All Over You (6 page)

As he pulls the blue sports car into Los
Angeles traffic, my phone hums in my bag, and I pull it out to find
a message from Tori. I bite my lip to keep from laughing aloud
hysterically.

Wrap it up. ;)

For the millionth time in the last few days,
my control is tested as I glance across the center console at
Sienna. She’s everything I shouldn’t want—too fucking innocent—but
I can’t resist wanting to pull over and drag her on top of me right
here, right now.

I slam on the brakes at a stop light, and she
cocks an eyebrow.

“Please don’t crash,” she teases. “My boss
will freak out if I don’t show up to work in the morning.”

I stare straight ahead. “Your boss can fuck
off. You’re mine tonight.” I hear her breath catch, and I clench
the steering wheel because it takes so much effort not to kiss her
or touch her. She’s glancing down at her phone, smiling, and I want
to know what she’s thinking.

Who the hell she’s grinning about.

I’m deep in thought, and trying to pay
attention to traffic, so when she switches the radio on, it catches
me off guard. She sings along to some Britney Spears song about
threesomes for a minute or two before I change the station using
one of the buttons on the wheel. Theory of a Deadman blasts through
my car. “You into pop?” I demand, cocking my head to the side. She
nods, and I snort. “Figures. Don’t worry, I’ll play you all the
bubblegum shit you could ever dream of.”

“Planning to serenade me?” Sienna
questions.

“All night.”

She blushes and I relax, satisfied.

When I pull into the long, winding driveway
that leads to my home, she shifts in her seat, facing me. “I
thought we were going out to dinner,” she says.

“Private dinner.”

“Oh,” she squeaks.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be good.”

Her shoulders shake with laughter as she
looks down at her bag. “No you won’t.”

At least she knows what to expect from
me.

I open the door for her again, skimming my
hands down the sides of her body, loving the way my palms mold to
her curves. She hobbles on those shoes that I’m determined to fuck
her in, then curls her fingers into mine, glancing up at me with
large eyes. I wait until I have her inside, in the foyer, to put
her back up against the wall and claim her lips. Her hands press up
against my chest, not pushing me away. She starts groping at my
shoulders, pulling me towards her.

“Where’d my shy little wardrobe girl go?” I
demand when I break away from her mouth. Swallowing hard, she
traces the tip of her finger around her swollen lips. That action
makes me want to taste her lips again until she can’t stand, so I
step back, taking her hand in mine. “Come on, let’s eat.”

She asks me questions about my awards room—a
room Kylie’d decorated for me—as we go through it to get to the
kitchen. “There are a lot of pictures of you with the singer from
Wicked Lambs.” Her eyebrows pull together, like she’s trying to
remember the right name so I give her a gentle nudge.

“Cilla Craig.”

“Right. Cilla . . .” Her voice trails off, as
she waits for me to say something. I don’t normally explain
myself—I don’t see a fucking point—but with Sienna, I want to.

“We grew up together,” I reply and her mouth
falls open in a silent “Oh.”

We walk into the kitchen and cross the tile
floor to the counter where dinner is waiting. “Informal but I’ve
got construction shit going on in my dining room,” I say. My cell
phone goes off in my pocket—a text—but I ignore it.

“No, it’s awesome,” Sienna murmurs. She
glances up at me. “You do this for all the girls you bring
home?”

I tighten my grip on her hand and lift my
chin. “I don’t,” I say.

I rarely bring women here period—much less
eat dinner with them. Sienna’s the first.

Sienna slides onto one of the bar stools
behind the counter, and the little dress rides up her thighs,
drawing my eyes to them. After a pause that’s not hardly long
enough in my opinion, I meet her hot gaze and she licks her lips. I
move closer, cupping her chin. Using the tip of my tongue, I trace
the wet pattern she’s already made, before sucking on her bottom
lip.

She moans, digging her fingers into my
shirt.

“You can rip this goddamn thing off,” I tell
her between kisses and the vibration of my phone continuing to go
off like crazy in my pocket.

When we go upstairs, I’ll shut the thing
off.

“Dinner,” Sienna reminds me, and I back away,
my hands held up.

“Right.”

