by Nina Lane
“Just in case the date goes long,” Clementine had said cheerfully.
Polly texted her that the date had, indeed, gone long, but due to the broken-down van and not other long . . . things.
Whatever you say, dear, Clementine texted back.
Polly rolled her eyes and headed back upstairs to talk to Luke about dealing with the van and getting home. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
“Luke?” Alarmed, she hurried to his side. “Are you all right?”
He looked up, his features still lined with fatigue. His hair was damp, and water trickled down his temples, like he’d dunked his head under the faucet.
“Did something happen in Venezuela?” Polly asked.
“Vene . . .” He shook his head. “No. Everything’s okay.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well.” She brushed a drop of water off his neck. “It must have been because I was here.”
“Yeah.” He sighed heavily and dragged a hand down his face. “It was because you were here.”
Polly tried to deflect a stab of hurt, along with the question of whether he slept badly when he was with any woman or if it had just been her. She didn’t actually want the answer to either question, hating the reminder that he had lots of other women, not wanting to believe he could be uncomfortable with her.
But if it was because of her . . .
She stepped back and gestured to the bed. “Lie down on your stomach.”
“What?”
“Come on.” She pressed on his shoulder to get him to do her bidding. “Face down.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he didn’t appear to have the energy to resist. He stretched out on the bed and pulled a pillow beneath his head.
Polly’s nerves suddenly tightened as she tracked her gaze over his broad shoulders and back, the material of his T-shirt fitting him like a second skin, and down to his very firm rear.
She took a breath, experiencing a sudden visceral memory of pressing herself against the front of his hard body. What would it feel like to press herself against the back of his hard body? Tingles like brightly colored sugar crystals surged through her.
Come on, Polly. Focus.
Luke had been very generous—and again, respectful—by letting her sleep in his bed and not once trying to touch her.
Wait a second. Aside from the caress on her cheek, why hadn’t he touched her? He obviously knew she still wanted him. Any woman would. And Polly could only partially blame the alcohol for how she’d acted at the Troll’s House because on a deep, primal level she’d just desired the man. She’d known the second she saw him again at Sugar Rush that her attraction to him was still hot and electric.
And given what he’d said about her hooking up with anyone but him . . .
She shook her head to dislodge her musings. The past forty-eight hours had been very odd indeed, so it would be best if she stepped back and reexamined this whole situation later—like on a day when she hadn’t woken up in a bed that probably cost more than the whole Wild Child building.
“Am I supposed to take a nap?” Luke turned his head on the pillow and opened one eye to peer at her. “Because I’m constitutionally incapable of sleeping past five in the morning.”
Polly glanced at the clock, which told her it was five thirty. Funny that both she and Luke Stone were naturally early risers.
“No.” She knelt on the bed beside him. “You’re just supposed to relax.”
“I’m constitutionally incapable of relaxing.”
“Not true. You’re a cardinal sign. Cardinal signs govern the seasons and have the power to change.”
He gave a faint laugh into the pillow. “All right, Peach. Prove I can relax.”
Polly’s heart sped up as she settled her hands on his shoulders. He tensed, a reaction that was neither reassuring nor flattering, but she tightened her grip and started to massage his rock-hard muscles. He was knotted up like a badly tied shoelace. After a few minutes of tentative rubbing, she got to her knees and put more force into her strokes.
Luke let out his breath. His muscles loosened a little, allowing her to slide her fingers to the back of his neck. The warmth of his skin flowed up her arms, and another sigh from him emboldened her further. She pushed her fingers into his hair, the thickness of it tickling her palms as she massaged his scalp, around his ears, then back down to his shoulders and his upper back, using slow even strokes.
There! His body began to slacken, his muscles becoming more pliable. She pressed her weight into her palms, making circular motions around his upper shoulders and digging her thumbs along the ridge of his spine.
He groaned. Groaned. A husky, masculine rumble whose effect on Polly’s nerves was in no way lost by the fact that it was muffled by a goose-down pillow.
“Where in the name of everything holy did you learn how to do this?” Luke asked, his voice thick.
“I grew up on a commune,” Polly said. “And one—”
“A commune?” Luke interrupted. “Like a hippie farm?”
“They’re called communes.” She deliberately pinched the back of his neck a little too hard. “Or intentional communities. Twelve Oaks is a lovely place near Santa Cruz. I lived there until I was nine. One of the residents was a massage therapist who would give free treatments to anyone who lived there. I’d help her set up and sometimes stay and watch. Then I’d practice massages on the cats and dogs that lived on the property. I was sort of like the local animal whisperer.”
“Well, now you’re the CEO Whisperer. Or a witch casting her spell. You could make a fortune with those hands.”
Polly thought that was what she was trying to do, but with baking rather than massages. She’d always liked helping people feel better, whether with massages, cookies, or home-brewed tea. But helping Luke Stone feel better was a whole new level of exceptional, and not because he was the CEO of Sugar Rush.
Because he was the hot, pool-playing guy from the Troll’s House who’d smiled at her and kissed her and made her feel alive again.
