TUCKER SITS THERE with a slight smile on his face and a huge erection in his pants. My tongue sneaks out to wet my lips as excitement buzzes through my veins. God, that monster is going to feel so good inside me.
My gaze falls to his neatly trimmed beard, and I wonder, briefly, whether I should’ve given Carin a shot at him. After all, beards were on her bucket list. But now I’m wondering what that scruff would feel like between my legs. Soft? Scratchy? I squeeze my thighs together in anticipation.
Hope and Carin were so right. I do need to get laid, and hockey player or not, I believe Tucker is the guy for the job. He has confidence without the ego, which is the biggest turn-on ever. When he’d said “you” in response to my question about what he wanted, I nearly came in my panties. And he seems steady, as if an earthquake wouldn’t shake him. I even admired the way he stuck up for Dean, even though I know the loyalty is misplaced. Tucker had to have known that if he’d lied about his friendship with Dean, he could’ve stood a better chance with me, but he chose
honesty, which I value most out of everything.
“Need some direction?” His voice is low and gravelly, drawing out those syllables. Die rehhhc shun.
Sweet Jesus, that accent.
“Just considering my options.” I love that he’s just sitting there, instructing me to take what I need. As if his big cock exists just for me.
I can’t wait, but I can’t decide what I want to do first, either. My mouth waters at the thought of his shaft dragging against my tongue, but my core aches at the anticipation of him stretching me, filling me all the way up.
“Why don’t we start with the kissing you’re so fond of?” he suggests.
I meet his hot gaze. “Where?” I ask coyly, which is weird, because I’m never coy. But there’s something about the surety in him that draws out the
woman in me, and I find I don’t mind it at all.
He taps one big finger against his lower lip. “Right here.”
As seductively as possible, I crawl over the console and onto his lap, allowing my heels to drop onto the floor of the truck. His mouth parts in invitation, but I don’t immediately press my lips to his.
Instead, I run my fingertips across his beard, from one side of his jaw to the other. “Soft,” I murmur.
His eyes darken and grow so full of lust that it’s hard to breathe. And then he grabs me, tired of waiting and tired of talking.
Our mouths slam together. He tangles a hand in my hair and I’m not sure if it’s to get a better angle or provide more leverage for the force of his invasion. Either way, his tongue is making me feel magical things downstairs. I’m forgetting why I almost turned him down.
I mean, tall, hot, dark auburn hair, scruffy beard? Why did I even hesitate? Oh, that’s right. Because he’s a hockey player.
Tearing my mouth away, I pant, “Just for the record, I hate hockey players. This is a one-time-only deal.”
He sweeps my hair to the side to expose my throat. “Noted. I won’t even remind you of this when you’re begging me for a second round.”
Laughing, I grab his head and hold it against me as he tongues his way down my throat to the tops of my breasts. “Never happening.”
“Don’t tie yourself to absolutes. It makes it easier to back away. More graceful.”
His words are somewhat muffled as he buries his face in my cleavage. A callused hand pulls at my shirt, and then I hear a frustrated growl when the neckline doesn’t lower enough to give him access to what he wants.
Good thing our needs are aligned. I reach between us and yank my sweater off, and his mouth latches on to my nipple before I can get my bra undone. When I reach around to undo the clasp, his hands bat mine away.
My laugh at his eagerness dies in my throat as his palm closes around one bare breast. I arch into his rough caress. Oh gosh, it’s been way, way too long. As Tucker’s mouth gets busy sucking on one puckered nipple, his fingers pinch and tease the other one.
He’s good at this. He knows how deep to suck, how hard to bite, how tender to kiss, and despite the rod in his pants, he acts like he could do this nipple-sucking deed all night long.
I rock my lower body over his erection, fumbling to push my skirt out of the way so I can really feel him. I want it off, damn it. I want his naked body rubbing against mine. I want him inside me.
I want it all.
I fish for the bottom of his T-shirt. He offers me zero assistance, because he’s too intent on my breasts right now. I find the hem and pull it hard. Only then does he separate from me, and the cool air in the truck causes my nipples to tighten even more.
