Sing You Home by Ava Hunter

Sal sighs in jubilation and sinks into a chair, raising a beer to her lips. She closes her eyes for a moment, relishing the quiet, her alone time with Luke. In the distance come the soft whinnies of the ponies. The slow dying of the sun into fiery sherbet skies.

Luke glances down at her, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he gives a small smile. “Lacey’s . . . a lot, huh?”

His voice is a thin trail Sal can’t quite pin down. Like he’s mustering up the words to be nice or the courage to say more.

“Yeah. But she’s sweet. Overprotective. But sweet.”

Luke leans back against the railing, facing her. “She’s just returning the favor.”

“Oh?”

At Sal’s raised brow, Luke goes on to detail her and Lacey’s history. Every memory presented to her on a platter. “You pretty much raised her when she was a kid. Your dad was away, hell, all the time, and after your mom passed—well, you were a big deal to her. Still are.”

Sal’s quiet, remembering the flash of memory from her lunch with Lacey. A small blond child, Sal gripping her hand protectively as the young girl cried at the window for a father Sal cannot remember. For a father that still has not called her. If she never remembered another memory about her and Lacey, maybe that one was enough. Maybe that told Sal all she needed to know.

“You want somethin’ to eat?”

Luke’s smooth drawl pulls her from her daydream brain.

“No,” she says. She’s content where she is. She pretends she doesn’t see Luke’s worried gaze on the strange, sad thinness of her body and crosses arms over her midsection. “I don’t. I just want to sit here and watch the sunset.”

“Okay, darlin’.”

Luke squeezes her shoulder as he moves across the porch. A simple action that tells her he’s here, that anything she needs, he’ll give.

Glancing down, Sal traces the tattoo on her palm.

The memory licks like the flicker of a flame. An image of Sal, in a hotel room, jumping off the bed into Luke’s arms. An image of Luke’s happy face, of him bringing her hand to his mouth to kiss her bandaged palm. Their new tattoos.

But she holds it close. Quiet. She doesn’t want to chance this memory. To get Luke’s hopes up.

There’s a rustling as Luke kneels to pack up his old guitar. She likes that it’s beat up. Old, well loved, packed around everywhere. It tells Sal the best kind of story; it tells her exactly what kind of man Luke is. Honest. Down-to-earth. Loyal.

Sal sits forward in her chair, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms. “You don’t have to do that. Put it away,” she explains when he glances up, his handsome face angular and shadowed in the setting sun.

With a slow nod, Luke rises and settles into the chair across from Sal. Instead of holding his guitar loose and limber, he holds it like a rifle. His entire body tense. So different from earlier today when he was jamming with his band.

Did I do that?Sal thinks suddenly, sadly. Did I take that away from you?

Her chest constricting, Sal gestures at the guitar. “Something about that makes you sad.”

A shake of Luke’s head, then he’s strumming fingers against metal strings. “I ain’t sad, darlin’.”

“You said you didn’t play anymore. So why are you now?”

Lifting his face, Luke meets her searching gaze. “Mort got us a gig at the Opry.”

Her eyes widen. “When?”

“Next month.”

“That’s amazing, Luke.”

“It is,” he admits. He strums a few more chords, the melodic sounds of the guitar sending shivers down her spine. “It’s soon, though. I ain’t played in so long sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get back.”

“From what I heard today, you’re already halfway there.”

“Now I don’t know about that.”

“What made you stop?”

Sal’s aware she’s holding her breath, waiting for Luke to speak.

Luke shakes his head. Tight lines of tension around his mouth.

She rises, moving to his side, to kneel. She touches his arm. “Tell me. Please.”

There’s no judgment in her words. Only concern. Worry for this man who’s been broken again and again. Sal sees it. Hears it.

What he’s been going through. He’s been hurting just as much as she has.

When Luke glances up, his eyes are wet—a sight that wrenches her heart.

“I didn’t want to live without you.” The guitar bobs in his hands as his voice breaks. Wounded. Despairing. “I couldn’t.” Sal slips her hand into his. Her touch gives him the strength to continue and he takes a breath. “After you—I was strugglin’, Sal. I got wasted every damn night you were gone. I did shit I’m not proud of. Cursin’ everyone who tried to help me.

