The Coincidence 04 The Probability of Violet and Luke by Jessica Sorensen Page A

soaring in my system is making the air buzz electrically and my brain foggy. I need to get out … but I kind of don’t want to. “Well, I don’t really have a choice, do I?” I say. “Since I have nowhere else to live at the moment besides the streets.”

    His face drains of color and then he reaches out to touch me, as if to soothe me, but I lean my head away as far as it will go. He freezes, appearing horrified. “Why are you so afraid of me?” he asks, his hand lifelessly falling to his side. “I would never hurt you. Not on purpose anyway.”

    “I know you wouldn’t, but it still hurts.” We’re talking in code and I want to cry, but I make those damn traitor tears to stay in my eyes. I never cry. Only once, when I found out about Luke’s mother and I promised myself never again—I’m stronger than that. “And besides, I’m afraid of myself being near you, not the other way around.” And I’d like to thank the booze for the last comment.

    He swallows hard. “I’m sorry.” His voice is barely audible, so much agony emitting from his eyes that it submerges me. He looks just like I feel and I want to make both of us feel better.

    I’m not even sure what overcomes me, if it’s him, me, the powerful, lustful emotions blazing between us, the need to rip his clothes off, or the alcohol searing my veins, but I find myself stepping toward him. I haven’t forgotten or moved past what happened, but I let myself stop caring for a brief second, letting my walls down just enough that I can put my hand on his chest. He sucks in I sharp breath from the contact, his heart rate instantly quickening beneath my palm.

    “Fuck,” he utters, then he’s leaning forward and I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he just rests his forehead against mine. He breathes raggedly, in and out, in and out, his solid chest crashing into my breasts. I wait for him to touch me, but he doesn’t. Wait for him to do something , but he doesn’t. He’s motionless, like he’s giving me the chance to leave. I should. Just walk around him and go out the door. Never look back. But having him this close to me causes intense memories to flood my body, reminds me that being touched by a guy doesn’t have to feel wrong or dirty. That it can feel right. It did once with Luke and I selfishly want it again.

    Suppressed emotions, alcohol, and a hunger I’ve never felt before possess me and suddenly I’m crashing my lips against his. He sucks in a startled breath, slanting back slightly as if to pull away, but then in a snap of a finger he’s grabbing me by the hips and yanking me against him as he seals his mouth to mine. The heat of him… the taste of him… it’s so potent… so wrong… so right… so confusing.

    “I can stop,” he whispers against my mouth, his tongue parting my lips, his hand cupping the back of my head and tangling through my hair. He taste like Vodka and cherries and smells like cigarettes and cologne. Delicious and dangerous, for many different reasons.

    I wonder if he actually would stop if I told him to. I don’t want to find out though. Not right now. So I arch my back into him and press my chest to his, while I delve deeper into the kiss, running my fingers along his scruffy jawline, being gentle where the bruise is. I’m remembering everything that went on between us… God, do I remember… and it feels so amazingly, blissfully good. Each graze of his lips and brush of his fingers feels like it’s erasing every unwanted touch over the last couple of months as if Luke has erasing super abilities.

    His hands find my hips, his fingernails digging into my flesh as he forces me closer while he backs up, without breaking the kiss. He’s moving us somewhere… to the countertop. He leans me back, the edge digging into my back, before he picks me up and sets me down on it, positioning himself between my legs and our hips grind together.

    “Oh my God….” I let out a porn star moan, but am