Page 66 of Pretty Little Scars

“Use your words, beautiful.”

Beautiful.

No one’s ever called me that before, and he does it all the time.

“I understand.”

His green eyes soften, and he lowers to his elbow so he can kiss me. “Good girl.”

That thumb, that’s now trapped between us, flexes, and there is no way I can hold back.

“Please, Tucker. I need to—ah, fuck.”

“Come for me. Squeeze the hell out of my cock.”

My back bows, and I clench down on him, coming harder than I ever have in my life.

“Fuck, you’re strangling me. Goddamn it, Duchess.”

Before I can come down from that high, or be horrified at the thought of my scars being on full display in the morning sunlight, Tucker pulls out, flips me onto my stomach, yanks my hips up, and slams right back inside me. His fingers are so tight on my hips, he’s sure to leave bruises, and it’s fuckingawesome.

“Tuck—”

“I told you, I want to see all of you.” His thumb covers my puckered muscle, a place thatno onehas ever touched, and it makes me hold my breath and cover my mouth with my hand. “I want every bit of you, Duchess. No covering your voice. You’re going to scream my name with this one.”

Is he even real? Holy?—

His hips hit my ass, the tip of his thumb slips inside, and then this incredible man reaches around and rubs my clit, and my soul leaves my body.

“Give me another. You’ve got one in you, baby. Make a mess of me.”

“Tucker!”

He bucks against me, and his teeth grip onto the fleshy top of my shoulder as he comes apart. I can feel him fill me, and it doesn’t scare me.

It doesn’t scare me.

He’s still inside me when he rolls us to the side, to the same position we woke up in, and he peppers kisses all over my shoulder and neck.

“Holy shit,” I whisper, and I feel him smile against my neck.

“Nowwe’ll take a shower, and I’ll fuck you against the tile.”

“It’s about damn time.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

TUCKER

“So what you’re saying is, you’re a master baker.” I eye my girl as she bustles around my kitchen, pulling together homemade huckleberry muffins like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like she should be featured on a baking show.

I would watch.

“No, I just like to bake,” she corrects me. “And this shouldn’t be too impressive to you, given how well you cook.”

“Cooking and baking are two different things.”

“You’re right. Baking adds inches to my hips.” She smirks, and I narrow my eyes at her.