We talk about music as we eat—lamb and
vegetables courtesy of some restaurant Kylie’d found for me. Sienna
tells me she likes pop and classical, so I lean back chuckling.

“What?” she demands through a mouthful of
broccoli.

“Took you for the bluegrass type,” I drawl in
an imitation of her accent and she laughs.

“I don’t talk like that.” When I lift an
eyebrow skeptically, she asks, “Well what about you. What does
Lucas Wolfe listen to besides rock?”

I grin down at my plate. “Google is your
friend, Red.”

We finish eating a few minutes later, and I
tell her to hold still. Her eyes follow me as I leave the room and
widen when I return with my guitar.

“You’re actually going to play for me?”

“I told you I’d serenade you all night,
didn’t I?” Crossing the room, I point to a spot on the countertop,
right next to our dessert. “Get up on the counter.”

She looks from the granite, to me, and then
back at the counter again, shifting her eyebrows up. “You’re
serious?”

“Get up on the counter, Sienna,” I repeat, my
voice a rough growl. I watch her every movement as she shimmies
onto the countertop, getting a glimpse of the black panties I plan
to peel off her delicious ass. I frown when she drags the bottom of
her dress down as far as it’ll stretch.

She gives me an expectant look as I pluck a
red guitar pick out of my back pocket, and I sit down on the stool
in front of her, letting her long legs rest against the sides of my
body, her heels scratching my legs. I pluck the beginning of the
song and watch, amused, when she recognizes it.

“Britney?” she asks incredulously. I shrug,
continuing to play the song she’d been listening to on the way
here.

Pausing before the chorus, I slide the cover
off the dish of strawberries sitting on the counter next to her and
hold one up to her mouth. She’s reluctant at first, but when I nod
slowly, she parts her lips, accepting the fruit. Her tongue lingers
on my fingertips.

“I’m versatile.” I say at last, sucking
strawberry off the tip of my thumb before strumming a little more
of the song. I make up my own lyrics, and when Sienna snorts, I
stop playing again. I lean in close to her, listening to her ragged
breathing as I flick the guitar pick between my thumb and
forefinger. “What?” I demand.

She flushes, glancing down at her lap, but I
slide my hand under her chin to force her to look at me, the guitar
pick scraping lightly against her skin. She shivers. Her nipples
tighten beneath her clothes, beneath a dress that’s so thin I could
rip it to pieces with my teeth.

“What?” I probe.

“Just didn’t think you’d actually play that
particular song.”

Nudging her knees apart, I move the guitar to
my side, and dip my head between her legs to kiss the inside of her
thigh. Her knees instantly tighten around me, but I shake my head.
“Lucas,” she murmurs.

“I can’t get enough of the way your skin
feels, Sienna.” I run my tongue along the smooth surface of her
other thigh. “Or the way you taste and smell.”

“Why do you have to say things like that?”
she moans.

Straightening my back so that my gaze is
level with her blue eyes, I allow an animal-like grin to take over
my face. “Because I want to fuck you,” I say. “All night. I want to
keep you in my bed until I’m the only thing you think of.”

But I know already, by the way she’s
breathing and the way she’s clutching at the low cut top of her
dress, that I’m already the only thing on her mind. And a moment
later, she seals the deal when she wiggles her hips to the edge of
the counter to offer her lips to me.

I kiss her long, rough, until I clutch my
fingers through her hair at the scalp, gently breaking us apart.
She shakes her head desperately, the exact way I’ve pictured
it.

“I want you too, Lucas,” Sienna says,
offering herself to me on a granite platter.

Lucas’s bedroom radiates as much sexiness as
the rockstar himself, decorated in black furnishings with vivid
splashes of red strewn throughout the place. He steps inside,
crooking his finger at me when I linger in the doorway. Taking a
deep breath, I follow him inside, running my palms down the front
of my dress as he dims the recessed lighting.

I half expect him to blast some of Your Toxic
Sequel’s dirtier songs to set the mood—he’s sure as hell cocky
enough to do something like that—but he doesn’t touch the iPod dock
on the black dresser when we walk past it. Instead, he turns and
grabs my body to his, and a little noise that’s part nervousness,
part excitement, bubbles from the back of my throat.