“I was ready to leave everything behind—the road, the band, the music. I was a man you wouldn’t be proud of.” His hand tightens around hers and he looks up. “You are my entire world, Sal. You are my life, and I didn’t want mine if you couldn’t have yours.”

She searches Luke’s face under the flicker of the yellow porch light and sees the same stunning truth. He tried to end it. Just like she did.

“I understand,” Sal says. “I do, Luke. Truly.”

She holds her eyes to his, refusing to let him look away, hoping he understands what she’s trying to tell him.

He curses low, viciously, at hearing Sal’s words. At understanding that they’ve been traveling the same painful road for so long without each other.

“I’m so sorry, Sal. I cursed myself every goddamn day for not savin’ you. For takin’ you on that plane. For leavin’ you there. I didn’t do enough to protect you. I failed you.”

Despair drips into her soul. The thought of Luke blaming himself all this time—she won’t have it. He’s been reassuring her ever since she’s been home. It’s her turn to help him.

“No,” she says firmly. “That wasn’t your fault, Luke. You can’t blame yourself. I don’t blame you.”

“Christ, the grace you give me.” He hangs his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry you were so alone for so long.”

“But I’m not anymore. I’m alive and so are you.”

Her eyes search Luke’s pained face. The lump in her throat dissolves. Her heart a helium balloon. Deep inside of her she’s uncoiling. Letting go. Taking her life into her own hands. Taking what she wants.

“We can’t be afraid anymore. Let’s live, Luke. Let’s live.”

Sal presses herself up, takes Luke’s face in her hands, and crushes her lips onto his. He reacts instantly, kissing her back with a fierce and furious want. He pulls her onto his lap. The guitar hits the porch floor, making a hollow twang that echoes into the darkened night.

“Your guitar—” Sal gasps between kisses.

“Fuck the guitar,” Luke growls.

Sal wraps her legs to straddle his waist.

Not a thing, not even air, between her and Luke.

Grabbing her hips, he pulls her deeper into him. Her dress rides high over her thighs. With a soft whimper, Sal tilts her head back as Luke kisses her neck, her pulse points, the hollow of her throat.

When her head falls forward, she pins her eyes to Luke. He’s panting. His pupils are dilated. Black and haunted and hungry and hangdog and in love. The most gorgeous sight Sal’s ever seen.

The strap of Sal’s dress has slipped down. Luke dips his head to bury his face in the curve of her breast. He shakes as he inhales her scent. Then, his mouth moves to her nipple. He sucks at it, whipping it like cream, through the sheer fabric of her thin dress. The sensation is intense, rapturous, and her body arcs in his arms.

Holy shit. Sal’s on fire. Her body. Her body a ticking time bomb of want.

“Inside,” Sal gasps. She can barely get the words out. “Inside, Luke. Now. Now.”

A ragged sound escaping him, Luke rises, picking up Sal like she’s a feather in his arms.

Twining her arms around his neck, she kisses him. Again. She can’t get enough. Of him. On her lips.

They crash through the screen door and into the house, slamming back against the wall. Picture frames slap the floor. The screen door rattles like a tin can. Sal breaks the kiss, gazing at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Think we can knock this old house over?” she asks breathlessly.

“We’re sure as hell gonna try,” Luke says, burying his face in her hair. Sal grins and moves in for a kiss, her mouth brushing against the scruff of his cheek. She dips her head. Nips at his throat, his Adam’s apple.

A guttural groan rips forth from Luke. Hoisting Sal higher in his arms, he takes the stairs two at a time. Sal presses herself in closer, holding tight against him.

In the bedroom, Luke sets Sal gently on the end of the bed. Reverently, he kneels before her. Once again, his mouth finds hers. His hands find her too.

Hooking a finger through the loosened strap of her dress, he drags it down. Then, Luke’s warm hand is cupping her breast, filling his palm with her teardrop shape. His thumb brushes over her soft pink nipple, delicately until it forms a hard peak.

His slow caress sends Sal. Has her body singing just like a tune.

“Oh Jesus,” Luke grits out, his eyes dark with desire. “Sal, you’re perfect.”

