Her hands roamed down his back until they reached the hem of his shirt,
pushing the material up and over his head. She ran her hands over his chest
and stomach, the muscles quivering at her touch, while he continued his
assault on her mouth. She lightly scraped her nails down his back, and he
groaned into her mouth. He abruptly maneuvered them around until her back
was against the wall next to window, and his fingers clumsily fumbled at
the buttons on her shirt.
"Lorelai...?" he questioned, his voice low and raspy.
"Ssshhhh," she mumbled against his lips, "don't talk, not now, not yet."
Acknowledging her request, he wrapped his arms around her waist and licked a blazing path from her jaw line to the creamy swell of her breast. She angled his head back, nibbling at his neck, feeling his pulse race beneath her lips. His thumb traced a lazy circle around her navel before he slid her shirt down her arms. He buried his head in the crook of her neck trying to control his erratic breathing and gather some semblance of control while her teeth nipped at his naked shoulder. His hands skated leisurely up the length of her arms, stroking and caressing, before he smoothed his palms over the velvety skin at her collarbone. At the sound of gravel crunching, his eyes flew open and focused on the car in the driveway. And there was the control he needed, rushing in like freight train and making his breath hitch.
"Lorelai..." he began.
"Please don't stop," she whispered. "Can we not talk for about fifteen more minutes, then I'll be Miss Chatter."
"Lorelai," he insisted again as he placed his hands on her face, forcing her to look at him. God, he thought, she was beautiful. Her lips were swollen, her face flushed, and her eyes burned with an emotion he wished he could swallow and keep forever.
"Luke, what the hell is so important it has to be said right now?" she said impatiently.
"You might want to take a glimpse out the window, and tell me if that's whose car I think it is."
She swung her head around, peeking out the window. "Oh, shit! Oh, shit!" she repeated until he took her shoulders and turned her back around to face him. He leaned in and kissed her one last time, hard and quick, before leaning down and pulling his shirts back over his head.
"Get dressed," he commanded gruffly," and you know where to find me when you get rid of Mr. Wall Street and are ready to finish this. I'll slip out the back way." And with those final parting words, she watched dumbly as his flannel-clad back disappeared into the dark hallway. The car door slammed and yanked her out of her stupor. She bent down and quickly pulled her shirt on, silently cursing whomever originally thought buttons were a good idea. After she had finally got her shirt on, she blew out the candle, grabbed her coffee and took a huge gulp. She had foolishly thought that maybe the coffee would erase Luke's taste out of her mouth. Her fingers skimmed her over her lips, alternately shocked and electrified by not only the swollen rawness of them, but by the man that was guilty for their current condition. She slipped noiselessly out of the room and flew down the stairs to meet Jason at the front door of the inn.
He soundlessly made his way back towards to the diner, the cool breeze a welcome relief on his heated skin. He couldn't believe what had just happened, and what would have happened if it weren't for that damned interruption. Maybe, he thought, it was for the best. A chance to weigh the situation in their minds before it was too far-gone to salvage any remainder of their friendship. But he didn't see how they could go back now. What had just transpired between them was indelibly etched into his memory. The silkiness of her skin, the lush softness of her lips against his. On his skin. The sound of his name whispered breathlessly, pleading for more. Oh God, he reflected, had anyone ever said his name like that before? It was like a drug, or what he thought drugs might be like, because he desperately needed more. Needed to hear his name again and again in that same throaty, craving tone. Needed to feel her mouth against his, feverishly giving and taking.
"Luke?" Sookie inquired, jerking him out of his reverie and breaking his stride. At his raised eyebrow, she continued, "Have you seen Lorelai, because the contractor called and had to reschedule, and..." she paused at his irritated gaze, "anyway, I was hoping she was here."
Luke glanced up and realized he was standing directly across from the diner, before he answered, "She's at the inn. I took some coffee over there, and wanted to see if she needed any help."
"Oh," she responded, "I tried calling her phone, but she's got it turned off, and she never turns it off, so I thought I'd run over here and try to catch her and make sure everything was alright, because, you know, she usually comes in here for coffee or pie, or something, every night. But, um, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm great. Just fine. I just need to get in the diner and clean up," he replied.
Sookie smiled her thanks and started to head back home, as Luke called out from the where he was unlocking the door of the diner, "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you ask if I was okay? Do I look sick?" he asked.
"No, silly," she giggled, "I've just never seen you without a hat on."
