It was perfect until Luke’s hand moved down my belly and between my legs. His fingers hit the target but instead of feeling the usual jolt of pure goodness, my body froze and I wrapped my hand around his wrist and pulled it away.
“No,” I whispered, my body came unfrozen and all of a sudden I was shaking and not the good kind of shaking. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I can’t.”
I tried to move away, feeling like an idiot, but Luke’s hand pulled free of mine. He rolled off me and held me close.
“Ava, hold on to me.”
His voice was rough but he didn’t sound angry that I stopped the action when it was really getting good.
“I can’t,” I told him. “I need –”
“Quiet, beautiful, just hold on.”
I did as I was told. I felt him hard against my belly and felt like a huge dork because I was the one who started it.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered and I was. I was so sorry that my voice broke in the middle of saying it.
“Quiet,” he replied softly.
“I got you all worked up and –”
“Babe, I’ll survive.”
“Luke.”
“Ava, I’m good. Just be quiet.”
I went quiet.
We lay there for awhile, silent, holding on. The shakes left me and I eventually felt nothing in the world, nothing but our bed at Hotel Monaco, Luke and me in it.
Then out of nowhere something hit me, a flashback.
Not of Noah beating me up and touching me where I didn’t want him to, but a flashback of Luke. It was a flashback of when Luke took me for a ride on his new motorcycle when he was seventeen and I was thirteen.
His Mom wasn’t happy about the motorcycle but she kept this to herself (outside of telling my Mom). His Dad hated it and he didn’t keep it to himself. As usual he tore into Luke about it.
I loved the motorcycle and after I heard Luke have a rip roarin’ with his Dad and Luke slammed out of the house heading to the garage, I ran over and caught him. In my thirteen-year-old-girl usual blathering, dorky way, I told Luke I loved his motorcycle and I told him exactly how much.
When I was done, Luke smiled at me, the dark look fading from his face. I’d always loved it when I used to do that for him. It didn’t happen a lot, but it happened. Then he told me to hop on and I was so excited I did, without even thinking twice.
We rode for at least an hour and I thought I’d never forget that ride.
When we got home they were waiting for us in Luke’s driveway, Mr. Stark and my Mom. Luke’s Dad yelled at him for taking a thirteen year old out on a motorcycle without asking. My Mom yelled at him because she was a bitch.
Calm as could be (something that always pissed Luke’s Dad off, I knew not because I saw it but because I heard Mrs. Stark tell my Mom about it), Luke just said to his Dad, “I would never let anything happen to Ava.” Then he turned to me, touched my nose and said using The Voice, “Precious cargo.”
Oh… my… God.
Why hadn’t I remembered that? How could I ever forget that?
Finally, realization dawned.
I belonged to Luke. I was Luke’s woman.
Hell, I had probably been born to be Luke’s woman (if you believed that kind of shit).
I wasn’t going to St. Croix and I didn’t care about Jules and Roxie and Luke trying it on with them. Just like Daisy said, I was using that as an excuse to guard my heart.