by Chloe Cole
“Well we can’t just leave you like that, can we? Allow me.”
She dropped to her knees in front of him and without preamble, sucked him hard. His legs buckled and he groaned, trying to remain upright. Her mouth was on fire, her lips and tongue working him with enthusiasm.
He lifted a shaky hand to her hair and wrapped a length of the tawny mass in his fist. She looked up at him through slitted eyes and pulled him deep. The sensitive head of his cock bumped the soft tissue at the back of her throat before she sucked her cheeks in, creating a suction that was almost unbearable.
“Jesus, you’re going to make me come,” he groaned. He couldn’t hold back, needing her to finish it. He closed his eyes against the onslaught and used her hair to guide her to take him all the way.
Her throat vibrated as she hummed her approval and he bit back a roar. The pressure coiled low in his loins and his balls pulled tight, ready to launch. She ran her tongue over the head of his cock and suckled one more time and then it was over. He was coming hard, battering her throat as his cock jerked and pulsed. A rush of cum spurted into her magic mouth in waves as she stroked him with her hand.
When it was finally over his legs were weak and he leaned hard against the stall. His breathing slowed and he released her hair, caressing it gently before reaching for her hand. He helped her stand and she met his gaze.
She gave him a tremulous smile before she spoke.
“So are you sure you have condoms in your truck or do we need to go to the store?”
Chapter Six
As they stepped into the warm night air, Cricket tried to remember the last time she felt so good.
Years.
She snuggled closer to Tuck and he smiled down at her. If he was enjoying their time together as much as she was, they might really have the start of something here. She was already tingly inside at the thought of the night ahead.
He was leading her through the crowd forming at the club next door to the restaurant when a booming voice called out.
“Mini-Mick Tucker? Holy shit.”
Tuck slowed and an older, slight man ran up to them from the back of the line.
“Hey kiddo, it’s been so long! Shit, we thought you was sleeping with the fishes.”
Tuck’s expression went flatter than a soufflé gone horribly wrong. “Sorry, you got the wrong guy.”
“Mick, come on, it’s me, Uncle Skeet. You remember, your d—”
“Look, I said you have the wrong guy,” Tuck muttered through bone white lips.
The wiry little man’s smile faltered and he stepped away. “Yeah, maybe. Okay.” He eye-balled Cricket, then shifted his gaze back to Tuck. His troubled face cleared before he touched his finger to his nose. “Sorry to have bothered you. I thought you were somebody I used to know.”
Tuck laid a firm hand on Cricket’s shoulder and led her away from the club.
What the hell was that? Her instincts lit up like a Golden Girl’s birthday cake and she struggled to put the pieces together.
They had walked a silent two blocks before she decided to face whatever it was head on. She tried to keep her tone light. “That was weird, huh?”
“Yeah. I think he must have been drunk or something.” Tuck’s casual tone sounded forced but she let it pass.
After another minute, he filled the silence with idle chatter about school and some papers he needed to grade. She listened with half an ear and responded when it was required, but her mind was elsewhere.
Her mind was on Mick Tucker.
***
Tuck slid back into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. He slumped forward, resting his head on the wheel. He tried not to picture of Cricket’s face when he told her he wasn’t feeling well. Disappointed but resigned. He was disappointing her already.
What were the fucking odds, though? Two hundred miles from New York City and he runs into fucking Skeet McAllister. And not while he was alone. Oh, no. That would have been way too easy. It had to be when he was with Cricket.
Nausea roiled in his stomach as he tried to sort his thoughts. In his peripheral vision, he could see the light in her living room click on. It wouldn’t do for her to look out the window and see him still parked there. The last thing he needed to do was add to her suspicions. He sat back and started the car, then pulled away from the curb.
His mind was reeling.
Focus.
Okay, so what to do first? He needed to call Samuels and tell him. And then what? Move? Start over?
Not what he wanted. But this was bad. Really bad. It would have been different if some guy thought he knew him and said “Hey, Bob Jones, right?” He might have been able to play that one off. He was nothing if not a good actor. But the fact that Skeet had called him out as Mick Tucker? That seemed downright shady. Not to mention his strange reaction. If his mind hadn’t been addled with sex, he would have been able to think more quickly on his feet. And Cricket was way too sharp not to have noticed.
Fucking Samuels. He was all, “Witnesses are advised to keep their first names or initials when possible.” Supposedly it jogged the memory or some nonsense. Tuck had tried to tell him he’d be fine using a totally made up name. Shit, he’d been using them his whole life. But Samuels had persisted. Said it would keep him from making mistakes, not turning his head when called or signing paperwork wrong.
Tuck had finally agreed, but he’d chosen to use his last name as his first name, going by the logic that he’d answer to it just as he had on the football field in high school. But at least he wouldn’t be Mick anymore.
And more than anything, he didn’t want to be Mick anymore.
He smashed his hand against the wheel and let out a string of curses.
***
Cricket sat in front of her computer and swallowed the bile that rose to burn her throat. The newspaper headline leapt off the screen, the bold, black print in stark relief against the harsh white background.
