by Amy Andrews
Her hands stroked up his chest as she lowered her body to his, kissing his nipple, then running her tongue up to the hollow at the base of his throat, then pressing her teeth to the thick bound of the pulse in his neck. The nip she delivered shot a bolt of electricity to his groin, galvanizing Tucker into action.
His body couldn’t take her teasing in its current state, and trying to keep under control when he was inside her was going to be hard enough without any prolonged prior stimulus. He wanted her with such ferocity, such hunger, it scared the living crap out of him. His hands shook with it, and his chest pounded with it, and he could barely breathe or think from how much he wanted to unleash on Della.
Which was a problem. Because she’d already been with a man who’d unleashed himself on her—who hadn’t been able to control himself. And she was putting her trust in him. So yeah, they might finally be going all the way, but losing control was still not an option.
He still needed to keep himself in check.
Tumbling her gently over, he rolled her onto her back, tugging her underwear down her legs as she whisked off her bra and he settled himself between her thighs. He stifled a groan as her legs automatically came up around his hips, her ankles locking tight over his ass, her center perfectly aligned.
Tucker fought the wild urge to plunge straight into her depths, to push inside with a roar and pound them both to climax. His pulse raced as he raised himself up on the flats of his forearms on either side of her head, holding every muscle locked tight. His hands pushed the hair off her forehead as he gazed at her, searching her face for any uncertainty. The light picked up the different shades of blond and gold in her hair and made her nipples pink as cotton candy.
“Tucker.” She squirmed against him.
His breath hitched as her movements stoked his arousal even higher. “Tell me to stop at any time if you need me to,” he said, finding her eyes and locking his gaze. “Okay?”
“Tucker.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I mean it. Any time. It this gets too much—if you start to…remember things…I don’t care if I’m just about to come…I will stop. We can try again another night or not at all. Remember, we don’t have to do this at all.”
She gave him a steely glare. “Oh yes we damn well do.” Raising her head, she blasted Tucker with a kiss that rattled his bones. “I’m not going to break, Tuck,” she said when she finally relinquished his mouth. “I broke once. I’m not ever breaking again. If something’s wrong, I’ll tell you, otherwise don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
Then she kissed him again, flushing pure, hot need straight to his groin, and there were no more reasons to hold back. Tucker forced himself to relax, forced his muscles to loosen, his erection finding the natural notch of her entrance, and, arching his back, he slowly, slowly sank inside her hot, slick channel, groaning into her neck as he seated himself high and hard, right to the hilt.
She gasped, and the air was heavy with their panting as they both absorbed the moment. Tucker recovered first, lifting onto his forearms again. “Okay?” He searched her eyes for any hint of fear or rejection.
Grabbing his face, she dragged his mouth to hers. “Yes,” she muttered against his lips. “Keep going.”
Reining in the race of his heart and the itch up his spine demanding he pull out and slam back in again, Tucker set up a rhythm guaranteed to drive him crazy. A slow, steady in and out that was like a blowtorch to his testicles. He took his time ensuring he pulled all the way out before pushing all the way in again, letting her feel the entire length of him with each thrust, teasing her clit with the crown of his dick with each withdrawal and teasing it again as he ground his pelvic bone with every deep thrust.
Her soft gasps and her low moans were like feathers stroking over his sensitized skin, and Tucker gritted his teeth, ignoring the drag at his loins and the stirring in his balls. He went through The Lumberjack’s stock inventory from earlier tonight, one by one, to push back the climax that hovered so very close, to stop himself from lifting her leg and pushing it toward her chest and hammering into her.
But he didn’t know how much longer he could last.
Coated in a fine film of sweat, he hauled himself up on one forearm and slipped a hand between them, finding the hard pearl of her clit amid the slick heat between her legs. She cried out, her eyes flying open. “God, Tucker, yes.” She grabbed him hard by the shoulder. “There, just there.”
He rubbed her just there, all while keeping up the steady thrusting of his hips and staving off his own orgasm, which was bubbling like a volcano beneath the surface, threatening to blow. And then suddenly she gasped and cried out his name, “Tucker!” as the walls of her sex clenched him hard.
“Yes,” he muttered, his body screaming at him to increase the tempo of his thrusts, but fighting it every inch of the way, fighting for control, fighting to hold on to his own orgasm as she milked his length, magnificent in her thrall. Her hair messy, her forehead scrunched into deep lines of concentration, those kissable lips parted.
Only as her orgasm faded did he submit to his own, but still he didn’t rush. He didn’t hammer or piston, despite the wild urgings of his libido. He didn’t thrash and let himself go. He just gathered her close and buried his face in her neck, keeping up the same pace, sure and steady, his hands twisted in the sheets as he slowly let out the rope, breathing heavily against the river of fire bursting for release from his balls.
And somehow, suppressing the rush of it took it tantric, drawing it out in one long release that he shuddered through quietly, internalizing it as much as possible, trying not to be too loud or animalistic in his pleasure, to keep himself in check despite the mad beat of his heart and the harsh rush of his breath.
