Do I tell him? Do I admit my burning crush? Does he even feel the same way? Or is he teasing me, trying to get me to admit something just because he can?
No, that’s not the case. Tucker is not like that. He’s sweet, caring, considerate, sexy, and irresistible. If I tell him I want to fuck him, what would that do to our relationship? Would it ruin everything we built back up over the last few weeks? But what would happen if I didn’t tell him? Would the tension grow so thick that I eventually give in and throw myself at him? At least if I tell him now, I could get it over with and we could have an awkward moment and move on.
Taking a deep breath, I face him head-on and answer his question. “If Adalyn asked me if I want to fuck you, I would have told her yes.”
Slowly, like the Grinch on Christmas morning, a sexy grin takes over his handsome face. I shake in place, waiting, as if my next breath depends on it. Lazily he takes me in, starting at my feet and meeting me at my eyes, when his perusal stops, he says, “Good to know, babe.”
Lifting off the wall, he puts unwanted space between us, and like a cold bucket of water, every ounce of heat building inside me extinguishes when he grips the knot on his towel again and starts to walk away.
He’s got to be kidding me right now.
That’s it?
Not that I wanted anything to happen . . .
He’s not going to do anything about my little confession? A kiss would have been nice, a little diddle against the wall would have been nice. I would have even taken a vag tap with his index finger. Anything really, but instead, he takes off toward his bedroom, taking the steps two at a time before he’s out of my sight.
“What just happened?” I ask myself softly, trying to make sense of it all.
Why the close calls with Tucker, but never anything substantial? Never anything to feed this need to be around him, this need for him to touch me in any way possible. And that little interaction between us only worsened the ache between my legs.
Huffing, I walk into the kitchen and grab a pot to start boiling water. “Jeeze, thanks a lot, jerk.”
Unsatisfied, hornier than ever, and frankly irritated, I put the pot on the stovetop and turn it on. Storming around the kitchen, I take out all the ingredients for dinner, which consists of a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce, and set them on the counter.
I’m just going to say it; men are stupid. Men are stupid and rude. Men are stupid and rude and teasers. They like to tease your fantasies but never really make them come true. I mean, would it really have hurt Tucker to pull my pants down and stick his dick in me just once? I’m not asking for a whole lot here. Just a little dick to vagina friction accompanied by an orgasm for the ages. I’ve officially lost my mind.
“So stupid.” I cross my arms over my chest just as I hear Tucker come down the stairs. Casually, as if he didn’t just blow my clit up to epic throbbing proportions, he walks in the kitchen, shirtless, wearing a pair of thin plaid pajama pants with his large hand ruffling through his hair.
“Got the water going?”
Don’t show him your anger. Don’t let him know how much he affected you. Be cool, Emma, be cool.
“No, thought it would be fun to boil bleach to see what happens,” I snap sarcastically, exposing my poor attempt at a bluff. Nope, not cool at all.
Knowing fully well I’m irritated, he swaggers toward me—yes, swaggers—his stomach flexing with every movement and with one quick lift, he has me sitting on the counter. Without looking at the stove, he reaches over and turns the burner off, his eyes fixed on me. Parting my legs, he steps in between them and positions himself right in front of me. Once again, my heart rate picks up, my body coming alive from its short hiatus.
I swear if he teases me again, he’s getting a kick to the balls.
Moving in closer, he places his hands on my thighs and says, “You seem tense, babe.”
Ya think? At any moment I’m about to combust from the amount of sexual tension running rampant in my body. To say I’m tense is an understatement.
“Oh I’m just fine,” I lie.
“Doesn’t seem like it.” His hands start to move up my thighs to my waist where he grips tightly and presses himself even closer so there is no space between our bodies. “Seems like there’s something you want to get off your mind.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I’m just dandy.”
“Dandy, huh?” His hands work their way up my arms now, to my shoulders where they land on my neck. Spread over my collarbones, his thumbs rub the column of my neck as his eyes search mine. “Ask me the question.”
Confused, I ask, “What?”
His thumbs are now caressing my jaw, his head drawing in close, his lips wet and ready. “Ask me if I want to fuck you.”
Oh God, I feel like if he answers the way I want him to, I will orgasm. I’m right there, ready to be pushed over the edge, my clit begging for release.
I take my time and search his eyes, pleading for his answer to be yes. “Tucker,” I pause to take a deep breath, “do you want to fuck me?”
His eyes bounce back and forth over mine, his grip on my face growing tighter. When he speaks, his voice is deep, full of a sensual rumble that takes over every bone and muscle in my body. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since I saw you at the bar with your friends.”
Hnnnnnnng
From his little confession, I clench my legs around him, knowing damn certain that I’m wet, aroused, and beyond ready for him.
Shyly, I look at him through my eyelashes and ask, “What’s taken you so long then?”
He strokes my cheek, heart in his voice. “You deserve more than just a quick fuck.”
I gulp, deciding to throw all my cards on the table. “Sometimes a quick fuck is just what someone needs.” Where is this coming from? What happened to all the guilt, all the knowledge coursing through my mind that this is wrong?
I look into his sultry eyes and know it’s coming from deep within me. No matter how wrong it might be, I can’t help myself. I can’t help but egg him on and see how far I can push him, how far her will take this. If he will actually make a move . . .
He shakes his head. “Nah, not with you, Emma. You’re the kind of girl you spend the night worshipping.”
One of his hands slides to the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him where he rests his forehead on mine.
“If that’s the truth, then can I ask you another question?” My breathing isn’t the only erratic one. Before me, Tucker seems to be feeling the same kind of tension I’m feeling with every passing touch of his thumbs.
“Ask me,” he says, his nose rubbing against mine intimately.
“Do you want to worship my body . . . tonight?”
Not even skipping a beat, he says, “More than you fucking know.”