“I don’t need more foreplay,” I tell him as I drag his shirt up over his head.
Oh God, muscle alert. Lots and lots of tight, smooth, rippled muscles glide beneath my palms. Gotta love athletes.
His hands tunnel under my skirt. “Is that right?”
There’s nothing graceful about the way his fingers shove aside my thong, and there’s no warning when he thrusts two of them inside of me. It’s dirty and so hot. Air whistles between my teeth as I inhale sharply.
“Like that, do you?” he murmurs.
“It’s okay,” I lie, and am immediately punished when he withdraws. “Fine. It feels good.”
He withdraws again and uses his now wet fingers to lightly circle my clit. My entire body strains and clenches and screams for more.
“Just good, huh?” he taunts. I give in. “Great. It’s great.”
“I know.” He looks smug. “I hate to tell you this, Sabrina. But you’ve made a big mistake.”
“What? Why?”
His fingers draw my thong tight, the fabric cutting into my swollen lips. “Because I’m going to ruin you for all future guys. I apologize in advance.”
Then he jerks the fabric aside and slams three fingers in. The graphic rawness of it comes as a giant shock. I can feel it—him—everywhere. Even down to my toes. A wave of excitement crashes over me. Holy shit, he’s making me come. Is that even possible?
I stare at him open-mouthed, and he grins back, white teeth against his tanned skin and his beard, fully aware he’s blowing my mind. His fingers move again, two of them rubbing against that spot that hardly anyone ever finds but me.
And he keeps rubbing it as he jacks his fingers inside me. And I keep coming. I let my head fall back and my eyelids fall closed and I give myself over to the pleasure that spirals up and through my body until I’m one shuddering mass of sensation.
When I drop back to Earth, I find myself lying against his chest, gasping for air. I’ve never come this hard in my life, and the guy hasn’t even been inside me yet. My heart is pounding insanely fast, and my sluggish mind is having a hard time keeping up.
He’s just a guy. A normal guy, I remind myself. One dick and two balls.
This is nothing special.
“I haven’t had sex in a while,” I mumble as my breathing starts to normalize. “I’ve been super stressed. My body really needed a release.”
Three long fingers flex inside me. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, darlin’.”
There’s smug amusement in his voice, but the guy just fingered me to orgasm (which never happens to me), so I guess I can’t blame him. He drags the pads of his fingers along my sensitive nerve endings as he withdraws, pulling another involuntary shudder out of me.
Between us, his hand rises and the wetness shines on his fingers even in the dark cab of his truck. I’m not prepared for the shock of arousal that hits me when he sucks them clean.
I gulp.
One swift jerk of a lever and his seat falls completely flat. Tucker lies down and beckons for me again. “C’mere and fuck my face. I need more of that.”
Oh. My. God. Who is this guy?
Maybe I shouldn’t hike my skirt up around my waist and crawl forward, but I do. It’s like he’s cast a spell on me and I’m helpless to disobey him.
“You’re gonna want to brace yourself,” he rasps, “because I’m going to make you come again.”
“You’re so fucking cocky.”
“No. I’m sure. And so are you. Now gimme that sweet pussy and ride my tongue.”
Oh, sweet baby Jesus. Sex with Tucker is dirtier and hotter than I thought it would be. He doesn’t look like he’d be this way, but isn’t it always the quiet ones?
I like it, almost too much.
His hot breath warms my skin as I lower myself over his face.
“Fuck yeah,” is the last thing he says before his mouth latches on to me.
He doesn’t just use his tongue. He uses his lips, his teeth to scrape across my hypersensitive clit. One hand is clamped around my hip while he uses the other to finger me. And his tongue? He licks me in long, sweeping strokes until I’m muffling sobs against my wrist. Then he parts me with two fingers and holds me open while his tongue stabs hard inside me.
He’s right—I do need to brace myself. I grip the sides of the seat and then I’m gone. He brings me right to the edge of the cliff and throws me over.
While I’m still shuddering from my second orgasm of the night, Tucker lifts me off his face and down to his lap where somehow his dick is free of his jeans. I reach between us and grab him.
