Chapter Sixteen
The sun was just peeking through her bedroom window when Abby woke up. She stretched and took a moment as things slowly came into focus. Like the jeans on the floor beside the bed. Her bra tossed onto the chair in the corner.
Tucker’s boot near the bathroom door.
She frowned. Where the hell was the other one? And smiled. Oh. Yes.
And then kept smiling as she turned onto her side so that she could have a look at the man she never dreamed would be in her bed.
Tucker Simon was sprawled on his back, arms spread above his head, covers tangled and bunched up low on his torso. With his thick hair low across his forehead, dark stubble on his jaw and long lashes a girl would kill for—he looked hot and adorable and so damn sexy.
He was all kinds of masculine with his defined abs, broad shoulders, and square jaw. But the generous mouth and well, those long lashes softened him.
Carefully, she inched forward until she was snuggled against Tucker, her finger absently moving across his chest. She heard his slow and steady heartbeat, watched his chest rise and fall and she couldn’t help but think that it was the most wonderful sound in the world.
Memories of the night before washed over her and she bit her lip, cheeks burning. She’d been insatiable and he’d been, well, incredible, and even that didn’t come close to describing the night.
“Shit,” she whispered, raising her head so that she could see him again. “What have I gotten myself into?”
Would she survive Tucker Simon? Did a question like that even matter at this point? She was already all in and, well, there was no turning back now.
She spotted a freckle near his eyebrow and frowned, moving a little bit closer. Hmm. She’d never noticed it before.
“Hey,” he murmured suddenly, and she froze. Before she could blink, Tucker’s arm snaked around her, and then she was on top of him, staring down into a wicked smile.
“Hey yourself,” she murmured, finger moving to the freckle she’d spied.
“God, you feel good first thing in the morning.” His voice was rough, still full of sleep.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, my friend.”
He grinned and Abby’s heart turned over.
“What time is it?” Tucker asked.
“Early. Not even seven yet.” She frowned. “You probably have to head to the office?”
Tucker’s hands were on the move. “Yep. Got a meeting with a few high-profile sponsors interested in Kendrick. What do you have planned?”
It was weird. Small talk. Normal talk. Pillow talk.
“Nothing exciting. Laundry.”
“Laundry, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you do other than the bar?” Tucker asked suddenly, hands firmly attached to her butt. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you that before.” He looked puzzled. “I know you’re not at The Black Dog full time. You went to college, right?”
“Yes, for three years and then I interned at a publishing house downtown for six months.”
“Publishing. Impressive.”
“Not really,” she answered, breath catching when his hands began to massage in slow, sensual circles. “I like eating, so when my parents decided to scale back at the bar I picked up more hours and between my salary and tips I do all right. In my spare time, I…”
Damn, but he had magic in his fingers.
“What?” Tucker grinned. “What does the lovely Miss Mathews do in her spare time?”
“Sketch.” She barely got the word out. There was too much pleasure going on, and it was hard for her to think straight.
“Sketching as in drawing things?”
She nodded and waited for his reaction. Her ex had thought it was a waste of time. In his mind, making a living as an illustrator was pretty damn lean. As if being a musician was akin to winning the lottery. What an idiot.
“Interesting,” Tucker said softly, eyes hooded. “Do you sketch nudes?”
“No,” she replied, hands splayed across his chest. “But I could be persuaded.”
“Huh,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She let him have his way with her, his mouth trailing a line of fire along her jaw and up to her mouth. He kissed her so sweetly, so thoroughly, that all those places that still ached from the last few days sprang to life.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice still rough as he broke off the kiss. Both of them were breathing heavy at this point and the covers were now bunched at the bottom of her bed, leaving both of them naked.
“For what?” she asked when she was able to form a coherent thought.
Good god, but the man could kiss.
His hands splayed across her butt once more and heat pooled between her legs, there where his erection pressed against her.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t know that about you.”
There was a serious look in his eyes, and Abby wasn’t sure what to make of it. “It’s just sketching. It’s not a big deal.”
For a few moments, Tucker watched her, though his hands never stopped moving, and when he spoke, there was that hint of rasp in his voice. The one that drove her crazy.
“I know that your favorite color is orange.”
Abby’s eyebrow shot up. “How would you know that?”
