To Be Your Wife

by Rae Kennedy

I go back to Tuck’s room and start dressing.

  He comes in a few minutes later, shutting the door behind him.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No,” I say flatly.

  “Kind of seems like you are.”

  “Why would I be?” I finish zipping my jeans, not looking at him.

  “Hey.” He steps closer to me, putting his hand on my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for?” It’s a question but it sounds like a dare.

  “For what I said to Haley. What happens in the bedroom between us is private.”

  “It’s fine.” I turn toward the door, but he puts his hand on my elbow.

  “Court.” His tone is firm, and it makes me stop. “It’s obviously not fine. I know you haven’t been in a relationship for a while, but coming from a guy who has, you’ve got to know sometimes people fuck up. And you’re not allowed to run away—you stay and talk to them and try to fix it.” His face softens. “And I promise, if I fuck up, I’ll do whatever I can to make it right, but you’ve got to talk to me.”

  “It wasn’t that big of deal. I don’t know why it upset me so much.” I’m not used to being this emotional.

  He wraps his arms around me, and I nuzzle my face into his chest.

  “You don’t have to explain your feelings—you’re allowed to feel them.” He kisses the top of my head. “It won’t happen again.”

  * * *

  The end of the semester is approaching quickly, and I tell Tuck I need to work on my thesis at home this weekend. He’s too distracting. I appreciate he doesn’t push for me to spend the night—even though I regret that decision each night when I roll around with my pillows for hours before finally drifting off, only to wake well before my dad’s five o’clock call, unable to go back to sleep.

  Monday after classes, I can’t wait to get into Tuck’s bed again.

  Tuck is working late tonight. Haley and I order a pizza and chat.

  Me: How late will you be?

  Tuck: I should be able to leave in about an hour

  That means he won’t be home for another two-and-a-half hours. I’m tired.

  Me: I can’t guarantee I’ll be awake when you get here

  Tuck: As long as I can wake you up

  Tuck: with my tongue

  I try to focus back on my conversation with Haley, but I think I missed the last few minutes thinking about Tuck’s tongue again. She’s telling me about her photography assignment this week involving a nighttime, long-exposure piece.

  “I mean, couldn’t we have done this earlier in the semester when it was dark earlier in the day? This assignment is cramping my nine-thirty bedtime.”

  “You really are like a grandma.”

  She nods. “That’s what I’ve been saying. Though, I’m not even as cool as my grandma.” She looks at me, eyes growing with excitement. “You should meet our grandmother. She’d love you.”

  Me: Haley wants me to meet your grandmother

  Tuck: she’d love you

  Yeah, grandmas do love me.

  * * *

  When it starts getting dark, Haley heads out with her camera and I retreat to Tuck’s room. I put on one of his shirts and slide under the covers.

  Tuck: On my way

  Me: You should hurry. I’m horny and waiting for you

  Tuck: I will get there as fast as I can

  Me: But I’m also so sleepy

  Tuck: Wait for me

  But not sleeping this weekend and the scent of him on the pillow and the softness of the sheets lulls me away quickly.

  * * *

  He doesn’t wake me with his tongue.

  Instead, I am awoken with thick arms wrapped around me and a hard body curled tight to my back. I turn over to face him, our noses touching in the dark.

  “Go back to sleep,” he whispers.

  “But I’m still horny.” Not being able to run off any energy has me wound tight lately. Stupid sprained ankle.

  “Oh yeah?” I can hear the mischievous grin in his voice. “What do you want?”

  “Touch me.” I drag my fingernails up his thigh, over his boxers to squeeze his ass. Fuck, it’s firm.

  “Where?”

  I find his hand on my hip and pull it down to cup my sex.

  “What do you like?” he asks, rubbing me through my panties.

  “What do you mean?”

  “In bed...what kind of sex do you like? What kind of foreplay turns you on?”