“Massages should be part of a holistic approach to total well-being.” She scooted back to run her hands over his shoulder blades. “The harmony of your body, mind, and soul. When those three areas are in balance, you can achieve your full life’s potential.”
“I’m all about full potential,” Luke mumbled.
He shifted and pushed up to his elbows. Polly took her hands off him.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
He gave a short laugh. “Hell no, Peach. You’re doing everything right.”
He grabbed the back collar of his T-shirt and hitched it over his head, then tossed the shirt to the floor before lying back down.
Oh my.
Polly swallowed hard as she stared at the landscape of his naked back, his straight spine bisecting the smooth muscles on either side. The strong curves of his shoulders sloped down to the insanely impressive bulges of his biceps and corded forearms. His skin was smooth, golden-brown, and so mouth-wateringly tempting that she ached to trail her lips over the ridge of his spine.
Her heart was racing. She reminded herself what she’d set out to prove to him, as well as the fact that he was obviously still expecting her to return to the massage.
I’m going full force, she’d told herself at the Troll’s House.
She pulled in a heavy breath, gathered her courage, and straddled Luke’s lower back. The movement caused her skirt to ride higher on her thighs—not that he could see that, but the position allowed her to press weight evenly on both sides of his back. It also allowed her to feel the sheer strength of him right between her legs, but she tried to push that out of her mind and focus on her task.
Touching his bare skin was heaven, the friction against her palms warming her all the way down to her toes. When he groaned again, she pressed harder, kneading his lower back—where his drawstring pants were starting to ride dangerously low—a
nd along his sides. Her breathing grew faster and sweat trickled between her breasts, but she held on to her composure and focused all her energy on helping Luke relax.
His muscles loosened slowly, molding like pliable dough beneath her hands. His own breathing slowed, his body sinking against the mattress. She slackened the pace of her massage, switching from short kneads to long, easy strokes designed to increase the flow of blood. She ended with a light rubbing of his lower back.
He was breathing deeply and evenly, his head turned to the side and his eyes closed. Polly eased away from straddling his thighs to sit beside him on the bed again. She leaned in closer to his ear.
“Luke,” she whispered. “Are you asleep?”
“No,” he mumbled.
“You can turn around now.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have a boner the size of a redwood tree.”
A giggle escaped Polly at the same time that arousal poured through her veins like sweet, melted butter. Her pulse quickened. She let her gaze stroke over his body again. His muscles were still loose and relaxed, but there was a new kind of tension coiling through him. Sexual tension.
And if Polly rephrased his remark in her mind, which she absolutely did, she thought that what Luke had was a “big, throbbing cock.”
She almost moaned aloud, squeezing her thighs together to assuage the ache that had burgeoned since she’d first started touching him. She’d been wet since then, too, her sex so slippery that he’d probably be able to slide his big, throbbing cock into her with no resistance whatsoever . . .
She closed her eyes, unable to stop herself from pressing her hand between her legs. Need sparked through her body, a flame that had been kindled the instant she’d looked up and met his gaze across the crowded bar.
She opened her eyes and looked at him again. He pushed to his elbows and turned his head. A hot, electric current sizzled between them.
There were a lot of things Polly didn’t know, or at least that she was still learning. But if she focused and paid attention to her instincts, she knew what she wanted. As long as she didn’t get swept up in silly thoughts of romance, then Luke Stone was exactly what she both wanted and needed.
She leaned closer and gazed into his lust-dark eyes.
“Turn around,” she whispered.
“You don’t know what you’re asking, Peach.”
“Yes, I do.” She pushed gently on his shoulder. “Turn around.”
With a slight grimace, he turned and flopped back against the pillows, his breath expelling on a long rush. Shivers raced through Polly as she drank in the sight of his bare chest, all beautiful, sculpted muscles and six-pack abdomen leading right down to . . .
Holy mother of . . .
She stared in shocked fascination at the massive bulge tenting the loose cotton of his pants. The hard length appeared to be throbbing, and her own body responded with a surge of lust so sharp she almost gasped.
“You should walk away right now,” Luke muttered hoarsely, his voice infused with both urgency and warning.
She dragged her eyes away from his erection and back up to his face.
“Why?” she asked.
He blinked. “What?”
“Why should I walk away?”
He gave a humorless laugh and shook his head. “I’m not the right guy for you, Peach. Yeah, we could have a great time together, but you’re the kind of girl who deserves something long-lasting, and I can’t give that to you.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“I always put my work first.”
“So do I.”
He frowned. “I’m too old for you.”
“I’m not too young for you.”
“I’m tedious and boring.”
“Yeah.” Polly poked him gently in the chest and gave him a wry look. “That’s exactly what I thought when I was grinding up against you at the Troll’s House.”
“I can’t make you any promises.”
“I’m not asking for promises.”
“I come with a crapload of baggage.”
She shrugged. “Don’t we all?”
Luke studied her for a minute, as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
“Do you ever let anyone have the last word?” he asked.
