The Polly Principle by Davina Stone

Chapter 18

Solo killed the engine

Pulling off his helmet, he planted his feet either side of the bike and let his gaze take in the neat weatherboard house with its rim of rosebushes. It provided another piece to the jigsaw he’d been putting together of Polly. Homely and quaint, it made him think of scones and jam and cream. Somehow he’d imagined she’d live in some trendy art deco apartment, all boho chic and crammed full of quirky ornaments, but this was more homespun charm.

So this was where she now lived with her “adopted” family. And yeah, now it made sense, her need for somewhere safe. He’d seen the chinks of vulnerability peep out from the depths of those green eyes. Then down would slam the shutters to keep him out.

He’d worked out the game he had to play.

Casual. Cool. The problem was that nothing in his body, or his brain, seemed to want to play by the rules. As he walked up the path, excitement revved, a steady hum low in his belly. He’d even bought a pack of condoms. Just in case. And when he knocked on the door, his heartbeat sounded as loud as his fist on the wooden surface as the pad of feet on the other side got closer.

Like always, whenever Polly was near, his breath got knotted in his throat.

The door flung open.

Her hair was tied up, but softly, in a casual up-do that encouraged little ebony curls to tumble around her face. In a checked cotton shirt, she looked like a fresh-faced jillaroo and suddenly he could picture her on the farm. It did nothing to calm his libido.

He lifted an eyebrow, trying for cool. “Ready?” He handed her the helmet.

Polly took it and frowned. “It’s heavy.”

“It needs to be, to protect your assets.”

She held it against her chest with a suggestive raise of an eyebrow and he burst out laughing. “Not those assets.” He grinned, feeling his face flush.

And, boy, did he want to take her into his arms and crush those gorgeous assets against his chest.

“Come in then.” She cast him a smug little smile.

They went into the kitchen and Solo took in the room. It was cosy and inviting, a big wooden table in the centre, cluttered shelves and photos haphazardly stuck on the fridge. A coffee machine and an array of teapots all different sizes and shapes sat on a shelf above the stove.

“Someone likes tea.”

“Rowena and Alice are tea addicts. Me, I’m a coffee girl. I need a proper caffeine hit.”

“Never anything by halves, right?”

“You know me.” She bit her lower lip, a mottled flush appearing on her cheeks. Quickly she changed tack. “So, now, how do I put this thing on?”

She was fiddling with the straps, scowling at it like it was some kind of slain animal that Solo had brought to her as an offering. Grinning, he took it from her and their fingers brushed. A zing of lust hit his groin, and the room suddenly felt thick with expectation.

“Like this.” He untangled the straps, slipping it onto her head, avoiding inhaling too deeply of her perfume and that sweet, musky something that lurked just below it. He forced himself to focus on the straps and not the nearness of her breasts almost brushing his chest.

Their combined breathing seemed to fill the space. His hands felt too large, clumsy as he pulled the strap around her chin. “You need to not have hair around your face.”

“That’s impossible with my hair,” she grumbled.

He grunted, focused. God it was nearly impossible, getting those curls to behave. Like their owner.

Gently he tucked the tendrils in.

“Feels weird,” she mumbled. Her cheeks were bunched by the helmet and it gave her a cute chipmunk look.

“All done,” he said gruffly as their lower bodies bumped.

Before he could stop himself he did something totally unexpected, even to him, and dropped a feather-light kiss on the tip of her nose.

Polly sprang backwards, one hand rubbing fiercely at her nose like he’d decked her.

“I warned you not to do that!” But she was grinning, pink in the face as she swiped his arm. And suddenly the energy was light and playful, like they’d finally negotiated a space that was okay to enjoy each other in.

“So where are we going?” she asked.

“I’ve been looking at maps and I reckon we should go north.”

“Good idea. The beaches up there are beautiful.”

“Crowded?”

“No way.” She laughed. “Most people still call Perth a big country town, sandwiched between the desert and the ocean. I reckon it won’t be too crowded.”

“Granted,” he said. “Sometimes it’s hard to get my head around how isolated it is here.”

“I love it. So much space,” Polly said. “Shall we go? I don’t think I can cope inside here much longer without the wind on my face, I’m getting claustrophobic already.”

She grabbed her denim jacket, a little backpack, and they exited the house. When they reached his bike he said, “I have snacks, and water.”

She nodded, eyes big in her face. Solo climbed on the bike and then instructed her how to get on behind him. “You can either hold the panniers or hold on to me. I’ll go slow, but the rule is to move with my body. If I sway to the left, so do you.”

“Okay, Capitan,” came her muffled voice in his ear. A pair of arms snuck around his waist and he tried to ignore the corresponding thrill that snaked its way down his spine.

“Hold on tight.” He started the engine, took it slowly, moving off with the easy grace of someone used to living in the saddle, and soon he felt her relaxing into him. Her thighs braced his hips as they made their way through the city streets and along West Coast Highway.

