Sweet Dreams (A Sugar Rush Novel) by Nina Lane Page A

against hers, tease the seam of her lips open with his tongue, and delve inside to taste her sugar sweetness. All he had to do was slide one hand over her bare leg, up under her little skirt to find whatever scrap of lace she was wearing beneath.
    She’d squirm and sigh, breathe whispers into his mouth, tentatively put her hand on his chest. He’d tighten his grip on the back of her neck, drawing her closer so she’d press her breasts against him.
    All he had to do was tug her stretchy dress over her head to reveal the curves of her luscious body in her bra and panties—white lace, maybe, something she’d picked out because she was dressing up for their date. Nothing designer, no La Perla on her, just simple, sweet lingerie. Her nipples would be hard already, the outline of her areolae visible through the thin fabric, and she’d push her breasts toward him as if begging him to touch them.
    And he would. He’d unclasp her bra and fondle her pretty breasts, lowering his head to lick her nipples and make her gasp. She’d watch him with a stunned kind of pleasure, as if she couldn’t believe what they were doing. Then he’d take her hand and guide it to his hard cock, closing her fingers around the bulge under his pants so there’d be no doubt as to where this was going.
    That was all he had to do. He could hear her panting, the little moans that would stream from her throat as she slipped her trembling hand into his pants to grasp his erection. Her touch would be cool and light, sending a shocking bolt of lust through him. He’d ease her back onto the pillows and slide his fingers between her legs, where he’d find her pussy already damp and ready.
    She was ready now . He could have her for the rest of the night, for as long as he wanted. All he had to do was reach out with one hand.
    He cupped the side of Polly’s face. Her breath caught, her lips parting slightly. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, thinking he would probably hate himself for this in the morning.
    “Go to sleep, Peach,” he said.
    She blinked. Luke pulled away from her and turned off the lamp beside the bed. His heart was hammering. He lay down, his back to Polly, and closed his eyes.
    Damned if it wasn’t the worst sleep of his life.

WOW. WASN’T THAT THE BEST sleep of her life?
    Polly looked at the ceiling, enjoying the sensation of the mattress embracing her. The foggy dawn light filtered through the white curtains along the wall, but she had no desire to leave the bed to open them.
    She stretched, and her muscles lengthened gloriously like smooth, pulled taffy. Her sleep had been deep and untroubled, the kind she’d had as a child when she hadn’t been worried about adult things like paying her rent and bills on time. The goose-down— Scandinavian goose down—pillows cradled her head like a cloud of meringue, and she swore there was some new zesty energy coursing through her veins.
    Not to mention, even on a subconscious level she’d been deliciously aware of Luke’s strong body beside her, the soapy scent of him drifting into her dreams.
    She turned to glance at him. He faced away from her, in the same position he’d been in when they’d gone to sleep. His shoulder muscles still looked strained beneath his navy T-shirt, the tendons in his neck still tight.
    Polly lifted herself onto her elbow, her lovely relaxation fading a bit. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. Sure enough, his muscles were all bunched up and tense.
    He twitched. She pressed her fingers into his shoulder a little more to see if his muscles would loosen up at all. Hard as a rock.
    Luke shifted, peering over his shoulder at her. His messy hair fell over his forehead and his face was set with irritation. He was all scruffy, dark-eyed male. She swallowed hard. Oh, he was so handsome.
    “What’re you doing?” His voice was rough.
    “Good morning to you too, sunshine,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”
    “I did not.”
    “Oh. I slept