outlines ✰ l.h.

chapter twenty-two

Luke pulled away from me, but stayed in close proximity of my face. He titled his head to the left and rested his hand on the side of my neck. I shivered as his cold fingers carefully ran over my skin.

I stared at my hands, butterflies erupting inside of me. Was this butterflies? Was this vomit? I don't know.

"Not yet," I timidly replied. I slowly looked back up at him. I feared his reaction.

Luke smiled a little, his eyes didn't change. He looked so loving and so sweet. 

"Okay," he said. He paused, admiring my messy hair and red cheeks. "Why don't we head upstairs?" He offered.

I nodded. He carefully took my hand and pulled me from the couch. 

I looked at Luke through rose colored glasses. He was a brawny blonde with a secret amiable side. Maybe I'm too understanding and forgiving, but the way he simply looks at me is worth all of the bullshit. 

The early morning moon was peaking through the cascading sheer curtains throughout his house. He lead the way up the curved staircase, my hand in his. Our shadows danced along the wood bannister. They tiptoed along with us up each step and eventually into Luke's room.

It was dark and quiet. We were alone in his castle. He didn't bother to turn on the overhead light and snuck into the corner of his room to plug in the twinkling lights strung up neatly over the head board of his bed.

Luke sat down on his bed and I followed. He leaned back and supported himself with his hands behind him. He was dressed in all black which lengthened his already tall body. My breath was shaky, but I straightened up my back and pulled any confidence I had out of thin air. 

I walked through the dimmed room and climbed on top of his lap. He immediately moved his hands from his grey comforter to my hips. Goosebumps were sprinkled all over my arms and thighs. 

His lips carefully pressed against my exposed collarbone. He left a trail to my ear of the softest love bites. "You're an angel," Luke whispered.

I tugged on small strands of his messy hair as he continued kissing on my neck. 

Everything seemed to slow down with him. I didn't care about anything in the moment besides getting to be so close with him. My hair  didn't matter, or the fact that my mascara was probably smudged. I didn't care about my shirt twisting all different ways or being comfortable and relaxing in the moment. 

There's a reason why Luke and lust started with the same letter. 

-

I woke up slowly. My surroundings weren't familiar. I jerked my head up and over my shoulder. I was just in Luke's room. There wasn't a sleeping boy beside me.

I sat up and peered around his tidy room. The screensaver on his desktop change from pictures of oceans to mountains. I swung my legs out from under his heavy covers and stretched my arms. I was in a pair of his joggers and a crew neck. The same crew neck he had been wearing the night before. 

All last night was was kissing and gripping and short, quiet sentences. We were so tired, but our hands were tracing over each other all night. Eventually he unplugged those pale yellow lights and it gave us the opportunity to really explore each other.

It was fun, to say the least. It was intimate without being overly sexual. We could lay in bed and hold each other and run our fingers through each others hair without the fear of judgement. Being comfortable with him was so easy, no matter how hard he wanted to make it sometimes. 

The smell the dark roast coffee from downstairs was alluring. I braided my hair down the back as the faint scent of freshly ground coffee was reeling me closer towards it. My feet lightly tapped his cold hardwood stairs as I made my way down. They were wrapped in a pair of fuzzy socks that I kept with me at all times. In case of emergency, of course. 

Luke was watching me from the kitchen. He was casually leaning onto his countertops, his arms crossed. He was dressed in a new black t-shirt and black joggers. He looked bright and awake. I noticed his blue eyes before anything.

"Good morning," he said. The smell of something sweet was mixing with the coffee as I came into the kitchen. Luke gestured towards the oven, "Cinnamon rolls will be ready in three minutes. Coffee is done."

I smiled. "Thank you. You didn't have to do any of that."

Luke nonchalantly shrugged. "I wanted to."

He opened one of the dark wooden cabinets and pulled out a small white mug. It resembled more of a tea cup. 

"Thank you," I repeated as I took the cup.

"Did you sleep well?" Luke asked, now opening the fridge. 

I poured my coffee slowly, letting the steam hit my bare face. I nodded, "Yeah, actually. Usually I toss and turn all night in new places. Let alone with someone else in the bed with me." 

He shut the refrigerator door. "I'm the same way. Good to know I share a weird habit with someone else."

I looked at the coffee creamer in his hand. Luke came off as someone who drank black coffee from coffee beans that he ground with his bare hands. I was wrong. He liked caramel. 

I softly laughed. This morning I was receiving words from Luke sweeter than the creamer in our coffee and warmer than the pastries in the oven. He was something divine. He paraded an edge sharper than any sword, but kept his gentle and soft side close to his heart. Some days I could feel the pain his heart and mind has felt. Some days it was a mutual feeling we shared from our past and some days he was unintentionally inflicting it on me. 

It was like Luke had a mold. A shell. A casting. He was a bullet that I was ready to bite. Maybe he was more than I could chew, though. He drew outlines around his body and his life. He was a publicly proclaimed asshole and behind the scenes lover. 

Luke was turning into my everything. 

-

A/N:

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