“I want you there,” he says, gesturing his
head to the giant bed behind us.

“I thought that was where we were going.”

Growling, he lifts me off my feet. I sigh
when my body hits the soft mattress a moment later. When I realize
that I’ll wake up in this bed tomorrow morning beside of him, I
shiver, and Lucas bends his body over mine, staring down at me with
dark eyes.

His rough fingertips brush strands of hair
away from my face. “You look dazed.”

“I’m not.”

He kisses my temple, and then trails his lips
across the angles of my face, until he reaches my lips. I move my
body against his, and bite the inside of my cheek when I feel how
hard he is. “Then what?” he demands.

I could lie to him. I could tell him that
I’ve done this several times and that I’m not at all intimidated by
him, by being in this room. “Nervous,” I whisper, deciding to go
with the truth. He chuckles against my mouth, sending a jolt of
electricity through my body. Shaking his head to each side, he
eases himself down on top of me.

“Don’t be nervous.” He opens his mouth to say
something else, but a buzzing noise from deep inside of his pocket
causes him to pause. His shoulders go rigid, and he glances down at
his jeans for a moment.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I twist my
head to the side. My hair spills down the front of my face, and I
brush it back as I ask, “Do you need to take that?” His phone had
vibrated all through dinner and not once had he bothered to check
it.

He glares at his pocket a little longer, as
if he’s trying to decide whether or not this call is important
enough to take.

It must be, because whoever it is won’t let
up.

“No,” Lucas growls at last. Then, pulling in
an uneven breath, he orders, “Touch me, Sienna.”

Tentatively, I press my palms flat against
his lower stomach, shoving the Henley over his hard abs. The heel
of my palms brush up against his tattooed skin, and Lucas lets out
a sound between his teeth. “Good,” he whispers, climbing off of me
and motioning me to sit up.

I pull myself up on my knees as he drags his
shirt completely over his head. He faces me—gorgeous and inked,
with his dark, shaggy hair falling over his eyes.

“I want you to put your hands all over me,”
he says.

I rake my teeth over my bottom lip, leaning
forward until my mouth hovers a couple centimeters from his skin.
He shudders when I slide my lips across the tattoo of a heart full
of daggers in the center of his toned chest, though I’m not too
sure if this is because of my touch or because of his phone, which
continues to vibrate.

I want to break the damn thing into a million
pieces.

Lucas simply pretends like he can’t hear
it.

“Take off your dress, Sienna.”

“Already?” I say teasingly, but I’m probably
more anxious to get undressed than he is to see me naked. I want
this. I want him. If I hesitate now, I’ll end up leaving, full of
regret. My hand automatically reaches behind me, grasping at my
zipper. The black fabric falls down to pool around my knees.
Carefully, so I won’t snag the dress on my shoes, I slide it off of
me and drop it beside the bed.

“You’re gorgeous,” Lucas murmurs
appreciatively. He holds me away from him by my shoulders, studying
everything from my face, to the plain black strapless bra, and the
black panties I’m wearing, making me feel as if I’m already
completely naked.

Before I can lose my nerve, I hook my fingers
under the waistband of his jeans. “I want to touch you again.”

He shakes his head, and I sit on my bottom,
my legs on either side of his body. “Do you remember what I said
before?” he asks, inching closer.

I slide myself backwards until my back bumps
against the posts of the headboard. “You’ve said a lot,” I point
out.

“When I asked you to dinner. I said there was
something I needed from you.”

Yeah, I remember. I remember the conversation
so vividly it makes my stomach coil up just thinking about it.

“
I want you eating the food I cook for you
and afterward, I want you hot and sweaty in my bed, fucking me. I
need to taste every inch of your body. I need to devour
you.”

Flushing, I hug my chest. “Yes, I
remember.”

Lucas pulls my arms away from my body, and
pushes himself between my knees. He stares down at me, his face
sexy. Dangerous. “Are you in?” he asks, and I nod.

“Yes.”

A moment after that word rolls off my lips,
he presses his thumb between my legs, circling my center through my
panties. His tongue plunges into my mouth, as his finger alternates
between slow and quick motions, each one leaving my senses more
blurry. “You like this,” he says, and even though it’s not a
question, I moan.