He gasped as the last spasm of his climax released him, slumping against her, more spent than he’d ever been in his life. His head spun, and he shut his eyes, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
Eventually, Della stirred beneath him. “That was…”
Smiling into her neck, Tucker said, “My thoughts exactly.”
Dragging himself out of his near coma, he hauled himself up on his forearms again, frowning as the pink light showcased two tear tracks. “Della?” He frowned. “Are you okay? Did I—”
He went to withdraw, but she clutched him tighter. “No. Stay.” She smiled. “I’ve never felt better.”
Tucker was having trouble marrying the tears with her assurances. Sure, people cried happy tears, but he’d never made a woman cry in bed before, and the fact that it was Della did not sit well. “Okay…so, why are you crying?”
“What?” she said with a tease in her voice, her arms going around his neck as he continued to stare at her, nonplussed. “You never cried after sex before?”
Tucker gave himself a mental shake, forcing himself to lighten up. “Only the first time.”
She laughed, and he felt it squeeze around his cock. “Why?”
“Best ten seconds of my life.”
She laughed again, her internal muscles pushing him half out. Aware he was probably squashing her under his grizzly weight, he slipped from her body and rolled onto his back, scooping her up so her head was lying on his shoulder, her body pressed against his side. A long sigh slipped from her lips, and Tucker shut his eyes. He knew exactly how she felt.
“I wish that had been my first time,” she said quietly into the warm, silent glow. “I wish I’d waited for you, Tucker Daniels.”
The sleepy wistfulness in her voice was like a hot fist to his gut. He wished she’d waited for him, too. He wished he’d waited for her.
Crap. He was in way too deep.
Tucker stirred about half an hour later, waking to the glorious warmth of Della still plastered to his side and the less-glorious stickiness of the condom. Moving carefully, he pulled his arm out from under her and crept out of bed. Heading to her bathroom, he ditch
ed the condom, used the toilet, and returned to her room to dress and leave.
Except when he laid eyes on her again, he didn’t want to leave.
A month ago, he would have worried about what they’d done, about its impact. But not tonight. Not anymore. Della deserved great sex, and she’d chosen him. And for now—nothing else mattered.
He certainly refused to think about what happened next. What happened after, when their lessons were done and she started looking around her at all the world had to offer. Right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted to get back in bed with her and pick up where they left off.
Except…she hadn’t asked him to stay. She’d never asked him to stay. He’d hoped she might have by now, even if it had meant adding an extra shade of blue to his balls. But she never had. Nor had she tried to stop him from leaving.
But he didn’t want to leave tonight. Not after what they’d just shared.
She stirred briefly as he slipped in beside her, draping her arm across his chest, snuggling into him, her body cleaving to his in her slumber. A feeling of rightness, of belonging, of contentment, filled up his chest, threatening to fracture his ribs as it grew bigger and bigger.
Kissing the top of her head, Tucker pulled up the sheet and flicked out the light.
Chapter Seventeen
Della couldn’t see, she couldn’t breathe. Her throat swelled, and her lungs seized. Nausea roiled through her gut as an oily slick of bile coated her stomach. Adrenaline pumped into her system as the darkness pressed in on her, sitting like a dead weight on her chest. Her pulse ratcheted up as she grabbed for breath, waiting for the hand to come from the dark, for the squeeze at her throat, for the blunt force to push past her lips and teeth and invade her mouth.
Coughing and sputtering, she dry-heaved as the memory from her past sank barbs into her flesh, twisted liked vines around her body. Panicked, she broke through the layers of darkness, sitting bolt upright in bed, fully in terror’s grip.
She stared blindly into the night. It was dark. So dark. Nothing but the staccato hammer of her pulse in her ears, the never-ending blackness, and the old movie reel in her head stuck in the same rut. Clawing at her throat, gasping for air, she groped blindly for the light, barely registering the presence of a warm male body, barely hearing the puzzled “Della?” as her fingers desperately sought the switch. “Della?”
He was sitting now, too, but nothing mattered except the light. Panic was making her fingers useless, and she whimpered in frustration and then in triumph as they finally located the tiny little button. Pink light flooded the room. Relief flooded her system. The barbs fell away, and the vines retreated. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she hugged them tight, waiting for the toxic cling of memories to recede.
They always took their time in retreat.
“Della? Are you okay? It’s me, Tucker.”
Tucker. It was Tucker. Tucker was still here.
She knew on one level that Tucker being here, witnessing this, was going to matter a great deal soon enough, but right now, she could barely hear him through the ringing in her ears. All her concentration was on her breath, on bringing it under control, just as Selena had taught.
“Hey,” he said. Even through the distortion of her hearing, the gentleness in his voice was coming through loud and clear. “Can you tell me what’s going on? How can I help?”
His hand slid onto her shoulder, also gentle, but Della flinched nonetheless, her system still too overstimulated and hyperreactive. He dropped his hand away without comment, and he just sat beside her as her breathing slowly came back under control and the darkness still rimming her peripheral vision finally cleared. The urge to cry was strong, but she fought it.