Career Confidence Man Mick “The Mick” Tucker Murdered by the Mob
The verdict is in.Jimmy “the Face” Mancini has been convicted of first-degree murder in the case of The Commonwealth v. Mancini. This is expected to be the first of many trials as Mancini is just one of four men suspected of involvement in the pre-meditated murder of Mick Tucker.
This was a huge win for the New York City District Attorney’s Office as it represents the first major victory in the war against the Mancini crime family. The alleged Don of the family, Jimmy faces as many as eighty years for his crimes, which include racketeering, conspiracy to commit murder and twelve other charges.
The key witness for the prosecution was Mick’s son, Mick Jr. Only eighteen at the time of the murder, the younger Tucker had allegedly been his father’s accomplice since he was a child. Unsubstantiated reports from several of The Mick’s self-proclaimed colleagues who spoke to this reporter under the guarantee of anonymity claim the boy was a key player and was orchestrating elaborate cons by the age of eight.
While juvenile files are sealed, according to reports, Mick Jr. spent some of his formative years in Rockland Home for Troubled Youth, usually coinciding with the times his father was in prison.
Despite his rocky relationship with the law, Tucker held up well on the stand. His emotional testimony, including his account of the night of this brutal killing, clearly affected the jurors.
The screen blurred and Cricket closed her laptop with a snap. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She refused to embrace her instinctive horror at the Tuck’s upbringing. If she allowed herself to examine that and really think of what he’d been through, she would fall apart.
She needed to focus on his actions and the choices he’d made as a grown man. And from where she was sitting, it sure seemed like the apple had fallen right next to the tree. No matter how she turned it and as much as it made her face burn with shame, the fact was that he’d duped her. He’d pretended to be this nice, unassuming guy. Then when he’d had the opening, he made his move. And she was
so stupid, she’d made it easy for him.
She should have known better. Only a bad boy could make her feel that good. She was so dysfunctional, she could pick them even if they were in disguise.
Her stomach cramped as she mentally ran through the deeper implications. God, was he even a professor? Was the school itself a part of some elaborate con?
What had she gotten herself into?
***
Tuck stared at the letters on her office door.
Dr. Eleanor Malloy, PhD
It had been two days and he hadn’t been able to make himself call her. But it wasn’t about what was comfortable for him right now. She had the right to know the truth, straight from him. But if he told her, why would she ever want to be with him again?
She wouldn’t. A lump lodged in his throat and he swallowed hard. And it didn’t matter, she still needed to know. He wasn’t that guy anymore. The guy who spoke more lies than truths. The guy who took and took and never gave. The guy who shattered people's dreams for profit and the thrill. That guy was dead and gone, sharing a grave with the man who created him.
His temples pounded and he tried to hold back the flood of bitterness and sadness that warred inside of him every time he thought of The Mick.
“Okay, boy’o. Ya ready? Yeah? Good lad. Let’s go over it one more time. What’s yer name?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and blocked out the voice ringing in his head.
Then he mustered the courage to bring his fist down to rap on the wooden door.
Cricket opened the door a few endless seconds later. She looked like shit. The skin under her eyes was thin and bruised. Her cheeks were almost devoid of color.
He was too late.
“Just tell me, Tuck. Is it just me you fooled? Are you even a real professor?”
His mouth worked, but he couldn’t answer.
Her voice grew shrill. “God dammit, these are children’s lives you’re screwing with. I can accept that you used me. I cannot accept you using this school and these kids.”
As much as he deserved her anger and mistrust, her words rained down on him like razor blades.
“I have no choice but to report you to the dean. I have an appointment with him in thirty minutes.”
Tuck didn’t respond as nausea threatened. He handed her the damp sheaf of papers clutched in his hand, turned on his heel and walked out.
***
Cricket lay on her living room floor, scattered paper surrounding her. Her sobs had finally quieted to sniffles and she ran a hand over her puffy face.
The note had been bad enough, but the clippings and the newspaper articles had sent her over the edge. His letter had said he was including them because he wanted her to know the man he was before he had entered the Witness Protection Program and turned his life around. Before he walked away from Mini-Mick Tucker and got his degree to become Professor Tucker Lamb.
She imagined he thought she would be disgusted with his past in the way that he seemed to be disgusted with himself, even though he’d changed. Instead, it had torn a jagged hole in her heart as she pieced together the miserable life of the little boy he once was.
She looked down at the last few lines of the now soggy letter one more time.
So I pretended to be someone I’m not, then tricked you into being with me. Because deep down I guess I’m still that same guy who will do anything to get what he wants. And I wanted you so bad. Even worse? I wouldn’t take it back, because being with you is the most honest thing I’ve done in almost eleven years. I only wish I deserved to know you and have you in my life.
Tuck
She pressed her hand over lips still swollen from crying and jumped to her feet. He wasn’t getting off that easy.
