Sweet Dreams (A Sugar Rush Novel) (23 page)

“Come on, Peach,” he murmured, capturing her clit gently between his lips. “Give it to me.”

She squirmed, unable to stop herself from pushing her lower body toward him, wordlessly begging for more. And he gave her more—thrusting his tongue in and out of her channel, rubbing his thumb around her aching clit, even sliding his finger down to the tight ring of her anus. She gasped, her body tensing in automatic defense, but his low murmurs and easy probing soon had her relaxing under his erotic ministrations.

“Luke.” She tightened her grip on the bedcovers, her arousal building to new heights. “It’s happening . . . now . . .
now
!”

With a cry, she bucked up against him when sensations suffused her body. Luke continued licking and stroking her until the vibrations ebbed, and then he pulled away to sit up slowly. Deep, dark satisfaction filled his eyes as he looked at her lying naked in front of him, her body flushed and damp.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers.

With a moan, she eased her hand between them, sliding her palm over the ridges of his chest and down to his fully erect cock. She swiped her thumb over the hard, wet tip, a fresh surge of lust blooming inside her.

“I need you,” she whispered.

He moved away from her only long enough to grab a condom and roll it onto his erection. The mattress dipped a little with his weight as he returned to her, his eyes smoldering and his muscles tense with urgency.

Polly thought they were both ready to get right down to the main event, but instead Luke covered her body with his and lowered his head to press light kisses across her face. He stroked his hands through her damp hair and kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, her lips, all the way down to her neck. He licked away a few lingering drops of water from her throat, then moved lower to kiss and caress her breasts and torso.

He pressed her thighs farther apart and lifted her knees, moving between them to position himself right at her opening. Even with her body still throbbing from an orgasm, the sensation of his cock right there—hard, hot, big—made her tense a little. She curled her fingers into the bedcovers, her breath coming in rapid pants.

Luke slipped his hand between her thighs and rubbed her sensitive clit before he slowly pushed into her. She inhaled sharply, every nerve sensitized as her body opened to accept the slow, heavy glide of his shaft.

“Oh . . .” She shifted, her heart racing.

The combined sensations of his fingers stimulating her clit and him thrusting into her so slowly sent her senses into a maelstrom. She wiggled her hips to encourage him to go deeper. His jaw clenched with self-restraint as he eased into her another couple of inches, leaning over her to brace his hands on either side of her head.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he whispered, his hot breath stirring the locks of hair on her forehead. “Open up wider, Peach. Let me in.”

Hadn’t she done that already?
In a daze, she lifted her legs and hooked them around the backs of his thighs. Let him into her life, her body, even into her heart . . . ?

“Deeper,” she whispered, sliding her hands around to grip his back. “Fill me. Fuck me. Oh, yes.”

She arched her hips, her breasts rubbing against his chest. He groaned, sinking into her like a key fitting into a well-oiled lock. He clutched her hips, pulling back partway before thrusting into her again. Back and forth. Back and forth, the increasing rhythm pulsed through Polly’s blood in time with the beat of her heart.

“You’re like a goddamned glove,” Luke muttered.

Sweat trickled down his temples. His muscles flexed and strained beneath his taut skin.

Polly surrendered, falling into the swirl of lust as they moved together, rocking and thrusting. Tension coiled in her nerves. One more stroke of his fingers on her clit and she came again with a cry, her body lifting off the bed. And then Luke plunged inside her with a groan, hard shudders wracking him as he succumbed to his own pleasure.

They collapsed on the bed together, panting and sweating. He wrapped his arm around her, hauling her against his side. Their breathing slowed, and Polly resisted the urge to sink into the pull of sleep. As much as she wanted to spend the night curled into him as if she belonged there, she couldn’t give in to the allure of actually sleeping with Luke Stone again. It would be far too easy to get used to such a pleasure.

“I should get home,” she murmured. “Now that my apartment is like living in Fort Knox.”

“You’re not leaving tonight.”

A retort pushed up into her throat over his implacable tone, but she swallowed it back down. Hidden in Luke’s order was the unspoken reason he was making the demand in the first place. He didn’t want her to leave because he wanted her to
stay.
That filled her heart with both cautious hope and unease.

She rubbed her cheek on his chest. A little silver object resting on his nightstand caught her eye, and she reached over to pick it up. It took her a second to realize it was an elephant charm, exactly like the one she always carried in her macramé bag.

“Where did you get this?” She held it out.

“From your bag.”

Polly arched an eyebrow. “Seriously? You stole it from me?”

“I borrowed it,” he corrected, running his hand over her hip.

“What’s it doing next to your bed?”

He shrugged. “Whenever I see it, it reminds me of you.”

It sounded like a casual remark, but Polly sensed the meaning beneath, like a perfectly ripe, red cherry hidden inside a chocolate shell. Luke liked thinking about her. And being reminded of her.

“It’s a good luck charm.” She set the elephant charm back on the nightstand.

“Then it’s already worked for me because you’re here.”

Polly smiled. She trailed her fingers down the hard, hair-roughened length of his forearm to where his hand rested on her hip. She traced the outline of his knuckles and his long, beautiful fingers that touched her with such delicious expertise.

