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“You have no idea how stunning you are right now. I am taking a mental picture to pin up on the wall of my mind.”
“You talk too much.”
I know if I open my eyes, he will be watching me, and I don’t want him to see how Tucker-drunk his kisses are making me. Sangria has nothing on what his mouth is doing to my senses. I am drowning in wanton lust, fueling my need to want to climb his beanstalk.
My sensible side mentally taps me on the shoulder.Yo, Ophelia.Not. Gonna. Happen.
The more he kisses me, the deeper I fall under his spell until my libido demands more from my stubborn pride. “Royal…” Even my breathless voice is betraying me.
God, I need an intervention.
“Royal,” I mumble-pant when our lips part for a second.
“Mmm…?” he asks lazily before our lips reconnect, continuing their dance while what little there is of my thong is melting away.
My nipples are drilling holes through my lace bra—a snapshot of Madonna’s cone bra floats through my lust-soaked mind. They ache to be touched. I want them plucked like the strings on a harp until I can’t stand the pleasure-filled pain.
“Tucker…” I gasp out when his teeth bite down a little harder before his mouth soothes the pain away.
“That’s my name.” He presses tender kisses to my eyelids, causing a faint mewl to break free from me before his lips lock back onto mine and start another slow, intimate waltz, which I allow for longer than I should.
“Oh, God… Tucker…” I gasp, dragging in oxygen. Cripes, the man’s kisses are intoxicating.
“Yes, Shagspeare?” He sounds a mix of aroused and smug. One hand grips the bare skin of my waist while his other hand has slipped under my butt cheek, his thick fingers splayed too close to my soaking pussy.
We need to stop before I beg him for more.
I open my eyes to find our noses are practically touching.
Tucker rests his forehead against mine. “There you are, Hamlet. Care to rate me out of ten?”
“You have proven your point.”Cocky bastard.Of course, he gets full marks. I dared Tucker’s kiss to be awful, but all it did was make me crave more of what his mouth could offer me, which is everything.
I clamp my hands on his shoulders, fighting the urge to touch my mouth where Tucker’s beard and mustache leave my lips feeling bee-stung or touch myself until I come. I am strongly leaning toward box number two.
God, I ache for this man. The mere thought of the things his facial hair could do to my va-jay-jay has me squirming in his arms.
My eyes pop wide.
What the hell?
“Is there something on your mind?” he asks innocently, but he damn well knows what he is packing between his legs.
Oh. My.
“Your beanstalk branch is poking me in the stomach.” I can’t admit it feels a lot thicker than a branch, more like a tree trunk.
His forehead jerks away from mine. “Did you just say, ‘beanstalk branch?’” He barks out a sharp laugh. “I can assure you, Shagspeare, my cock is no beanstalk. And the reason you are feeling anything is that you started to climb me and have your right knee partly on my thigh and the bed, and then you squirmed. Not that I am complaining.”
My head snaps down to see there is no space between us. I am officially a randy monkey who latched onto his body.
Oh, my God. And that’s why his right palm is cupping my buttock to help steady me. Tucker made sure I didn’t rub myself against him. He’s the one being the gentleman.
My face is a thousand degree furnace. “Oh, I am so sorry.”For getting carried away.How did I not know I did that?
“Don’t be. I had you under control.”
“You had me under control?” I scoff more from the embarrassment that he felt I was so under his kissing spell that I didn’t notice I had tried to climb his beanstalk.