“The bag you always bring to the bar is orange, your watch is orange, the laces in your running shoes are orange and you wear those little orange studs in your ears.”
“Wow,” Abby said softly, not really knowing what else to say. Something inside her tightened. Something fluid and emotional. Something that had no business rearing its head right now. She pushed it back.
“I know that even though you’re a classic rock kind of girl, you have a soft spot for country music.”
“Do not.”
“Do so,” he shot back, hands now pushing him into her. “Do you want to know how many times I’ve caught you lost in space thinking about stuff…like maybe sketching me in the nude—“
“Tucker, I don’t like country music.”
“Bullshit. Do you know what you do when you’re thinking of’—he edged his cock deeper between her legs—Hank?”
“Hank?”
Tucker grinned and jerked his hips. “Hank.”
“Oh,” Abby giggled thinking back to that first embarrassing morning at the hotel. “Hank.”
“When you’re concentrating or lost in thought, you hum that Chicken Fry song. Every single time. Chicken. Fry.”
“I don’t…” but her voice trailed off, because she did. “That doesn’t mean I like country music. It just means that I like that song.”
“Whatever, Mathews. I’ll get you to cross over to the dark side. Just wait and see.”
“So country music?”
“Yeah,” he grinned. “They don’t call me cowboy for nothing.”
“I’ve never heard anyone call you cowboy.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“We need to fix that.”
“Do you know what I think?” she said softly, moving her hips in such a way that Tucker growled like an animal, hands clasped to her.
Abby pushed back so that she was straddling Tucker and opened her legs slightly, loving that his eyes immediately went there. She was hot and wet and right now, in this moment, she was his. She wanted him to see all of her.
As her fingers trailed down her breasts, the ache inside her started to throb something fierce. It spread out like tiny fingers of exquisite pain, settling low in her belly and deep within the folds of her sex.
Tucker inhaled sharply when she ground herself against his erection. His eyes went flat and the pure, loaded look of lust on his face when she rose slightly—when she spread her legs even more—was enough to get her off.
“What are you thinking?” he said, eyes still on all that soft, open and—because of that visit to the damn spa—totally bare flesh between her legs.
Her fingers were now on her nipples, tweaking them as she began to rock into him. “I’m thinking that maybe you’re right.”
Tucker dragged his eyes back up to her. “About what?”
Slowly, she gyrated, loving how his big hands clutched her hips as if he never wanted to let her go.
“The country thing,” she said softly.
“I’m not following.” A sheen of sweat appeared across Tucker’s forehead, and the veins in his neck stood out. He rolled his hips and grinned wickedly when she gasped.
“Country music.”
Teeth clenched, Tucker looked up at her as if she was losing her mind. “What about it?”
Abby stretched her arms above her head raised herself a bit more. “You might be right about my taste in music.” She licked her bottom lip and grabbed his cock, smiling when he hissed. “But it’s not Chicken Fry that I’m thinking about right now.”
She guided the tip of his cock, fingers wrapped around the base, not stopping until she felt him.
“It’s not.” His words sounded strained and boy did Abby know the feeling. She felt as if her body was coming apart and he wasn’t inside her yet.
“No.” She slowly sank down onto him and threw her head back, hair falling down her shoulders.
“Jesus Christ, you feel so f*cking good,” Tucker murmured. “So f*cking good.”
Abby began to move. “Right now I’m thinking of that cowboy song.”
“Cowboy song.”
“Yeah,” Abby stared down into Tucker’s eyes as she rocked into him. Slowly his hands moved from her hips until he cupped the underside of her breasts. Licking her lips, she increased the tempo. She was so close to the edge that she knew this wouldn’t last long. Already she could feel an orgasm building—tightly coiled and ready for release.
Bending over slightly, she kissed the corner of his mouth, and cupped his face between her hands.
“Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” she whispered.
I’m gong to save you, cowboy. The thought echoed in her mind. It was there and then it was gone. There were no more words. There was hot, slick skin. Passionate sounds of pleasure. There were two bodies connected.
There was only Abby and Tucker.
And as they came together, chests heaving, hearts pounding, legs entwined, Abby thought that maybe things couldn’t be more perfect. Sure there were things to work through. Things she didn’t want to think about right now. But when she was here with him, connected on this level…feeling his body and soul melt into hers?
She thought that maybe, just maybe, she would be the one to save Tucker Simon.