“When it’s warranted.” She leaned closer to him, resting her hand on the pillow beside his head. “But right now, I think it would be a good idea if you just stopped talking.”
She lowered her head and kissed him. A thousand fireworks exploded inside her at the touch of his warm lips against hers. She put her other hand on his chest. His heartbeat pulsed beneath her palm as she increased the pressure of the kiss.
Luke muttered a noise low in his throat. He grasped the back of her neck and pulled her closer, his tongue flicking out to slide across her lower lip. Heat bloomed in Polly, intensifying her simmering arousal and emboldening her to slip her hand down his chest, past the washboard ridges of his abs, and down to . . .
Oh God.
Her fingers trembled as she cupped his erection, feeling the warmth of his shaft burning clear through his pants. She broke her mouth away from his, her breathing fast as she turned her attention to his lower body.
Her courage faltered for a second before she reminded herself that she was the one who’d been pushing for things to go further. So she had to be the one to take them there, even if she didn’t have nearly his level of experience. She glanced at Luke, who was watching her with heavy-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling with every hard breath.
“Maybe we can just fool around first,” she said breathlessly. “Not go . . . you know. All the way. Yet.”
He continued looking at her, faint amusement glimmering in his eyes.
“We don’t have to go all the way,” he agreed gravely.
“Is that lame? I mean, I’m sorry if I—”
“Polly, if you don’t take my cock out right now, I’m going to come in my pants and we won’t even get halfway to all the way.”
Her heart kicked up a notch. She squeezed her thighs together, hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants, and slowly tugged them over his hips. His cock sprang free, rising upward like a living thing, so big and hard that Polly’s sex clenched with anticipation. Veins lined the smooth, thick shaft, and the mushroom-shaped head was already dampening with moisture.
She sat back on her heels and licked her lips. “Um . . . wow.”
Luke groaned, reaching down to wrap his hand around his thick shaft. “If you lick your lips one more time, you’d better do it closer to my dick.”
“Oh. Do you want me to . . .”
A faint chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Not yet, Peach, or this will be over before we even get started.”
He stroked his cock. Polly couldn’t take her eyes off the sinuous movement, the way he slid his palm with such natural ease from base to tip. He nodded to her dress.
“Take it off.”
Anxiety twisted in her stomach. She grasped the stretchy fabric and pulled it over her head to reveal her bra and panties, both plain white and bordered by a lace trim dotted with tiny rosebuds.
His breath hissed out in appreciation as he raked his gaze over her full breasts and round hips. A rush of self-consciousness hit Polly as she briefly compared herself to the sleek, bone-thin women who probably frequented his circle, but he was looking at her with such desire that her concerns quickly faded.
“Come here.” Luke pushed himself to a sitting position and grasped her arm, pulling her to him so insistently that she fell against his chest with a gasp.
And then he was kissing her again, hot and deep, and her whole body arched toward him in surrender. She drove her hand into his hair, reveling in the exquisite pressure of his mouth, the solid strength of his body against hers.
“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he muttered, pressing a line of kisses over her neck as he slid his hand up her bare leg. “You taste like c
herries. Bet you’re juicy like one too.”
Polly’s breath caught as he nudged his hand between her legs, urging her to part them. He shifted, lowering her back onto the pillows and coming over her to brace one hand beside her head. He flicked open the front clasp of her bra and her breasts popped free, her nipples so stiff she was almost embarrassed by the evidence of her arousal.
He whispered another curse, pushing her bra aside and lowering his head to capture one of her nipples between his teeth. Electric sparks shot all the way down to Polly’s sex.
“Oh.” She wiggled beneath him, stunned by the combination of pleasure and light pain as he tugged gently at her nipple, then soothed the ache with a sweep of his tongue. “Oh, that feels good.”
She became faintly aware that, although she had been the one to instigate this encounter, she was absolutely not in charge. Nor did she want to be. She watched Luke in a daze as he caressed her body in all the right places, the friction of his palms leaving paths of warmth over her skin.
He kissed his way down her soft belly, his scruff rubbing her like the finest sandpaper. Polly tensed when he reached her tight cotton panties and twisted his fingers in the waistband. She was soaking down there—she’d been hot since she first started rubbing his shoulders—and again her arousal was a little embarrassing.
Luke pulled her panties off with a flick of his hand, yanking them down her legs and tossing them to the floor. Then they were both naked, his cock nudging against her hip, their breathing so hard it almost drowned out the sound of her heartbeat.
“You’re incredible.” He ran his hand up and down her body, his touch warm and smooth. “Perfect.”
Polly had never felt perfect, but in that moment, she absolutely did.
“Luke!” she gasped, thrusting her hips involuntarily upward as his fingers slipped between her thighs and found her damp cleft.
“Ah, shit, you’re so wet already.” He pressed his mouth against hers. “Open up for me, Peach.”
A flush swept over her. She parted her legs and opened her mouth. Then he was inside her in both places, his tongue sliding against hers and his forefinger moving back and forth in her opening. She sank into the pillows, delicious tension winding through her.