“You should be scared of me,” he murmured.
That made me smile. “I’m not.”
“You should be.”
“Tucker.” I covered his hand with mine, holding it to my face. “I’m a lot of things around you. Nervous. Frustrated. Confused. Turned on.” I held his gaze. “But not scared. Never scared.”
Something in him cracked at that. I saw it happen—watched the wall come down, watched the decision being made.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped.
“No. I’m here because I want to be. Because I want this. Want you.” I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “So if you want me too, stop asking me to tell you to stop.”
He kissed me again, lifting me. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively as he carried me toward his bedroom, his mouth never leaving mine, and I felt the last of his control slip away.
CHAPTER SIX
Tucker
The bedroom was dark except for the faint glow from the living room fireplace filtering through the doorway. Rain hammered the roof, wind batted against the windows, but all I could hear was Emily’s breathing—fast and shallow against my neck.
She was warm against me, her pussy pressed against the hard ridge of my cock with every step I took. Our bodies separated only by denim and cotton. Her hands tangled in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me groan, her breath trembling as she leaned into every kiss as if she needed them as much as I did.
In my bedroom, I set her down slowly, letting her slide against me until her feet touched the floor. I felt every curve, every soft line of her. My hands stayed on her hips, holding her close, and I had to fight the urge to strip her bare right then.
Slow down. Don’t screw this up.
But she was looking up at me with those big eyes, lips parted, hair falling loose from her braid, and slow was the last thing my body wanted. I wasn’t supposed to need this. I wasn’t supposed to want someone who could see past the scars.
“If you tell me no, I’ll hear it,” I said. It was the only thing I had left to say that made any sense at all.
“Tucker.” The way she said my name—breathy and wanting tore something inside me. I felt it in every place I’d thought scar tissue had made me numb. “Kiss me.”
And I did. I kissed her hard, desperately. She gave herself to me, opening her lips, sliding her tongue against mine. I thrust my leg between hers, pulling her to me. When that wasn’t enough, I walked her backward until her legs hit the bed. She fell back with a soft sound, and I followed her down, covering her body with mine. The feel of her underneath me—soft and warm and willing—made my head spin.
Her hands were everywhere. In my hair, on my shoulders, sliding under my shirt to touch bare skin. When her nails dragged across my back, I groaned against her mouth.
“Off,” she murmured, tugging at my shirt.
I knelt beside her and reached back and grabbed my shirt behind the neck, pulling it over my head. She’d seen the scars before—on the porch that first day, at the clinic—but this was different. This was permission to look. To touch.
I waited for the flinch. The pity. The careful way people looked at damage they didn’t know how to process.
It never came.
Instead, Emily sat up, her hands sliding over my chest, tracing the lines of scar tissue with her fingertips. When she pressed her lips to the worst one—the jagged line that ran from collarbone to ribs—I stopped breathing.
“These don’t scare me,” she said quietly against my skin. “They’re part of you. And I want all of you.”
Something in me shifted, started breathing again. Something I’d thought was dead. I’d lived with the scars so long I’d stopped feeling them. But under her touch, they burned back to life. Just like I was doing. Every inch of her was warmth and smooth against my cold edges. Now, every breath I took was a reminder that I wasn’t dead inside after all.
I framed her face with both hands, kissing her with everything I couldn’t say.Thank you. I want you. You’re more than I deserve.
Her sweater came off next, and I was looking at pale skin and white lace and curves that made my mouth water. I traced the line of her collarbone, down between her breasts, feeling her shiver under my touch.
“You’re beautiful.”
She laughed, but it sounded a little sad. “You don’t have to—”
