Page 51 of Sucker Love (Sugar Pill Duet #1)

And Luca can sense that in me. Because he does know me so well by now.

Can read me like an open book; no, worse, can read between my lines and all the terrible subtext that comes with it.

He leans over and wraps me in his arms while I cry like a bitch for the millionth time since I’ve known him, it feels like.

He kisses my forehead, my nose, my wet cheeks.

“It’s okay,” he keeps saying. “It’s okay you didn’t like it. Sometimes reality is scarier than fantasy. It’s alright.”

“You liked it.” It spills from my mouth, accusatory and I know it’s wrong even as I lob those daggers at him. “You wanted to. Fuck me in front of a bunch of people.”

“That bothers you?” He sounds uncertain now, wounded almost. I’ve hit my mark and I immediately feel bad. “I thought, I don’t know, I thought this is something we both...you asked ?—”

“I don’t know.” I shove my face into his chest and I’m all muffled and maybe I’m not cut out for this, any of this. Maybe I am not meant for the things I think I so badly want and need. “I don’t fucking know. Whatever. Let’s not talk about it.”

“Well, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He rubs my back. “Okay? We don’t ever have to come back here or anywhere else like it again.”

“That woman wants you to. Emori.”

“I don’t even know Emori.”

“Everyone wanted you. They were all looking at you.”

He sighs, very quietly. “I’m spoken for.”

“Twice over, even.” Can’t help it, can’t help making shitty remarks like that. God, I’m foul.

Luca takes it in stride, though. He takes the high road like I never fucking do, doesn’t even acknowledge it for the bait that it is. “Not for much longer,” he says.

“They called me it .” It’s a pathetic, gargled whisper and I have to swallow the snot in my throat. Fuck, I’m a mess.

Luca’s hand pauses between my shoulder blades. “They did?”

“You didn’t hear them?”

“You know I would’ve thrown hands if I had.”

It makes me smile a little as I wipe my face on his shirt.

I like it when he acts possessive and tough over me.

Protective, I guess, is the better word.

I lift my head and gaze up at him from beneath my lashes, observing how the dash lights carve out his gorgeous face, and it’s hard to keep pouting.

The high cheekbones, the aquiline nose, the snatched jaw—he is a work of fucking art.

He was sculpted by Michelangelo himself.

I press open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck, and he sort of starts in surprise, sucking in his breath. He lets it go with a shudder as I nip just the edges of the moth tattoo, its wings, and his hands travel up my back to sink into my hair. “What are you doing? I thought you were sad.”

I make my graceless way across the center console until I fall into his lap and my mouth finds his ear. “What does it look like?”

And just like that he’s already hard beneath me, between my thighs, even as he protests like he thinks he’s supposed to, trying to be the responsible one. “We can’t fuck out here, Noel. We’ll get caught. We’ll be—sex offenders or something.”

“In the parking lot of a sex club.” The tip of my tongue traces the shell of his ear and he groans softly. He makes no attempt whatsoever to dissuade me beyond these ridiculous platitudes. “Somehow I don’t think anyone’s gonna care.”

“They might.” From my hair his hands go to my hips so he can pin them in place and grind up against me. “We could’ve been doing this in one of those private rooms, you know.”

“Fuck the club. I want this just for us.” I turn and butt my head against his roughly. “You’re all for me . Not them.” And the truck was our territory.

“Jealous little thing.” Taunting me affectionately.

“So what?”

He pushes my tight shirt up, exposing my stomach, my ribs, my chest. “So nothing,” he murmurs, lowering his head. “Just an observation. ”

And he’s all in now, just like that, tongue laving one nipple and then the other.

I throw my head back with a shivery exhale and he pulls me close, closer, closest. I can feel the exact dimensions of his dick beneath those tight pants so I reach down and fumble for him.

I want to see it, whatever I can make of it in the darkness of the car, and I want to feel it in my hands, thick and veined and twitching.

And I do as he makes those deep, growly sounds in his throat, savaging my neck with little abandon and I don’t care because I adore this most of all, being marked, claimed, his.

“You have no idea how badly I wanted to do it,” he grates out against my skin as I work him in my hand.

“Hit you and take you. Wanted to see you writhe all helpless. Hear you beg.” I gasp and he licks a wet trail up my throat, claims my mouth with a sloppy kiss that is more tongue and saliva than anything else.

“You would’ve loved it,” he whispers against my lips. “I know it.”

He pulls my shorts apart and then rips a hole in the fishnets and I come spilling out, all at once, and when he takes both our cocks in one hand, I lean back and squirm against the steering wheel.

The horn goes off and we both jump. I squeak and Luca whispers shit and laughs and scoops an arm beneath me.

“Come back here,” he says. “God, you’re fucking naughty.”

I am. And I do, throwing my head back and biting my lip, thrusting myself against him and into his hand, and it feels so, so fucking good, better than it has any right to.

I’ve never done this before and I’m not sure he has either.

I don’t know if it’s just the idea of doing it—rubbing my cock against his while he plays with us both—that’s getting me off, or if it is that velvety sensation gliding against my own, aided by all my excessive pre-come that gets us both wet, Luca’s fingers sticky with it, but oh my god. Oh my god.

“Put your arms behind your back,” he instructs me, breathless. “Lean back. So I can see you.”

I do, and I keep my back arched so I don’t honk the horn again. All on display for him in the cramped cab, lit blue by the dash lights and I fix my gaze to Luca’s face. My nails dig into my arms. “You wanna hurt me,” I whisper to him.

“I really fucking do, baby.” His eyes lock on mine. “Because you want me to.”

And that’s true, too.

I come first and loudly. He’s right after me and it’s fucking ropes , criss-crossing my bare stomach. At least the seats are leather.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers to me as we come back down. “Tomorrow, it’ll be done.”

Tomorrow he’ll be all mine.