She’d already humiliated herself once. She wouldn’t compound it with tears.
Damn it. She’d had this amazing night, when it finally felt like she was reclaiming her life and banishing the ghosts—and wham! Major panic attack/freak out. Right in front of Tucker. The guy she’d spent the last couple of months convincing she was fine. She was strong. She was ready to move on. Ready to embrace life.
This is why she hadn’t asked him to stay the night, even though she’d hated watching him leave. Because how did she explain to another adult she needed the light on to sleep? Like some little kid? Every other grown-up in the world, it seemed, needed dark fifty layers deep to sleep, but she still needed a night-light. How did she ask someone to upend their routine, to mess with the delicate day/night balance a human body requires to adequately function, so she could sleep?
This was why she was better off alone.
“Are you okay now?”
Della shook her head. A deep well of hollowness opened up in the pit of her stomach, and she pulled the sheet up over her nudity, lowering her knees so she could tuck it firmly under her arms. “You should go.”
“What?”
Ignoring the note of incredulity in his voice, she gave him a gentle shove with her shoulder. “I’m fine. Just go, okay?” She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to see pity or amateur psychoanalysis in his eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I don’t need you here.”
He didn’t answer for a beat or two, and then, “I’d like to stay anyway.”
The kindness in his voice was like steel wool on all the rawness inside. “Why?” she demanded, blinking back tears as she glared at him. “So you can humor the head case?”
“Della…” His hand lifted a little like he was going to touch her, but then he seemed to think better of it and dropped his hand to his thigh. “I don’t think you’re a head case. I think you’re a warrior.”
She snorted at the very idea. She didn’t feel like a warrior. She felt tiny and scared and…ashamed. “Who needs a night-light?”
“Sure.” He smiled at her. “Warriors use whatever is at their disposal to fight and survive.”
Oh God. Her heart contracted. He always knew just what to say. And…she loved him for it.
Crap. This was bad. Super bad.
Della’s pulse thudded like bells of doom in her chest. She’d gone and done the stupidest thing in the world and fallen in love with him.
It was only supposed to be a sex thing. A temporary thing. She’d promised him that at the beginning of all this. Not love. Not feelings. But her chest was practically bursting right now, flooding with feelings.
Crappity crap. They were supposed to go back to being friends, damn it.
How dumb was she? And how unfair was life? To give her this wonderful man when she was incapable of offering him any kind of normal. And why would he want her, anyway?
That was the insidiousness of what she’d been through. How sullied and unworthy she sometimes still felt. Why would she inflict herself and her hang-ups on a guy who’d been so good for her? So good to her.
The unjustness of the situation dug talons into her heart. After everything she’d been through, she deserved a guy like Tucker. And she was so much stronger than she’d ever been, but he deserved better.
Her nose prickled as she fought off the tears. “Can you please just go?”
His gaze searched hers, and Della felt it probe right to the back of her brain. “I will, if that’s what you want. But…I’d rather stay.”
Della shook her head. She just wanted to curl in a fetal ball and cry her eyes out. “I want you to go.”
“Because of…the light?”
No. Not just the light. But even in full panic mode, she wasn’t about to admit she’d fallen in love with him. “Yes. Because of the light. Because I feel…stupid and…infantile and…humiliated.” She didn’t have to lie about that—her cheeks were still flushed with her mortification.
“Is that why you haven’t asked me to stay the night?”
Della gave a bitter kind of half laugh. “Give the man a
cigar.”
“God, Della…” He half turned in the bed so he was facing her, his big, broad shoulders and wide chest filling her peripheral vision. “You seriously think I care about whether the light’s on or not?” His eyes raked her face, pleading and earnest. “If you need it, then you need it. Hell, if you need the sun in the room to sleep at night, I’ll pluck it out of the sky for you and hang it over there in the corner.”
Her breath stuck in her throat at his words, at their absolute sincerity. To have a guy offer to do something like that? Her chest suddenly felt way too tight. He was too much. Each word, each look, each little thing he did for her were like tiny arrows to her heart.
“It’s just a stupid psychological crutch,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “But I can’t seem to let it go.”
He raised his hand again, hesitating for a moment as if waiting for her to shrink back. When she didn’t, he gently cupped her cheek. “It’s not stupid. And everyone needs a crutch sometimes.”
Della doubted Tucker ever had. “But what if I need it forever?” On her good days—which was most days, now—Della was okay with the thought that she might always need the light on. On her bad days, it felt like the ultimate failure.
“Some people do need them forever. And that’s okay, too.” He shrugged. “But if you’re worried about me sleeping with the light on? Then don’t. I sleep like a rock, and even if I didn’t, I would still be okay with the light situation. And—” He paused for a moment, his eyes roaming over her face like he was trying to commit it to memory. “Any man worth his salt will be, too.”
Tears burned at the back of Della’s eyes. Selena had assured her that any potential partners would understand, but hearing it from Tucker, knowing that he was okay with it, had given her hope for the future.
Not that she wanted any other man.
His thumb brushed along her cheekbone. “Can I please stay the night?” he asked, his voice a low murmur.
