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“It’s not,” he says just as low, then dips his head for another teasing kiss. Sparks go off inside me as he lingers on my lower lip, pulling it so softly between his own and making me feel like we’re moving as one, breathing as one, beating as one.

He’s holding me securely, but with care, and why is that the best thing I’ve ever thought and felt at the same time?

If him holding my hips and barely kissing me is getting me this worked up, I swear to god I’ll probably die if he ever touches my neck.

Again, he’s the one to pull back and not me.

Turns out he’s stronger than me in more ways than one.

“If you want it,” he adds, when there’s finally a sliver of space between us. “Then it could never be wrong.”

I understand that, logically.

Even while my brain is having a hard time catching up, I know that he’s saying all the right things. I know Tucker would never, ever take advantage of me.

How can I be sure when I haven’t even known him for a month?

I don’t know, but I’m back to trusting my gut after years of ignoring it, so I’m not going to question it further.

Trusting Tucker doesn’t mean this isn’t a really bad idea, though . . .

“What about you?” I think to ask, and I hate that it took me those extra seconds to ask. I hate that I didn’t automatically think about the other person in this equation.

Tucker doesn’t seem to be having any kind of existential crisis—which is something I’ll need to unpack later because wasn’t he straight? Instead he chuckles and even bumps his nose against mine.

“Believe me, I want you.” His deeper voice betrays that, and of course there’s his hard-on that already feels impressive against my lower belly.

The reminder of how . . . big he is, all over apparently, threatens to drown me in a haze of lust, but I snap out of it before it can.

“I work for you.” I feel like I need to remind him—and me—because we might’ve been getting real familiar this past week, but that doesn’t change the facts.

It says more about me than him that it surprises me when those are the words that make him lean back, make his grip on me slacken just enough to make it clear I can step back, away.

“I get that.” He nods emphatically. “I promise I do, okay? But I can also promise you that nothing about the job will change if we do this, or if we don’t. If you let me kiss you only once more or five hundred more times and never again. And if you feel like something has changed, then you have my permission to shame me to my sisters.”

I chuckle at that.

How can he make me chuckle when I’m actively sweating with uncertainty, anticipation, and so much lust I’m surprised I’m still talking and haven’t dropped to my knees to suck his dick?

The idea, the image pops into my head and will not go away, so I do what I really want, and I shut off my brain again and let my body take over.

I don’t feel the blow to my knees. Sure, the floor is padded, but I’m sure I will later.

All my focus is on my fingertips as I reach for the soft fabric of his athletic shorts and pull the elastic band back then down.

His black boxer briefs are softer, tighter, and they’re wrapped around his ankles before I can process yanking them down.

I wrap my fingers around him, and can’t help but let out a pleased hum when I’m proven right—he’s thick and long, and I just know he’ll feel like heaven in my mouth. Maybe he’ll feel even better when he’s⁠—

No.

Let’s focus on my mouth only for now.

The first taste is teasing all of my senses, the second sets my veins on fire.

I reach down and squeeze my dick through my shorts. No way I’m coming untouched just from a lick.

A bead of precum clinging to his tip reminds me that I’m not supposed to think, and when I get my third taste of him, I can finally let go and swallow him halfway down.