The heaviness of her body, the feel of her arms around him, the sway of her thighs, was a lovely backdrop to the great swathe of turquoise sea and low bush as the city fell away. After half an hour he stopped, they took off their helmets and he broke a muesli bar in half and handed a piece to her. “How are you feeling?”

“I love it.” Her eyes sparkled; big bright emeralds in her flushed face. “I could keep going forever.”

It suddenly struck him that riding off into the sunset with Polly pillion was an idea he could get used to.

“I’m going to show you to a special, secluded beach,” she said to him, dusting crumbs of muesli bar off her chest in a way that had him telling himself to keep his eyes firmly on her face.

“Yeah. How far away?”

“Another twenty minutes ride, I guess.” They got out their phones and she showed him on Google maps. “It’s not that hard; take the turning to Yanchep, and then follow your nose. You can’t miss it, there’s really only one road.”

“Okay.”

He tried not to let excitement take hold at the thought of pristine secluded white beaches, but his body pulsed out an unmistakable beat. And then, with a shared smile, they were slamming down their visors, and Polly climbed on behind him like she’d been doing this her whole life, and they were off, with the wind in their faces, until they reached the sign for Yanchep.

When he caught sight of the ocean, Solo’s breath hitched. Sure, the beaches over east were beautiful, some of the best in the world, in fact, but it was the absolute wildness, the white sand and turquoise sea and dune grasses sweeping off as far as the eye could see, that made his soul sing.

And now, with the most beautiful woman riding behind him, Jesus, what more could a guy want?

His heart felt like it might just explode right through his leather jacket as he got off the bike and unzipped it.

“Okay,” said Polly, ripping off her helmet and jacket. “It’s swim time.”

He looked at her, aghast. “Hell, I didn’t even think about bringing bathers.”

She grinned, and the dimples danced in her cheeks. “Ah, Dr J, looks like you just might have to skinny dip then.”

* * *

Polly hadn’t exactly staredbut she hadn’t averted her eyes either as Solo stripped. She rifled through her backpack and brought out her teeny-weeny red bikini and a towel. She knew she was one of those women whose curves always looked better the less she wore, and as she tugged off her jeans and T-shirt and shimmied into them, Solo, in full sunshine, looked pretty damn good too as he got naked.

He’d turned slightly away from her and his lean, tight butt and long muscled thighs dusted with dark hair made her mouth water. His back was beautiful, all the muscles perfectly defined like some classical Greek statue, and she remembered how he’d felt under her fingers, strong and hard, his skin velvet-smooth.

Firecrackers of longing crackled between her thighs. Maybe they could forget the swim?

When he turned around holding his bunched-up jeans in front of his crown jewels, she burst out laughing.

“What if someone sees me like this?”

She swept an arm out towards the empty beach. “Take a look, Dr J. The crowds are overwhelming.”

Solo’s gaze skittered up and down the beach, followed by a relieved smirk. “Okay, guess I’ll take your word for it.”

With a giggle, she yanked at the hand holding his jeans. Obligingly he dropped them. Polly’s eyes skimmed over his assets. God, no wonder he’d felt so magical inside her, in broad daylight it was obvious how seriously built down there he was.

Their eyes met, his molten with something that made her breath hitch and her inner muscles clench hard. But no, she’d dared him to a swim, so swim they would. She wasn’t going to behave like she was desperate for a shag or anything.

His fingers were warm in hers as she grabbed his hand and pulled him across the soft sand, her toes squeaking in the fine icing sugar powderiness of it. And then they were tumbling into the waves, laughing, splashing one another, fooling around like two kids.

Solo dived with the ease and grace of a dolphin; she caught the flash of his buttocks, then he was up, several feet away, throwing back his head so droplets glistened in the sunlight, and calling, “Ha, ha, can’t catch me.” And she was diving after him, giggling, spotting him under the water and grabbing his ankle. A wave tumbled them, and they landed in the white water, a heap of arms and legs and laughter.

And then Solo took her in his arms and kissed her.

Salt and water and strong biceps bound her to him, the salty taste of his mouth, the coolness of his lips a mind-blowing contrast to the heat of his tongue as it explored hers. When she wrapped her legs around his waist, his cock butted hard against her skin and, as another wave hit, somehow they kept kissing, deep, hungry kisses that made her body thrum with want.

Another wave, bigger this time and Solo pulled back, then smoothed the wet hair out of her eyes.

“You look like a drowned puppy.” He grinned.

“At least you didn’t say seal.”

“Why a seal?’

“All my blubber.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, woman!” She felt his hand smoothing around her buttocks. “This is the most beautiful butt in the world, you know that?” The eyes in his wet face were bright silver with lust, his black lashes clogged with water. His hand cupped the gusset of her bathers, and her clit obligingly throbbed out a response.

She gasped as he palmed her, soft yet firm, right here in the shallows, until she was desperate and pushing against the heel of his palm for release.

“I brought a condom,” he muttered thickly in her ear. “In my jeans pocket.”