Luke stared at his reflection in the door. His hair was skewing out from head at all angles. And the collar of his shirt was sticking up like a bad Elvis impression. He rushed in the diner and up the stairs to his apartment to see how bad the damage was in fluorescent light.
"Lorelai...?" he questioned, his voice low and raspy.
"Ssshhhh," she mumbled against his lips, "don't talk, not now, not yet."
Acknowledging her request, he wrapped his arms around her waist and licked a blazing path from her jaw line to the creamy swell of her breast. She angled his head back, nibbling at his neck, feeling his pulse race beneath her lips. His thumb traced a lazy circle around her navel before he slid her shirt down her arms. He buried his head in the crook of her neck trying to control his erratic breathing and gather some semblance of control while her teeth nipped at his naked shoulder. His hands skated leisurely up the length of her arms, stroking and caressing, before he smoothed his palms over the velvety skin at her collarbone. At the sound of gravel crunching, his eyes flew open and focused on the car in the driveway. And there was the control he needed, rushing in like freight train and making his breath hitch.
"Lorelai..." he began.
"Please don't stop," she whispered. "Can we not talk for about fifteen more minutes, then I'll be Miss Chatter."
"Lorelai," he insisted again as he placed his hands on her face, forcing her to look at him. God, he thought, she was beautiful. Her lips were swollen, her face flushed, and her eyes burned with an emotion he wished he could swallow and keep forever.
"Luke, what the hell is so important it has to be said right now?" she said impatiently.
"You might want to take a glimpse out the window, and tell me if that's whose car I think it is."
She swung her head around, peeking out the window. "Oh, shit! Oh, shit!" she repeated until he took her shoulders and turned her back around to face him. He leaned in and kissed her one last time, hard and quick, before leaning down and pulling his shirts back over his head.
"Get dressed," he commanded gruffly," and you know where to find me when you get rid of Mr. Wall Street and are ready to finish this. I'll slip out the back way." And with those final parting words, she watched dumbly as his flannel-clad back disappeared into the dark hallway. The car door slammed and yanked her out of her stupor. She bent down and quickly pulled her shirt on, silently cursing whomever originally thought buttons were a good idea. After she had finally got her shirt on, she blew out the candle, grabbed her coffee and took a huge gulp. She had foolishly thought that maybe the coffee would erase Luke's taste out of her mouth. Her fingers skimmed her over her lips, alternately shocked and electrified by not only the swollen rawness of them, but by the man that was guilty for their current condition. She slipped noiselessly out of the room and flew down the stairs to meet Jason at the front door of the inn.
He soundlessly made his way back towards to the diner, the cool breeze a welcome relief on his heated skin. He couldn't believe what had just happened, and what would have happened if it weren't for that damned interruption. Maybe, he thought, it was for the best. A chance to weigh the situation in their minds before it was too far-gone to salvage any remainder of their friendship. But he didn't see how they could go back now. What had just transpired between them was indelibly etched into his memory. The silkiness of her skin, the lush softness of her lips against his. On his skin. The sound of his name whispered breathlessly, pleading for more. Oh God, he reflected, had anyone ever said his name like that before? It was like a drug, or what he thought drugs might be like, because he desperately needed more. Needed to hear his name again and again in that same throaty, craving tone. Needed to feel her mouth against his, feverishly giving and taking.
"Luke?" Sookie inquired, jerking him out of his reverie and breaking his stride. At his raised eyebrow, she continued, "Have you seen Lorelai, because the contractor called and had to reschedule, and..." she paused at his irritated gaze, "anyway, I was hoping she was here."
Luke glanced up and realized he was standing directly across from the diner, before he answered, "She's at the inn. I took some coffee over there, and wanted to see if she needed any help."
"Oh," she responded, "I tried calling her phone, but she's got it turned off, and she never turns it off, so I thought I'd run over here and try to catch her and make sure everything was alright, because, you know, she usually comes in here for coffee or pie, or something, every night. But, um, are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm great. Just fine. I just need to get in the diner and clean up," he replied.
Sookie smiled her thanks and started to head back home, as Luke called out from the where he was unlocking the door of the diner, "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you ask if I was okay? Do I look sick?" he asked.
"No, silly," she giggled, "I've just never seen you without a hat on."
Luke stared at his reflection in the door. His hair was skewing out from head at all angles. And the collar of his shirt was sticking up like a bad Elvis impression. He rushed in the diner and up the stairs to his apartment to see how bad the damage was in fluorescent light.