Page 26 of My Pucking Enemy (The Milwaukee Frost #4)

Wren

Normally, a man showing interest in me doesn’t do a whole lot.

Growing up the way I did, jetting from country to country, I got my pick of the litter. As I got older and gained important assets—breasts, legs—I learned how to use them. There were very few eyes I wasn’t able to catch.

Normally, the way Luca is looking at me right now as we walk among the stalls and maneuver through the crowds would feel normal.

Except it’s not. I can still feel his hand against me in his parents basement, can still hear that sharp, quick breath coming from his lips—that half-closed look in his eyes. The intent way his hands gripped my hips.

As nonchalant as I forced myself to be about the whole thing, my body hasn’t stopped reminding me that I never got the thing I really wanted. That as much fun as it was to have his fingers inside me, and to touch his cock, there’s a deep ache inside me to be as close as possible to him.

And I still haven’t gotten that.

The Fine Dining Fair is even more fun than I thought. As we make our way through the warehouse—picking through offerings of oysters and clams, luscious burgers, Korean tacos and the best sushi I’ve ever had in my life—I feel Luca’s eyes on me.

I feel them when I take a generous bite of chocolate cake, running my lips along the fork.

I feel them when Astrid insists on feeding me a bite of her curry.

And I feel them when it’s finally time to leave, the group of us the last few stragglers to finally file out of the place after sitting in the beer garden and sipping together for hours.

Except I couldn’t make it through a full glass. And from the looks of it, Luca couldn’t, either.

“This way,” I say, when Luca and I step outside together.

I had Cal nab him from the arena, so I’ll have to give him a ride home.

He follows me dutifully, and though I know it’s not logically possible, it’s like I can feel the heat of him, his hands shoved in his pockets just a few feet behind me as I walk to my car.

“I would apologize for my car,” I mutter when I slide into the driver’s seat, already shivering and rubbing my hands together as the engine putters to life. “But I’m pretty sure the cold is the worst part.”

Luca doesn’t say anything, and when I look over at him, I see why. He’s staring at me, his pupils practically having swallowed his eyes, jaw set.

“Everything okay?” I manage weakly. But I barely get the words out before he’s hauling me over the center console and settling me on his lap, his hands anchoring my hips against his. When I feel him already hard through his jeans, I gasp, and he swallows the sound.

Reaching down, I grab the lever to lower his seat, and we recline to being basically flat. My knee digs painfully into the seat belt on one side, and I struggle for purchase between Luca’s body and the door on the other, but it doesn’t matter.

Because his hands are on me, his breath mingling with mine, his lips hot and eager and suddenly, I don’t notice the cold at all.

He tips his hips up, and I’m nudged forward, draped over him, my hair falling down around us and curtaining us off from the world.

I’ve never kissed someone like this before. Every kiss of my life up to this point suddenly feels painted in harsh relief—a practice session. All playing pretend.

Because this—the way he thrusts his fingers into my hair, the way he holds me like he’s been thinking about nothing else—this is consuming. Intoxicating.

I forget where I am.

That is, until there’s a sharp knock on the door and I sit up, heart racing, my natural instinct to remain cool overriding my other instinct to panic. Seeing a figure I recognize just outside the fogged window, I run a quick hand through my hair and roll it down, still sitting in Luca’s lap.

“Wren,” Ruby says, a knowing smile on her lips as she holds something out to me. Her dark hair is long, curled around her shoulders and sticking out from under a maroon winter cap. Just behind her, a black SUV idles, Maverick watching from the driver’s seat. “I believe this is your scarf.”

“It is,” I say, reaching out and taking it from her, watching her eyes dart around the inside the car. Luca throws an arm over his face, laughing into the crook of his elbow.

“Thank you,” I manage.

“Just a note of advice,” she says, lowering her voice, “there was a parking monitor down there. Might be a good idea to head home.”

I just barely keep myself from rocking against where Luca’s still hard and pressed against me. “I agree.”

