls. Fire races through my veins as he picks me up and hurries down the hallway toward my bedroom, where he takes three giant strides and dumps me onto my new bed.
 

He crawls on top of me and takes my hands, extending them high above my head as he kisses my neck. His body leans into mine, the hardness of his erection rubbing up and down against my pussy through my shorts.
 

“Don’t—” I exhale. I’m so dizzy. I feel like I’m about to tumble down a steep cliff. “Don’t tease me. I can’t take it.”

“Not until you tell me you still love me, Ave.”

A pained groan escapes me. “You can’t be serious? I don’t—how the hell am I supposed to feel right now, Luke?” I grind my teeth together and jerk one of my hands free, but he’s ready for me, his hand already reaching for my wrist. I gain the upper hand and press my foot against the bed, rolling us over.
 

He’s had all the control for too long now. It’s time I took some for myself. My t-shirt is long gone, but my shorts are still annoyingly present. I shimmy the soft material over my hips and roll off him so I can get rid of them. I’m naked, then. Completely naked, lying next to him, my chest heaving, breasts rising and falling quickly, and Luke’s eyes are all over me.
 

“You know I can’t unless you tell me,” he whispers. “And I really,
really
want to. I love you, Avery. I know you love me, too. Just say it.” He reaches up and palms my breasts, his face beautiful as moonlight floods through the window. My eyes feel like they’re on fire. I’m so close to breaking down, but a part of me won’t let it happen. It’s taken me so long to build up these walls while he’s been gone. It won’t take much for them to come crashing down, and then what? Where will I be once I’m ripped open and raw in front of him.

“Don’t do that,” he says softly.
 

“Do what?”

“Hate me on the inside and not let it out. You’ve got to. If you hate me and let it all go, you’ll be able to love me again. I know it.”

“All right. Okay, I hate you. I’m so mad at you, Luke.” I start to cry. I can’t hold it back, after all. He slides a hand underneath me, encircling me in his arms, and draws me close to his chest. He smells wonderful, just like he always did.
 

“Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay, I get it. I earned this.”

“You left me. I can’t believe you left me,” I sob.
 

“Shhh.” He kisses my temple, the crown of my head, the shell of my ear. “Don’t worry, baby. You can forgive me now. Like you forgave Noah, right?”

“What?” I stop sobbing. Suddenly none of this feels right. I lean back in his arms, fighting back the confusion crowding in on me, and I see blue eyes instead of brown. Noah’s instead of Luke’s.
 

Jesus fucking wept.
 

No.

Noah smiles at me, brushing hair back out of my face. “It’s okay now. Everything’s as it was meant to be,
A stór.
Just you wait and see.”

I wake up with tears streaming down my face and the sound of someone hammering on the front door. My hand is down my shorts, between my legs, my fingers slick with my excitement from the first half of the dream. Shame washes over me, quickly followed by the most intense stab of utter dejection I’ve ever felt. I thought he’d come back, but he didn’t. Just another cruel trick of my mind. My subconscious was trying to somehow give me what I’ve been craving so desperately, and it failed to such an epic degree that I almost think I’m going to throw up.

More hammering sounds ring out through the empty apartment. My heart feels like it’s shattered into a million pieces, but somehow I manage to drag myself out of bed and to the front door.
 

Uncle Brandon is standing on the other side, smiling broadly. His smile slips when he sees the look on my face. “Well I know you don’t particularly like surprises and everything, but I wasn’t exactly banking on this kind of reaction,” he says.
 

I burst into tears.
 

“
Oh
. Oh shit, Avery, I’m sorry. What is it?” He wraps his arms around me and holds me, and I bury my face into his leather jacket that smells exactly like the home he opened up to me when my mother abandoned me on his doorstep. And I weep.
 

SIXTEEN

LUKE

Friday comes fast, and I, for one, am grateful. Cooped up in my cramped apartment trying to heal all week with nothing but bad daytime television and my thoughts almost killed me. I sit on Cole's couch, tapping a pencil against the pad of paper I carry with me at all times. The scribble on the paper is practically indecipherable, given that I had to scratch it out with my left hand. Cole told me earlier that he can read it better than my normal handwriting, though, the fucker. Paul has already borrowed the notepad to copy down anything I’ve created that might be worthwhile pursuing.
 

Butler enters the warehouse at around noon, with a short, dark-haired woman in tow behind him. Butler isn’t the sort of guy to have that sort of woman following him around. For a second I think she’s some sort of exec from MVP, but that doesn’t fit. Her ripped jeans and Slayer shirt tell a different story. I can’t quite figure out what that story is, though.
 

I glance back down at my notepad, not wanting to stare. I hear the other guys clearing their throats and can't help but smirk. Pete and Paul think they’re smart, trying to catch Cole’s attention with the strangled choking sounds they’re making, but they couldn’t be more obvious.

“Guys, this is Marika. She's going to be our session guitarist until Luke's healed and Cole's back in his spot.” I look up as Butler speaks, my eyes locking onto the exotic woman standing slightly behind our band manager, wondering where the hell he found her. Most session guys are exactly that: guys. To find a female guitarist worth their salt at this short notice, especially a hot one, is nothing short of a minor miracle. Her skin is the color of caramel, her hair long and thick. It looks silky, like she uses some seriously expensive products on it, but I could give two shits.
 

The guys all jump to their feet to greet her, Cole included. Pete and Paul sound slightly stunned when they say hello, but not my best friend. Hell no. Cole sounds like he’s already planning all the different ways he’s going to fuck the girl.
 

He never loses his cool over women. Money and music fuck him up on a regular basis, but never chicks. I watch with mild interest to see how she’ll react to him as he turns the full force of his charm on her.
 

“That’s a really pretty name,” he tells her. “Where’s it from?”

“My mother,” she replies.

“And where did she get it from?”
 

“
Hers
.”

Cole offers her his hand, shrugging. Knowing him, he’s unfazed that she’s not already miraculously on her knees with her mouth wrapped around his cock. He’ll see her sharp attitude as a challenge to be overcome and nothing more.