  It’s hard to think when his touch is making me throb all over. What do I like? Wes and I were teenagers, figuring things out as we went. I’m not confident that seventeen-year-old Wes even knew what a clitoris was. And the other guys, my fuck buddies, well...that’s all we did. We fucked. It wasn’t a long, drawn-out thing—we hardly even kissed.

  “I like you,” I say softly.

  He tilts his head. “You’re not answering the question.”

  “Yes I am.” My voice comes out breathy. “Just thinking about you gets me wet.”

  “Oh yeah?” His fingers move faster over my pussy. My panties are damp with need.

  “Mm hmm.” I squirm. “I’d think about you, in bed, and then I’d have to touch myself. Almost every night.”

  “You were thinking about me?”

  “Every time.”

  “Fuck.” He slides two fingers under the soaked crotch of my underwear to drag through my slickness. “Show me.”

  He rolls me over and pushes my shirt up to just below my breasts, careful to keep them covered. And for the first time, I don’t think I’d mind if he did expose them.

  But I’m drawn to his hands as he rips off my panties. He grips the insides of my knees, pushing them to the mattress until I am spread wide for him.

  His voice is low. “Show me how you’d touch yourself.”

  He kneels between my legs, heatedly watching as I explore my pussy with one hand. He presses his palm over his boxers, adjusting himself, and even though I can’t tell in the dark, I’m sure he’s hard. And I’m sure he likes what he’s seeing.

  “The first time,” I pant, “I imagined being spread like this, and you watching me.”

  He groans as he shoves his hand into his own underwear and I know he is stroking his cock. I circle my clit faster, my climax ebbing.

  “I wanted you to watch me come. And I wanted you to touch me.” I’m so close.

  He doesn’t hesitate at my hint. He sinks two fingers inside me and now he is pumping into me with one hand and fisting himself with the other. My clit is hard and throbbing with pleasure under my finger and I’m moaning uncontrollably. As the orgasm ripples through my body, I throw my head back and squeeze my eyes shut.

  As the last waves leave my body, something warm hits my stomach. I open my eyes and Tuck is pulling his boxers up.

  “Did you just come on my stomach?”

  “Yeah, don’t move.”

  He comes back with a damp towel and cleans me off, kissing down to my navel before pulling my shirt back over my body.

  “Maybe I would have liked to watch you too,” I say, still catching my breath. That would have been hot.

  “Next time.”

  * * *

  I’m itchy to be out on the court with them, but even if I taped my ankle up expertly, it’d be too risky.

  So, Haley and I watch from the sidelines while the guys play a game at the Student Rec. Nick was so excited when Tuck called him to ask if he wanted to shoot some hoops that I think he called everyone in his phone to invite them to play or watch.

  The way Tuck plays is so effortless. Everything—his long strides as he crosses the court, the way he reaches up and snatches a rebound, passes the ball behind his back and sinks basket after basket. Even Haley, who is not really interested in sports, is mesmerized watching him. I’m reminded of when she told me why he quit playing. I understand the sadness I saw in her eyes, but also the admiration.

  He and Nick high-five after every play an
d the grin on Nick’s beet-red, sweaty face could not be any wider.

  Tuck rebounds the ball, passes it to Nick, who fast breaks to the other basket, executing a perfect lay-up to end the game. Tuck is next to him in a second, wraps his arm around Nick’s middle and picks him up, swinging him around. The other guys join, and there’s butt-slapping. Nick is still beaming at Tuck, and if I were the jealous type, I’d think he was trying to move in on my man.

  He’s not your man, Court.

  The guys jog over to us to grab their water bottles and dry off with towels. Eventually, all the players come over, commenting on the great game. I get a lot of pats and sweaty hugs too as they tell me they missed having me out on the court with them. I’ve known most of these guys for three or four years and it’s overwhelming, especially as I realize how close I am to graduation.

  “You have so many guy friends,” Tuck comments as we head toward the exit.

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Why would it?” He takes another sip of water then puts his arm around my shoulders. “You’re coming home with me.”

  It’s scary how much I like the sound of that.

