Luke: A West Bend Saints Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

get laid.  By someone my own age.  Someone who's normal, stable.  Not some young guy who lives down by the damn creek with his dog.
    I know Luke's type – guys like him come through West Bend, doing seasonal work in the summer, skiing and snow-boarding in the winter.  They're adrenaline-seeking, responsibility-avoidant, womanizing jocks who just want to get stoned and get laid.
    The way his phone was blowing up at dinner, with texts from some girl tells me all I need to know about him.  I've already had a womanizing bastard in my life.  I definitely don't need to think about getting laid by another one.
    I groan, reaching into the bedside table to pull out my vibrator.  Two years of pent-up frustration is obviously making me crazy.
    Sliding my hand underneath my soft cotton nightshirt, I cover my breast with my palm, trying to bring to mind the image of…someone else, anyone else except Luke Saint.  I run through a litany of sexy male movie stars in my head, but all I can see when I close my eyes is that smug, self-assured grin of Luke's.
    I imagine his lips moving across the tops of my breasts, then down lower as he takes my breast in his mouth.  I run my fingers over my breast, playing with my nipple, mimicking the way his tongue moves around in circles in my fantasy.  When I slide my fingers between my legs, I picture his fingers doing the work that mine are doing on my clit.
    I can practically taste him on my lips as I picture myself taking his cock in my mouth, wrapping my lips around it.  His cock is the last thing in the world I should be thinking about, and yet it's the only thing I can think about.
    A small moan escapes my lips as I press my vibrator between my legs, against my entrance.  I'm wet, a bundle of need and want and ache, and the vibrator isn't what I want.
    When I slip it inside me, I'm imagining Luke between my legs, Luke's cock inside me.  I imagine him riding me, my hands on his hard chest as he thrusts inside of me, harder and harder until I'm close to the edge.
    "Come for me, baby," he says, and I come harder and faster than I have in a long time.  But when I lie back against the pillow in my bed, the ache between my legs is still there.  I'm still not satisfied.
    Damn it, I think.  I really need to get laid.  But definitely not by Luke Saint.
    ***
    He's walking up to the house, his Labrador trailing behind him, wearing a light blue t-shirt under his jacket that somehow makes his blue eyes look even bluer.  The dog runs up onto the porch, and Olivia squeals as the dog brushes up alongside her and then licks the side of her face.
    "Olivia," I warn.
    "She's fine," Luke says.  "Lucy is real tolerant."
    "Olivia might not be," I say, eyeing her warily.  "I'm waiting for her to reach out and grab a handful of fur and yank it.  Toddlers can't be trusted, you know.  Or…well, I guess you don't know."
    Luke shrugs.  "I imagine they're a lot like dogs.  Except you're not allowed to kennel the kid, right?"  I give him a look and he laughs.  "Don't look at me like that.  I do know that much about kids, Red."
    "Are you seriously going to come out here and be my foreman?"
    "I've been looking over the orchard," he says.
    "Right now?"
    "Sweetheart, you're up late," he says.
    "It's eight in the morning."
    "I've been here since six.  I couldn't sleep."
    "So you just thought you'd come over here and walk around my property?"
    He shrugs.  "I needed to take a look around, see what I was up against," he says.  "Nice piece of land you've got here."
    "Glad you approve."
    "The cidery was too easy to get into, you know," he says.  "You've got a lot of expensive equipment sitting out there."
    "It should be locked up," I say, suddenly defensive.
    "Let me guess," he says.  "That was your foreman's job?"
    "Are you going to keep lecturing me?"  I ask.  "It was part of his job, as a matter of fact.  We had a problem, a couple weeks back, some guys poking around the property."
    "What kind of