Make love.
Hap didn’t do that, as such.
He still did.
It was unfair but natural to compare. She had not had anyone since Travis. And after she’d had Travis, the ones before no longer mattered.
So she let herself do that. Compare.
This once.
Travis made love to her. He never treated her like an untouchable goddess, but she was his wife, his woman. He was the kind of man who was gentle with women, all of them, including her.
Things between them sexually could get intense. Travis could definitely be creative. He had a high libido, as did she, and their sex life had been healthy and tremendously satisfying the length of their relationship.
But he had never dug his fingers in her ass while he took her pussy like he owned it, all the while ordering her to watch.
Eyes still on the sea, Luci finally stretched like a cat, feeling her lips curl up in a smile even she knew was sultry.
She should have known Hap would be like that. He took rough around the edges to extremes. She should have known he’d even fuck rough, dragging her around, lifting her through the air, positioning her where he wanted her, fucking her hard, knowing she could not only take it but want it, then giving her more.
The bigger surprise was how very much she enjoyed it. She didn’t have to worry about pleasing him, if what she was doing was exciting him.
She didn’t have to with Travis either. From the beginning, they’d been in sync, falling into each other and pleasuring each other’s bodies like they were born to do it.
With Hap, he was in control. He dominated the bed. Even when she took his cock with her mouth, he shoved his hand into her hair like he was guiding her play.
And when he was done having his cock sucked, he just was and made that so.
She still knew she did it for him. The looks on his face she’d catch. The growls. When his touch would turn reverent, or possessive.
She smiled again, stretched this time to get any kinks out, then rolled out of the bed. She pulled on her panties, untied the tails of her top and shrugged it on, buttoning only the two buttons at her breasts.
She then walked downstairs.
As she made it to her kitchen, Luci thought about Sam (who would be angry about Hap and Luci) and Kia (who would not).
“They are not here. They do not get a say. Either way. This is me, my life, Hap, his life, and that is all,” she declared as she opened her refrigerator.
And with that she put them out of her mind.
She was pulling out meats and cheeses she got at the deli that morning when she had the insane urge to call Pearl and let her know what had just happened.
She’d be gleeful and gleeful was much better than worried about her friend states away.
Hap would have to go back to Bragg and his work tomorrow (hopefully tomorrow night).
They would have talked by then (probably), started to figure it out.
Made a plan.
And made more plans (she hoped) to be together.
So, she could call Pearl with a much fuller report on Monday.
She had Andrea Bocelli playing low, the windows folded partially back so she could hear the sea, and she had made up a tray of olives, bocconcini, soppressata, prosciutto, chunks of provolone and pepperoncini when Hap returned.
He had to hit the doorbell. Her door automatically locked unless she hit the button to keep the latch open.
She went there, making her way thinking she needed to give him a key. She opened the door and froze when she saw he had six plastic bags of groceries dangling from his fingers, three on each side.
“I should have given you my market bags,” she declared.
“Babe, step aside,” he ordered.
She did.
He shouldered in and only then did she notice how full the bags were.
Had he been gone that long to do that much shopping?
“I told you I stocked up, caro,” she called after him, closing the door and hearing the latch click.
“Apparently, I get hungry after a fuck-a-thon,” he replied, lifting the bags and dumping them with loud thuds on her island.
Luci had a feeling he already knew this, but he was too much of a gentleman (of his sort) to share that.
She smiled at his quip as she walked his way but tipped her head to the side when she saw him looking around like she’d moved the furniture in his absence and this confused him.
His gaze finally came to her.
“Luce, it goes without saying, I’m a sure thing.”
She stopped walking to him and stood still, threw her head back and burst out laughing, feeling the absolute fullness of it.
When her laughter was dying, she recommenced her trek to the island where Hap was still pulling out food but doing it now with his lips curved into a smile.
She studied the food coming out (chips, more chips, jars of dip, tubs of dip, a bag of peanut butter M&Ms, a bag of caramel M&Ms, a bag of peanut M&Ms, ice cream (rocky road), and then more chips).
Hap interrupted her perusal of the rather alarming junk food pile with, “Opera sucks.”
She looked to him.
“Bocelli has the voice of an angelo,” she retorted.
“Opera sucks,” Hap repeated.
She grinned at him and called out, “Alexa, play Lada Gaga.”
“Okay,” Alexa’s metallic voice said.
“Jesus, fuck, no,” Hap stated as Lady Gaga started. “You got Alexa?”
“I have three Alexas.”
He studied her then called, “Alexa, play Buckcherry.”
“Okay,” Alexa singsonged, and “Gluttony” came on.
“Hap, that’s not relaxing,” she complained.
He grinned wolfishly at her. “Baby, if you need more relaxation after coming for me for a full five minutes that last go, I’ll fuel up and do it the right way.”
She gave him a look that was mock annoyed before calling, “Alexa, play Tom Petty.”
“Okay.”
And “Saving Grace” came on.
“She can compromise,” Hap muttered.
“Hap, luce mio, do you eat like this always?” Luci asked.
“Yup,” Hap answered, loading up his arms with bags of chips before turning to her large cupboard where he knew she kept her chips, among other things.
There wouldn’t be enough room in there. She had chips (not that many, but she had them). She also cooked, so she had a stocked larder.
She didn’t tell him that.
Instead she asked, “How do you have that body and eat like this?”
“I have this body so I can eat like this,” Hap explained, shoving chip bags in, forcing the space to accommodate his needs.
“You’re going to crush the chips,” she warned.
He turned from the cupboard, stating, “Best part. Tipping the bag to your mouth and eating all the crushed bits.”
She’d never done that because she’d never blithely crushed chips.
But it was hard to argue. Chips were delicious, full ones, broken ones, so it probably went without saying bits tasted just as good.
She grabbed the ice cream and headed to the freezer.
“Babe,” he called.
God, she loved that word aimed at her coming from his mouth after she’d spent a lot of time with him when they were both naked.
He’d always called her babe.
He called all women “babe.”
Now, it was different.
“Yes?” she replied, straightening and kicking the freezer drawer closed with her foot.
She stopped dead when she caught the serious look on his face.
“We’ll eat. We’ll fuck. We’ll sleep. But tomorrow, honey, we’ll be talking.”