  * * *

  It’s my favorite part of the day again. I wear Tuck’s shirt and nothing else as I pull the covers up. I open my computer on my lap to do a little research for a paper I need to write.

  When Tuck comes in, I try not to watch him undress but my eyes keep peeking up past my screen.

  He’s wearing light gray boxers and I can’t help but notice the bulge in them as he gets in bed next to me. I don’t care if he saw me staring.

  He reads his book and it is quiet except for the soft clicks of my keyboard. Even the branches outside the window are still with no breeze to ruffle their new leaves.

  The sky turns from peach to purple, then cerulean to black and I shut my computer.

  “You looked good playing today.”

  He inclines his head toward me as he marks his place in his book and sets in on his nightstand.

  “I had fun. Wish you could have played with us.”

  “Me too.”

  “How’s your ankle feeling?”

  “It’s not bad, still a little stiff.”

  “Let me see it.” He pulls back the covers and slides his hands down my calf to my ankle. I bend my leg at the knee and he massages my ankle gently, feeling all around the bones and tendons. Then he rotates it side to side and up and down. “You should probably start doing some stretches to increase your range of motion and flexibility. Maybe we could do a couple easy jogs soon, too.”

  “Yeah, I was hoping I could run again by my birthday.”

  He looks up from under dark lashes. “When’s your birthday?”

  “Next week. I’ll be twenty-four on the twenty-fourth.”

  “A special birthday. We’ll have to do something special, then.”

  As he drops his eyes back to my foot, he finally catches a glimpse under my shirt—to the bare spot exposed by my lifted leg.

  “Are you not wearing panties?”

  I bite my lip and shake my head.

  “Come here,” he says, his voice a deep caress off his tongue, my ankle forgotten.

  I sit on his lap, straddling him, face-to-face. His hands slide up my legs, under the oversized shirt to grip at my hips.

  I trail soft kisses along the line of his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, then I nibble at his bottom lip. He lets me go slow when I kiss him, his fingertips graze along my lower back—just as unhurried.

  I deepen the kiss, holding him tight around the neck, diving in to taste him. I roll my hips and the delicious friction between the cotton of his boxers over his hard cock and my melting center makes me moan.

  His hands become rougher as I continue to grind on him, our kiss harder, wetter, more teeth. He growls under me.

  “You should stop that.”

  “Stop this?” I drag my pussy slowly along his length. “But I like it.”

  He smiles so I can just barely make out his left dimple. “Do you like this?” he asks, sliding a hand to my wetness.

  “Yes.”

  His fingers glide through my folds. “Do you like when I touch this?” He circles my clit, sending jolts of pleasure through my bones.

  “Yes,” I pant.

  “Do you like this?”

  A finger plunges inside me.

  “Oh...fuck...yeah.”

  “I can tell you like that. You’re already ready for this.”

  He sinks a second one inside.

  “Uh-huh.”

  He puts the forefinger of his free hand to my parted lips. I allow it entry and suck on it. He closes his eyes as I continue to suck and swirl my tongue around his finger. He loves it.

  “Tell me,” he says, voice hoarse, as he takes his finger out of my mouth and brushes it around my ass cheeks. “Do you like this?”

  His warm, wet finger rubs against my little puckered entrance.

  “I don’t know.” A guy had danced around it once or twice, but nothing intentional—nothing like the pressure Tuck is starting to apply against it right now.

  “I think you will,” he says against my lips.

  “Mm hmm.” My heart is racing, my skin on fire, I can’t form words.

  He pushes his finger into my tightest hole, slowly. I’m not used to the sensation of being filled from both sides. He moves tentatively inside me, massaging around and then finding an amazing little spot.

  “Oh...Tuck...”

  “Do you like it?” his words barely a whisper.

  “Yes,” is all I can manage before he picks up speed and I start moaning.

  He kisses me as he pumps into me faster with both hands, his thumb scouring my throbbing clit and I can’t take the fullness, the newness of it all.

