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Tucker.
30. Succumb to Me
Iris
A creaking sound resounds when I gently open the door. It’s the only sound that disturbs the quiet of the night. I stare at Tucker in front of me, and the danger that emanates from his pores sends a shiver down my spine.
He says nothing as he stares back at me. He doesn’t move, arms at his sides. My eyes linger on the blood stains on his bottom shirt and at the neckline. But what really catches my eye are the scrapes on his knuckles.
He frowns as if he’s just realized who’s facing him, and where he is.
As if he hadn’t thought about it, as if his instinct had pushed him to come here. Near me.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he mumbles in a broken voice. “I…I think I needed to come here.”
I swallow with difficulty, think a second, then shift.
“Come in,” I murmur.
He walks past me, and I try to ignore his smell. A mixture of sweat, ground, and musk.
“Sit down,” I order him as I walk to the bathroom.
He doesn’t answer me, but I know he’s obeying me. I can hear the springs of my sofa squeaking under his weight. I retrieve the small first aid kit from under the sink, realizing only now that Tucker is in my house.
I straighten up, clear my throat, and head for the living room.
“All this so that I take care of you,” I tease him, trying to lighten the mood.
He doesn’t answer me, his look lost in the void. Shit. I don’t know what to do. He lets me sit right in front of him. He spreads his legs so that I can sit on the coffee table, in front of the sofa. I try to ignore his closeness, the warmth that comes from him.
It’s difficult because it causes my skin to rub against his. Even though my brain is focused on his injuries, my body is not at all.
That traitor.
I open the small kit and take out a compress and disinfectant. Both of his hands are on his thighs. I hold mine out and wait for him to hold one out to me. After a second, he does.
With furrowed brows, I sanitize his knuckles. He observes my gesture attentively, looking surprised by the gentleness with which I do it, a gentleness that contrasts with my usual character. I don’t know where it comes from. But I can’t send him packing now, I’m not inhuman either.
I then let go of his hand. He rests on his thigh, and I’m about to ask for the other one, but I don’t have time to before he notices the blood stain on his T-shirt. He grabs the shirt by the back of the collar and removes it with a sharp movement before dropping it beside him.
I stumble for a few seconds at the sight of his naked torso.
Stop being horny, Iris!
I force myself to look away but end up resting my gaze on him. I observe his large uncovered chest discreetly, his leader of the pack tattoo, the strong muscles of his shoulders. My glance goes along the few hairs of his chest, then the trace of darker hairs down his lower abdomen, their path ending under his jeans. I swallow again and notice that he stares at me, too, with intensity.
We don’t speak, we simply continue to observe each other. He doesn’t throw me any digs and I don’t insult him. A great first for us. This evening and that fight disturbed us both. I believe we are a little confused, plunged in our thoughts without really knowing how to act.
He holds out his other hand.
“Stop thinking,” he whispers softly, as if he could read my mind.
I frown and resume my task without answering him. That’s not true, I don’t think too much. Right?
Shit, he’s getting on my nerves, that stupid telepath. I press a scrape a little too hard but don’t say anything.
“I didn’t know if you were asleep. I wasn’t thinking when I came here,” he finally admits after a minute.