After taking hold of his wrist, Polly turned his hand so his palm faced upward.

“This is your life line.” She slid her finger over the curved line near his thumb. “Yours is quite strong and clear, which doesn’t surprise me. And you have a secondary line running parallel to it, which indicates great vitality.”

She pulled his hand closer and touched the small lines beneath his pinkie finger. “These are your money lines, which show that you’re intelligent and good with finances and investments. Your head line, here, is straight and extends to your pinkie. That means you have a very practical, analytical mind, but sometimes you think too much before making a decision instead of trusting your instincts. And your fate line indicates a strong, successful career and social status.”

She ran her fingertips lightly over his palm again. His hand twitched slightly in reaction to the tickling touch. She felt his gaze on her face.

“What about my heart line?” he asked.

“How do you know there’s a heart line?”

“Logic. If there’s a fate, head, and life line there has to be a heart line.”

She pretended to study his hand intently, though his heart line was the first thing she’d noticed about the pattern crisscrossing his palm.

“Your heart line is deep and clear.” She glided her finger over the curved line. “That shows you have a good love life and strong, secure emotions. But it’s also somewhat high on your palm, which means you’re cautious about commitment. And see how it straightens out here? That indicates you can be ruled by intellect rather than emotion. But it curves toward this finger and shows you’re a very passionate and intense lover.”

“Hmm.” His voice rumbled in his chest. “All that from a line on my palm?”

“Well, I could have told you some of it without seeing it.” She curled his fingers into his palm and cupped her hands around his fist.

“Another mystery of life that can’t be seen or proven?” Luke asked.

Maybe.
Polly’s intuition certainly told her she was falling for him in ways that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with her heart.

And she could read the signs, both in his palm and his actions—his overprotectiveness, his desire for her to stay, his “borrowing” a reminder of her, the way he touched her, his confession that he
believed
in her. All of those things spun together like feathery, sweet cotton candy right in the center of Polly’s heart, creating a truth that both thrilled and scared her.

Despite his talk about not making promises, Luke Stone was starting to fall for her too, at least a little bit. She tucked herself against him again and closed her eyes. Where would they both land?

POLLY PUT A CHICKEN POT
pie in the microwave and returned to the kitchen table, which was covered with a pile of textbooks and papers. She sat down and opened her confectionary sciences book, but instead of focusing on studying the effects of heat on the flavor and textures of various foods, her mind drifted to Luke Stone.

Her body warmed at the mere thought of him, everything inside her feeling light and airy as whipped cream. The rational part of her warned she was treading in dangerous waters with these fluffy, romantic feelings, but it felt so good to let all her darker emotions of the past year—discouragement, frustration, despair—float away on a cloud of pleasure.

A knock sounded at the door, breaking into her reverie. Hoping it was a surprise visit from CEO Stone, who could certainly help her study the
effects of heat
, Polly hurried to peer through the security-installed peephole in the door. A slender woman with long, straight brown hair stood on the landing.

Polly’s heart slammed against her ribs. She pulled the chain off the door lock and yanked it open.

“Hannah,” she breathed in shock.

Her sister smiled. “Hey, Polliwog.”

A familiar rush of both pleasure and resentment flooded Polly as Hannah stepped forward to embrace her. She hadn’t seen her sister since Jessie’s funeral, and the faint smell of sandalwood drifting from Hannah brought back a sharp reminder of their mother. A lump of emotion rose to her throat.

“Good to see you, sis.” Hannah detached herself, her gaze going over Polly. “You look great.”

“So do you.” Polly blinked back the sudden tears stinging her eyes and stepped aside. “Come in. Do you have a suitcase?”

“Just this.” Hannah indicated the canvas backpack she was carrying as she entered and flopped down on the sofa. “Nice place. Looks the same.”

“It is.”

Had Hannah expected anything different? She knew Polly was the one who craved familiarity, whereas Hannah needed constant change.

She closed the door, unable to stop looking her sister. Dressed in a cotton skirt and tank top that displayed the tattoo on her shoulder, Hannah looked both young and also somehow jaded. With her bow-shaped lips and aquamarine eyes, she had always been beautiful, but her seemingly endless traveling had given her a sharp, restless energy.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Polly said. “I had no idea you were even coming into town.”

“I was in LA for about a week. Thought I’d stop in and see if I could stay with you for a while.”

“Of course.” She went into the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I have another pot pie if you want.”

“Sure.” Hannah picked up
The Art of French Pastry
book on the coffee table and leafed through it. “You’ve been okay?”

“More or less.”

Polly pulled the pot pie out of the oven and put another one in, punching the timer buttons. As the microwave whirred into action again, she set the cooked pie on a plate with a fork. She pushed her textbooks and papers to the side, creating a space at the kitchen table as Hannah came to sit down.

“With school and the bakery, I haven’t had a chance to keep up with your blog as much as I’d like.” Polly set the plate in front of her sister. “Last I read you were in Brazil.”

“Yeah, for
Dia dos Namorados
.” Hannah picked up the fork. “It’s like Valentine’s Day, with gifts and date nights. Celebrated because of St. Anthony, who blessed couples with prosperous marriages.”

“Are you ever worried you’ll run out of love traditions to write about?”