Then, sliding closer, Luke dips his head between her breasts. Her nipples pucker under the heat of his exulted exhale. Taking her breast in his mouth, he sucks. Sal moans and arches into him, trying to absorb every single ounce of Luke’s touch. His lean, muscular hands, long fingers used to strum his guitar, gentle and calloused, run over her body like velvet.

A soft sigh escapes her lips. Sal nearly goes limp, puddling onto the floor, but she holds on, digging her nails into Luke’s shoulder as she gives herself over to the sharp need stoking every single one of her desires.

If Luke’s job is to drive her in-fucking-sane, well, tonight’s the night. She’s never felt this way before. For so long, she’s been cut off from any sort of pleasure, of happiness. Tonight Sal wants to find that with Luke. Hell, she’s a goddamn married woman. She’s got needs. Wants. She wants Luke.

Now.

Suddenly, brazen with desire, Sal slips her hands down his broad shoulders to his chest, her fingers working frantically at the buttons on his shirt. She yanks it off, revealing a lean, toned body. Muscles like taut ropes, tan as the golden fields.

Then, dragging her eyes away from the vision that is her husband, she slides close and licks the side of his face. Her tongue scraping his grizzled cheek. He tastes like salt. Like sweat. And Sal pulses in a soft spot down below.

Pulling back, Luke grins, wide-eyed. Wondrous. His expression changed. In love to roguish lust.

“Sal . . .” Luke’s voice is husky On his face is a question. A devastatingly hot one.

Without hesitation, Sal nods. “Yes.”

Whatever he wants to give, she is his. She’s all in. She wants Luke. This. Them.

Her consent is like a starter’s pistol.

His dark eyes burn, wild.

Sal gasps as Luke suddenly grips her hips and tugs her into his body. Her thighs straddle his hips. Her eyes call him closer. Roughly, Luke shoves Sal’s dress up over her hips, tearing off her panties. Sal laughs, surprised and yet delighted. The ferocity of his want, his burning touch, is nothing like she’s ever known.

Then, Luke lays her down on the bed, soft covers beneath her. His lean hands slide between her thighs, parting them gently. As if on instinct, Sal props her feet on his broad shoulders. She glances up at him, his dark eyes glowing as he lowers himself in front of her.

I liked this, she thinks, hearkening back to another life, but still the same body.

She still responds the same way she used to. Has the same needs. And under Luke’s strong hands, his long fingers, Sal’s being driven utterly crazy. His eyes tell her he knows every inch of Sal, knows what makes her tick, hum, scream.

And he’s going to give it to her.

The understanding has her slowly coming undone. She trusts this man like she’s never trusted anyone.

Pulling her legs around him, Luke buries his face between her legs. He inhales silk and slick wetness. Sal whimpers. Her hands clench sheet corner. Her entire body lengthens, trembles, as Luke works her over with his tongue. It slips and slides and teases her clit, both ravishing and relishing.

Sal shakes on the bed. Every nerve in her body on red-hot alert. Ready to explode any second. One thing’s for certain. Luke knows what he’s doing. He’s all smooth moves and hot-as-hell confidence.

A wild moan escapes her lips. Sal’s eyes flutter and roll upward. Her hands release the sheet, moving to tightly grip Luke’s hair. He shudders under her touch, uttering an exclamation of fierce approval.

“Don’t stop . . . ,” Sal moans. “Please, Luke, please . . . oh . . .”

She feels the smile on his face as he picks up speed. One hand grips her hips, the other reaches up to tenderly palm her quivering stomach. Luke circles his tongue. Soft, sensual strokes.

Warmth rises in her body like the licking flames of a fire. Her toes curl. Her back arches, Sal pressing herself deeper into Luke, as she begins that slow roller-coaster roll to the promised land. And then, she’s there. Her lips part and her eyes widen as tremors rock her body. From her mouth comes a soft cry of ecstasy. She’s shaking, riding each wave as it comes to her.

Whimpering, finished, exhausted, Sal goes liquid against the bed. She’d slide off too, simply collapse to the floor in a pulsing puddle, but Luke scoops her up in his arms and settles her back against the pillows.

She lies limply in his muscular arms, her eyes semi-slitted as she gazes contentedly up at him. When Luke leans in for a kiss, Sal grins. Wrapping an arm around his neck, she whispers in his ear, “It’s about goddamn time you took me to bed, Luke.”