  I come down on him, meeting the thrusts of his fingers, clutching onto his neck. He’s looking at me. Watching my face as the pleasure builds under my skin and I’ve never felt so connected, so exposed. Exposed but safe. My climax blooms to the surface.

  “Tuck,” I breathe. “I’m...”

  “Come on my hands, Court.”

  I clench around his fingers at his words and my head falls to his shoulder as I shudder over him. He holds me through it, his fingers stilled inside me. When the tension finally releases, he slips out of me and wraps his arms around my middle.

  That orgasm was different—strong and primal.

  He goes to wash up in the bathroom but when he returns to bed, my heart rate is still up, my skin buzzing. I want more. More of him.

  As he places light kisses into my neck, I find the waistband of his boxers and hook my thumbs inside.

  “Uh-uh,” he chides me, his soft lips on my throat.

  Why the hell not? I grunt in frustration. “Don’t you want to fuck me already?”

  He looks at my face, holding me tight. “Do I want to? I don’t even remember the night we met but I’m sure I’ve wanted to fuck you since then. But if we do it now, it will be a lot more than just fucking.”

  Then I say what I’ve been trying to deny for the last two weeks. “What we’re doing is already more than just fucking.”

  “I know.” And his eyes say everything I’m thinking.

  CHAPTER 15

  There’ s a gentle nudge at my shoulder.

  “Court.”

  I roll away, snuggling down into the plush pillow and cozy sheets.

  “Hey.” The warm touch is now rubbing down my arm and I start to register Tuck’s voice.

  “Court, wake up.”

  It is still dark outside and takes a moment for my sleep fog to clear. Tuck is sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed, and holding a bowl of oatmeal topped with sliced bananas and blueberries.

  “Happy birthday,” he says, smiling.

  Oh yeah.

  “Thank you. What time is it?”

  “Almost five. I thought we could try and do a short run, if you want.”

  I nod. He hands me the bowl and kisses me quickly
on the lips just as my phone rings.

  “Morning.”

  “Happy birthday, Sunshine!”

  “Thanks, Daddy.”

  “Wish I could be with you today, but I’m grateful this is the last birthday you’ll have to spend away.”

  “Me too. How are you?”

  “Aw, we had a calf born early this morning, Wes and I were up all night with her. Gave him the day off. Reckon’ I’ll call it a day a little early myself.”

  “Sounds like you need a nap.”

  “Now you’re speakin’ my language. Talk to you later, love you, honey.”

  “Love you, too, Dad.”

  I hang up the phone but when I look back up, Tuck is staring at the floor and though his face is shadowed, there is sadness in his eyes and my chest tightens. I get to say “I love you” to my dad every day, and Tuck—he can’t. Fuck.

  I pull his face to my chest and we sit wrapped around each other for a while.

  The oatmeal gets cold.

  We eat it together anyway.

  We jog about half a mile but every time I land on my left foot even slightly unevenly, a twinge of pain stabs through the outside of my ankle. I make sure to take deliberate steps, I feel like I’m going so slow, but Tuck stays at my pace. I can tell he’s watching me closer than usual, and when I say, “Shit,” when I rotate my foot a little too far, he stops me.

  “How about we walk back,” he offers.

  I take his hand and we walk back to his street, our fingers interlocked the whole way.

  * * *

  Tuck and Nick come back to the table, sloshing down some beers along with baskets of greasy tater tots and golden chicken strips.

  “These are so good,” Haley drools over the tots, stuffing them into her face three at a time.

  I bite into my chicken strip. It’s crunchy and juicy and steaming hot but I can’t stop. The food is so good. Why do I never come here?

  “Court, you’re up,” Tuck says over his shoulder, having input all our initials.

  Oh yeah. That’s why. Because I hate bowling.

  Okay, I don’t hate bowling, I just suck at it. I hate sucking. But Tuck wanted to surprise me with something fun so I’m making the best of it.

  I pick up my bright yellow ball. Even standing still I feel like I might slip in these stupid shoes. I approach the little brown dots on the shiny wood floor and stare down at the ten pins.