“Wait,” he barks, but it’s too late.
I suck in my lower lip as the broad head slowly penetrates me. Greedily, I push down, wanting to fill myself up. His hands find my hips, and I breathe out a sigh of anticipatory satisfaction only to yelp with dismay when he pushes me off.
“Condom,” he says grimly.
I glance down between us in surprise. I never make that mistake. Never.
My hand flies to my mouth. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking…”
He fumbles in his jeans, finds his wallet and tosses it to me. “No big deal. It was just the tip.”
A sly wink draws a startled laugh out of me. I bite open the foil and then position the rubber over the head of his shaft.
“I’m clean,” I feel compelled to tell him. “I get tested after…” I trail off, feeling like talking about past hookups is bad form when I’m naked and about to impale myself on someone else’s dick. “Well, after. And I’m on the pill.”
“It’s all good on my end,” he says. His eyelids flutter shut for a beat as I roll the condom down the thick, hot column of flesh. A low moan escapes his mouth, and then he brushes my hand aside to take hold of himself.
“Ready?” he asks, positioning the head at my entrance.
I don’t know if I nod or whimper or beg, but whatever sound comes out of my mouth must sound like assent, because he shoves upward with one
swift motion until he’s seated to the hilt.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hisses through gritted teeth.
“And you’re damn big,” I croak, wriggling around on top of him.
He grabs my hips to hold me still and shallowly pumps into me. “Don’t move.”
“Can’t stop.” The friction feels so good. If I thought his fingers and tongue were magic, his dick is supernatural. I can feel him everywhere.
I dig my knees into the leather seat and rest my hands on his chest. The muscles flex beneath my palms, and I rake my gaze over his ridged abdomen, the light hair on his chest, and the thin line that leads directly down to heaven.
He’s as delicious to look at as he feels. I wonder how he tastes, but that will have to come later. Right now, I need him to fuck me until my anxiety about Harvard, money, and my home life is driven out completely. I want to be wrecked and he’s the perfect man for the job.
I slam down on him. A feral look crosses his face and then a large palm clamps against my ass. He powers upward, finding the leverage from somewhere, and even though I’m on top, he’s clearly in control, which is exactly what I want.
His teeth are clenched and I feel the bite of his fingers on my ass, pushing me downward with each thrust forward. I squeeze my thighs tight around him and give myself over to his care, allowing him to power me into oblivion.
“Come for me,” he mumbles. “Take what you need.”
Inside of me, his cock pulses, and then his fingers find my clit, stroking and teasing it until I go off like a rocket, shaking so hard I can barely stay on top of him.
Tucker rises part way to clasp me to his chest, pounding into me so hard that I have to raise trembling hands to the truck’s roof to prevent my head from slamming through it.
He drives into me, over and over, until suddenly he’s the shaky, mindless mess who has a hard time maintaining any control. He collapses back against the seat, taking me with him.
I allow myself a few selfish moments to catch my breath, luxuriating against the big chest beneath me. Tremors give way to contentment. A part
of me wants to stretch this moment out endlessly, curled up in this guy’s lap while his hand runs soothingly up and down my spine.
“You sure you don’t want to crash at my place?” he asks.
For a second, I nearly say yes. Yes, to going back to his place. Yes, to another round of sex. Yes, to breakfast in the morning, skipping work, and spending the entire day in bed with him. The need surprises and scares me.
I take a deep breath and gather up the pieces of my composure that he fucked into tiny bits. “No. I need to get home.”
Just sex.
Right. It’s just sex. John Tucker is good in bed. So good that he should be getting a trophy. But it’s not better than I’ve had before. It only feels that way because of the stress I’m under. Or even if it was the best I’ve had, that doesn’t mean anything other than he’s one more data point in the athletes make good lovers theory. Stamina. World-class fingers and tongue. A dick that could serve as the model for the large versions at a sex shop.
I root around for my shirt and jacket. I throw them on, not even caring that they’re likely on backwards. I need to get out of this truck and into my car.