***

Considering the fact that I’ve never been to Luca’s place before, I really should take more time to look around, drink in the details, figure out more about this man. I’m sure there’s something in the way he organizes his cereal that’ll tell me something I don’t know about him yet.

But there’s only one thing I want to look at.

We tumble backward through his front door, him boxing me in against it, kissing me hard as he effortlessly punches in the code to the lock, letting us into a dark entryway.

His hands are warm as they push under my jacket, his strong, capable fingers pushing the thing off my shoulders and letting the cool air inside the house brush over my skin.

I shiver, and he steers me backward into another room, pulling away from me momentarily—then, a second later, there’s a muted beep and a fireplace roars to life.

The laugh bursts out of me. “A fireplace? Are we going to do it on a bearskin rug?”

For a second, I think I might have ruined the moment with my stupid joke, but Luca just shoots me a grin. He reaches down and strips his shirt off over his head, stunning me from the sight of his shifting muscles, the broad expanse of skin available to me all at once.

There’s a mole near his belly button. Shadows under his pecks dance in the light of the fireplace. My mouth actually fucking waters, he’s that gorgeous.

“Actually,” he says, stepping toward me, his hands finding the hem of my dress and stripping it smoothly up over my head, “I was thinking we could do it on my couch.”

My heart is in my throat. When he leans down to kiss me, I nod and nod against him, core already flooded with heat and tight with lust. He kisses me with ease, guiding me smoothly backward to a couch that’s wide enough—shamelessly—to be just as comfortable as a bed.

He pushes me back onto it and reaches behind me to undo my bra, sucking in a breath at the sight of my breasts, which feel heavy and taught.

When Luca drops to his knees between my legs, one of his hands spreads wide against my back, holding me to him.

I let out a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a sob.

And when he lowers his mouth to one of my nipples, I only get louder.

My mind feels like a hazy mess. All normal, rational thinking is out the door. It’s like when you go to watch a movie and you completely forget everything in the outside world still exists, still continues to go on without you.

Because it feels like the only thing that should matter, in this entire universe, is the sensation of his teeth scraping over my sensitive skin. His rough, calloused hand massaging my other breast, fingers pinching the nipple just hard enough to make a shot of lust arrive directly between my legs.

Have I ever wanted anything as much as I want this man?

Then, like it was always the plan, Luca sits back, thumbs hooking in the waistband of my panties. He slides them off carefully, setting them on the ground, and without hesitation, spreads my legs and slides his tongue up the length of me.

It’s just like him. Methodical. Direct.

I gasp like I’ve been doused with ice water, while the result is perfectly the opposite. My entire body feels molten, like I’ll change states from solid to liquid at any moment.

He presses on, holding the insides of my thighs to keep them open.

Luca is really good at this. I suck in a breath that’s meant to steady me—but doesn’t really help—and grasp at the couch cushion as he moves his chin, alternating between dragging his tongue the length of me and paying special attention to my clit.

It’s more than skill or approach, it’s this relentless, tireless, eager drive, like this is all he’s wanted, like he’d do it for the rest of the night if that’s what it took. In a flash, I realize the way he’s acting reminds me of Luca on the ice.

Determined. Graceful. Fucking gorgeous.

He flattens his tongue over my clit, presses hard enough to bring my orgasm to the horizon, then pulls back. Just when I think I’ll have a chance to catch my breath, he sucks my clit into his mouth, pinching it between his lips and sliding a finger inside me all at once.

It’s like a fucking combo in a video game. Like he’s unlocked a secret combination of moves that sends me straight to the tallest peak of my orgasm.

I come apart around him, body writhing and jerking like it doesn’t belong to me. The fire dances behind him, painting him in silhouette as he raises his head, wiping his mouth along the back of his hand in a gesture that strikes me as being very un-Luca-like.

“Wren,” he rasps, “you good?”

I’m nodding, but that’s not enough—how do I accurately tell him that I’m way more than good? That my body is warm and loose?

That I want him.

Reaching up, I loop my arms around him and pull him into me, kissing him deeply, each beat of my heart repeating a mantra in my head that sings more, more, more.