“Oh, you did?” she managed against the wet skin of his neck, and loved how rich and ripe the sound of her own laugh was. “You wicked, wicked man.”

“Should we find some little secluded nook over in the sand dunes?” he said.

Couldn’t he tell she was going to explode if they didn’t? “Uh-huh.”

He removed his hand, and if she hadn’t known more treats were in store, Polly thought she’d probably cry from teetering so close to the edge. Anticipation pulsed inside her as they ran up the beach. Solo grabbed their shared towel and dried her, paying particular attention to her breasts and thighs, and she replied with little mewls of frustration and need.

But despite that, she returned the favour, taking the towel from him, biting at her lower lip as her ministrations caught on the very jutting evidence of his desire for her. She let her hand play up and down him under the towel; Solo let out a groan and his head kicked back.

He gritted out finally, “Lay the towel down.”

For once she was overjoyed to do as she was told, and soon they were tumbling around on the ground, kissing.

And, oh, God, how the guy could kiss. These were A-grade kisses, the kind that would make a woman come if they kept going long enough. And when his hand joined the party, fondling her breasts, tweaking her nipples into tight peaks, trailing across her still-damp belly and finding the sweet spot between her thighs, all she could do was arch her back and open her legs wider and let him stroke her towards heaven. Effortlessly, his touch pushed her higher, pulled her tighter, spun her around and around, until finally she came so hard all she could do was scream as her thighs scissored around his hand.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she whimpered as she floated slowly back to earth. She could feel sand in her hair from where her head had thrashed off the towel. She’d have to spend hours washing it out and she didn’t give a flying fuck-a-doodle; she just wanted—needed—him to fill her right up with his glorious cock.

“Condom now,” she gasped out.

Solo reached for his jeans and in moments was prepared. He tore the foil pack between his teeth, eyes shining as he muttered, “God, you drive me wild when you come.” Then he shifted his weight over her and Polly opened to him, the last waves of her orgasm pulling him towards his own peak so fast that it was barely any time before Solo was shouting his release.

“You’re going to give me premature ejaculation problems,” he gasped on a laugh. “Being inside you feels so damned good.”

“I don’t think a guy who gives his woman a humungous orgasm first can be accused of that.”

Fuck! Had she just said ‘his woman’? Like… like she belonged to him, or something? Had her orgasm-numbed brain just made that connection?

Solo had slumped heavy on top of her, but clearly he felt her tense up because he lifted his head. “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”

Was he? Could he?

That was the problem, wasn’t it? That’s why she’d frozen. Because Solo was getting right into places he had no right to be, places she never gave a guy permission to go.

Polly shifted, pushed against his chest. “Maybe you should move, you’re getting a bit heavy.”

It was a lie. Of course it was, but a naked girl in the sand dunes who’d just had her brains blown needed to protect her anatomy.

Not her vagina. Not her clit. They were all fine and dandy.

No, it was her heart that she was shit-scared about.

* * *

Some while later as theysat side by side, now partially dressed, and finished the last muesli bar together, a strange little melancholy descended between them.

It felt as if clouds were forming out to sea and rolling in like sea mist.

Except the day was still perfect as the sun dipped lower towards the horizon and the blue of the sky intensified to a deep violet streaked with pink. A lone seabird dived repeatedly into the water, looking for its supper. Somewhere in the distance its mate called for it.

Solo leaned over his knees, jeans loose around his hips, no T-shirt, his freakin’ gorgeous pecs and the perfection of his biceps and forearms still taunting her. He was so artistically put together it made her throat constrict with something almost painful.

“Where’s your dad’s party being held?” he said suddenly.

She turned her head to look at him. “Up in the wheat belt. About two hours inland from here. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing, just realised you won’t be around next weekend, that’s all.”

Her heart leaped but she reined it in sharply. “Why’s that a problem?” Okay, she was fishing. Fishing like that seabird right out in the waves. What did she want him to say? That he’d miss her? And then what?

He’d picked up a smooth piece of driftwood and was passing it around in his fingers. Beautiful, long, sensitive fingers, with slightly bony knuckles. Just how very sensitive, she knew.

As if on cue, her clit spasmed, damn the evil little thing.

She sensed he was smiling. “Despite you looking like a blubbery seal, I find I’m wanting to spend more time with you.”

She whacked him teasingly.

“Ow!” He rubbed his arm. “Watch out, I have a weapon here.” She went to swipe the piece of driftwood from him and they landed back down in the sand. Sensing his plan, Polly clapped her hand over her face.

As he tried to prise her fingers away, they rolled around, giggling. He managed to squeeze his lips through her finger and thumb and, when Polly felt the soft pull of his mouth on hers, she gave in, let her hand skim round the back of his head and dove into the sweetness of his kiss.

When they finally surfaced again, she found she was looking into his eyes and he was staring unblinking back, and something way too deep passed between them.

And, as though she had absolutely no say over her brain-to-mouth connection, no censorship left at all, out popped, “Would you like to come to my dad’s seventieth?”