“I’m ready,” I announce. “My car is only a couple blocks from here.” His handsome features soften. “You look a little shocky.”
I twist in agitation, but his expression shows nothing but concern. “I’m good,” I assure him.
Tucker sits up and removes the condom, tying it off and then dumping it into a nest of napkins. He fingers his keys for a moment and then starts the truck. “Where to?”
I let out a breath of relief. “Over on Forest. Big Victorian.” “Got it.”
We drive the short distance in silence. At the first glimpse of my car, the urge to flee is hard to resist. I have the door open before he comes to a complete stop.
“See you around,” I say lightly. “I’m walking you to your car.”
He lifts his hips to pull his jeans up, alerting me to the fact that he’s still half-naked. I try not to stare as he tucks his semi-hard dick away. He could go another round, easy.
My body pleads for more contact, which I ignore by climbing out of the truck. When Tucker joins me, his T-shirt is back on and his jeans are riding on his trim hips, the zipper undone. He still has his boots on.
A gurgle of hysteria shoots into my throat. He fucked me that good and he didn’t even take his boots off?
“I’ll follow you home,” he says. “I told you, I live in Boston.”
He shrugs. “So? Roads are shit and I want to make sure you get home okay.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve made this run dozens of times before.” “Then text me when you get home.”
“No phone numbers,” I remind him, feeling weirdly panicked. “It’s either the text or I follow you.” Finality rings in his voice.
Figures I’d have a one-night stand with the last remaining gentleman on this planet.
“Fine.” I fish my phone out of my coat pocket. “But you’re killing off all the good feelings.”
His light brown eyes twinkle. “Shouldn’t matter, right, because this isn’t going to be repeated?”
He has a fucking answer for everything. “You should be pre-law,” I mutter. “Give me your number.”
I tap it in as he reels it off, then unlock my car and practically hurl myself into the driver’s seat. Thankfully, the engine of my sometimes- unreliable Honda starts immediately.
I crack my window down an inch and murmur a hasty, “Night, Tucker,” and he responds with a quick nod.
I watch him in the rearview mirror for nearly a block, a lone figure against the moonlit backdrop, before forcing my gaze forward. That’s where my focus has to be.
The drive home passes by in a blur, though, as my mind replays the hot sex scene on repeat. Stupid mind.
But…the sex was so good. Would it really hurt to see him again?
I park on the cracked asphalt of the carport behind my house and just sit there for a moment. Then I rake a hand through my tousled sex-hair and reach for my phone.
Me: I’m here.
The response is immediate.
Him: Good. Glad to hear it. Feel free to use this number again.
Do I want to use it—him—again? It’s so tempting. John Tucker was hot as hell, fucked like a god, and was so laidback nothing seemed to faze him. He didn’t ask me any difficult questions and didn’t seem interested in wanting more than I could offer. How often does a guy like that come along?
Me: I’ll keep that in mind.
Him: U do that, darlin’.
I run a thumb over my lip, remembering how good it felt when he kissed me. Argh. Maybe I will use that number again.
Exhaustion hits me the moment I step out of the car. I need some sleep, STAT. Tomorrow’s going to be as long and tiring as today was, and I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.
When I stumble through the door, Nana is sitting in the same spot I left her. I suspect the only time she moved in the four or so hours I’ve been gone was to pee out the empty two-liter Coke bottle on the kitchen table. The bottle was full before I left. There’s a different magazine in front of her, though. I think it’s the Enquirer.
She takes in my disheveled appearance. “Thought you had a cocktail party.” A smirk forms. “Looks like you were on the menu.”
Heat floods my face. Yup. Nothing like a word from Nana to set the world back in order.
I ignore the jab and head for the doorway. “’Night,” I mumble.
“Goodnight,” she replies, her chuckles following me into the bedroom. After I’ve closed and locked the door, I pull out my phone and bring up
Tucker’s name. For one long moment, I stare at it. I’m tempted to text him something. Anything.
Instead, I go to the info screen and press “BLOCK.”
Because no matter how sexy he is or how many orgasms he can wring out of me, there’s no place in my life for a second round with him.
