Tucker turns to me. Cups my face with both hands, thumbs tracing my cheekbones. "I haven't done this in a long time."
"That's okay."
"No." He shakes his head slowly. "I mean I haven't wanted to. Not with anyone. Not until you showed up in those red heels and told me not to clean up."
Reaching up, I take his hat off. Set it on the dresser. His hair is lighter underneath, messed up, soft. Running my fingers through it, I pull him down to kiss me again.
His hands slide down my back, grip my ass, lift me. My legs wrap around his waist. He carries me to the bed, sets me down, follows me onto the mattress. His weight settles over me. Solid. Heavy in the best way.
"This comes off." My fingers find the hem of his henley. He sits back on his knees, pulls it over his head. Broad chest, tanned, a line of hair trailing from his navel down into his jeans. Muscles earned from work, not a gym.
My shirt goes next. Then my bra. His eyes travel down my body. Slow. Reverent.
"Christ, Lena."
He lowers his mouth to my breast. Tongue circling my nipple, then sucking, his hand cupping the other, squeezing. My back arches off the mattress. His mouth moves to the other breast, teeth grazing, tongue soothing. My hips grind up into his.
His hand slides down my stomach, unbuttons my jeans, pushes inside. Two fingers press against my clit through my underwear, rubbing slow circles. My thighs fall open.
"Wet." His voice is rough. He pulls my jeans down, then my underwear, tosses both off the bed. Settles between my thighs. Looks up at me with those hazel eyes, then lowers his mouth.
His tongue drags flat up through my pussy. Slow. Then again. My fingers twist in his hair. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open while his tongue circles my clit, flicking, sucking. One finger pushes inside me, then two, curling forward while his mouth keeps working.
"Tucker. God."
He groans against me. The vibration sends a shock through my core. His fingers pump, his tongue presses flat against my clit, and I shatter. The orgasm rolls through me in waves, my thighs clamping around his head. He doesn't stop until I push at his shoulders, oversensitive, gasping.
Kissing his way up my body, stomach, ribs, breasts, throat, jaw, he reaches into the nightstand drawer. Condom. He strips off his jeans, rolls it on. He's thick. I watch him stroke himself once, eyes on me, and the sight makes my stomach clench.
He lines up. Pushes inside me in one long, deep thrust. Full. Stretched.
"Fuck." His forehead drops to my shoulder. "You feel incredible."
My nails dig into his back. He starts to move. Long strokes, slow at first, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in. My legs wrap around his waist, heels pressing into his ass, urging him deeper.
"Harder."
He braces one hand on the headboard. The pace shifts. Deep, steady, punishing. The headboard taps the wall. My breasts bounce with every thrust. His free hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit, rubbing in tight circles while he fucks me.
"Right there, don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it."
The second orgasm builds fast, tighter than the first. His thumb presses harder. His hips snap forward. My back bows off the bed, everything going white and tight and perfect, and I come around his cock with his name on my lips.
He follows two strokes later, burying himself deep, face in my neck, groaning my name against my skin. His body shudders, then goes still.
We lie there. Breathing hard. His weight half on me, half on the mattress. My fingers trace lazy lines across his shoulder blades. His mouth presses against my collarbone. Once. Twice.
"Do you have to leave tonight?" he asks barely above a murmur.
"Wild horses couldn't drag me out of this bed."
A real smile. Against my skin. Full, warm, unhurried.
Later, he makes scrambled eggs in the kitchen wearing only his jeans, no shirt, while I sit on the counter in his flannel. The blue one. My flannel now. He doesn't argue the point.
"I called Josie," he says, sliding a plate toward me.