By the time she got to his house, her stomach felt like a net full of butterflies. She knocked on the door and waited. The sound of footsteps creaked closer and she steeled herself as the door opened.
“If you did something when you were a kid that you can’t forgive yourself for yet, I can understand that. Everyone has regrets. But if you’re saying we can’t even give this a chance because you somehow coerced me to be with you? Don’t flatter yourself. You may have been good at the con back in the day, but I reeled you in as much as you reeled me in.”
He held her gaze with haunted eyes, but didn’t step back to let her in. He hadn’t shut the door on her, so she was going to take that as a sign of encouragement. She laid her hand on his chest. “You owe me a night, Tucker Lamb and I’m going to have it. If you want me to go in the morning, I won’t bother you again.”
She held her breath as she waited for his response, but he never spoke. He just reached out hand and slid it into the waistband of her shorts, using them to pull her into his living room before kicking the door shut behind him.
He was on her in an instant, unsnapping her cutoffs and shoving them roughly down her legs, stopping at the back of her knees to caress her lightly there before moving back up her body.
“Take this off,” he growled as he grabbed the neck of her t-shirt with both hands and pulled it over her head, baring her to his heated gaze. She hadn’t taken the time to put on a bra so she stood before him naked, but for her underwear.
“God, your tits are gorgeous,” he groaned as if he was in pain.
He wrapped a fist in her long hair and pulled, turning her head hard to one side. He bit her neck as he parted her legs with his hand.
He backed her up until her legs pressed against the soft velvet of the couch and she sat. With slow deliberation, he hooked a finger on either side of her underwear and dragged them down over her legs. He tossed them aside and faced her, staring down as if he’d been invited to enjoy his last meal.
***
Cricket’s sex glistened just inches from his mouth. He wanted to bury his face between her legs and drown in her. Instead he held back, teasing her, drawing it out. If this was the only time they had together, he wanted them both to remember it.
He closed his teeth on the flesh of her hip, then her thighs.
“What is it? Tell me what you want,” he whispered.
“Please put your mouth on me.”
He bent low and covered her with his tongue, lapping then sucking. She cried out as she moved against his mouth. He quickened the pace, suckling harder, faster.
Her body stiffened and he waited for her to shatter. Instead, she jerked away from him and sat up. She reached between them and grabbed his cock through his jeans and squeezed.
“I need to touch you too.”
“I can’t take it,” he rasped.
Instead, he stood and thrust his jeans off. He pressed her back, positioning himself between her legs. He halted and let out a vicious curse.
“I’ll be right back. No condom.”
She reached down to pick up her shorts and a row of five unfurled in her hand.
“You’re the smartest woman I’ve ever met.”
She pulled him close, rubbing her breasts over his torso and stomach as he fumbled with the packet. He finally got it covered and she was there waiting, giving him a guided tour to her hot pussy. He slid into her an inch, then two, gritting his teeth in an effort not the thrust hard and fuck her like an animal. She would have none of it. She snapped her hips to his, taking him all in. Sweet, wet heat stole his breath, flooding his senses like a drug. He struggled to form a coherent thought, to focus on Cricket, to make it good for her, but she wriggled restlessly beneath him, her patience at an end.
Tuck steeled himself then bent low, pinning her with his hips. He scraped his tongue and teeth over her collarbone, then clamped onto her elegant neck. As she tensed at the bite, he pulled back and plunged forward again, filling her, stretching her. She rocked beneath him, urging him faster, but he resisted her siren’s song. Slow and steady, he pulsed in and out, fanning the flames, drawing the anticipation out.
“Fuck that,” Cricket muttered. She slipped her arms around him and gripped
his ass with both hands, pulling him into her until he was seated to the hilt. She ground against him furiously, her body knowing what it needed and taking it. His resolve to take it slow blew out the window as her slick inner walls squeezed him. He matched her rhythm with long, deep strokes, his body straining towards release. They moved faster as he bent his head to lick and suck her nipple. That must have done it because her body tensed, tightening around him. He squeezed his eyes shut, digging deep for just a few more seconds of control. She was almost there…
A keening wail built in her throat and she shattered, convulsing around him. Shudders racked her body as she worked her clutching pussy over his cock. It was like a fist, pulling at him relentlessly he tumbled after her. He flexed hard one last time, groaning her name as his body exploded.
***
She didn’t know how long they slept, wrapped in one another on his couch, but when she woke up it was dark. Her leg was numb and she tried to extract herself from his hold without waking him.
“Trying to escape?” he asked, his voice husky and warm.
“Nope. Just trying to avoid the need for amputation, is all.”
He laughed. “Sorry about that.”
He stood and held out a hand to help her up.
She tried not to drool as she took in the sight of his naked body in the moonlight. His shoulders were wide, his chest tapering down to chiseled abs and lean hips. Her pulse skittered.
“Damn. Professor Lamb, you got it going on. You had way too many clothes on at the restaurant and I only got to see bits and pieces earlier. Me likey.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Doc.”
His sweet nickname caught her and she faced him straight.
