Where she needs to stay until my father is officially charged. Her safety is the other part of this equation that matters.
Morgan assesses me. For the first time I notice her eyes are not brown, but amber in color. They complement her golden brown hair, blowing softly in the nighttime breeze. I get the strong urge to push it away from her face, slide my fingers along her cheek. I curl my hand into a fist to keep from doing it.
“Is she Italian?” she asks. “You look Italian.”
“Do I?”
She smiles and I feel my mouth smile back as my heart pounds. I made her smile. A surge of pride pulses to life. It’s like winning a contest I didn’t know I’d entered.
“Yeah, she’s Italian. She left my father after…” I don’t finish, and Morgan scoots her chair closer. She faces me, her body language open, receptive. It’s such an odd position for me to be in: someone trusts me.
Odd.
“I used to have a crush on you,” she blurts out.
My head snaps to the side in surprise. Honesty swims in her eyes, and even in the waning daylight, I can make out the expression on her face. Smugness.
“You were mysterious,” she says.
Mysterious?
“Interesting. Quiet,” she continues. “And then you saved me from Luke, and I developed a sort of fascination with you.”
I can’t even process what she’s telling me. I could use some of the same words to describe the way I felt about her. She was untouchable, fascinating. After the day I beat the hell out of Luke, I made sure I knew Morgan Young’s exact location at Baybrook High if at all possible. Even expelled, I kept close watch from our neighborhood. I was a borderline stalker. She was an obsession, and protecting her became paramount. Morgan took up a lot of my headspace. It kept my mind off of my life, which was welcome.
She leans her elbow on the arm of my chair, moving closer. Unafraid. Her coming to me willingly is intoxicating in a way I can’t really categorize. Given my past, the ugliness she knows is inside me, and the fact that I fucking kidnapped her, she has no reason to trust me or look at me like she does. I suddenly question if I can trust her after all. Is she playing me?
“You don’t have to flirt with me, Angel. I meant what I said. After I tell you the rest of my story, you get to go back to your father.”
Concern pulls her features. She takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to go back. Not yet.” She shakes her head. “I want…”
Her eyes dart to my mouth and I tremble inside. The blood in my veins heats and my face grows warm.
After a few sweaty seconds, she finishes her sentence on a whisper. “I want to kiss you.”
Morgan
We’re close.
I can’t stand being this close to him, absorbing the pain of his past and not touching him. I love touch. Crave it. Need it. But Tucker has boundaries. Scars.
So many scars.
I don’t let my eyes go to them, though, keeping my gaze fastened on his face instead. Since I admitted what I wanted to do, his entire body stiffened. I repeat my request so I’m clear.
“Can I kiss you?” After all he’s been through, asking his permission is essential.
His face goes from stunned to fierce. His pupils grow large and dark, swallowing up those stormy blues.
“Please?” My voice is lost under a roll of thunder in the distance. A gust of wind kicks my hair over my face and I pull a few stray strands away from my mouth.
He shakes his head, eyebrows still down. The sting of that rejection registers as pain low in my sternum. Has a boy ever denied me a kiss? Rejection isn’t something I’ve dealt with much. Tucker might be the first.
I thought he was getting used to me. We walked hand in hand back to this place. Right then, I decided another day or two here would be almost…welcome. I don’t want to answer my dad’s two hundred questions. I can never go back to the naivety I claimed before. Tucker’s story has forever changed me. I know I can’t hide forever, but just for a little while…
I don’t know. Maybe I’m having a breakdown.
His eyes snap to my lips. He wants to kiss me. I can see the heat in his eyes. Maybe if he’s in control of the kiss, he’ll feel less like something is being taken from him.
“Will you kiss me?” I ask.
His lashes flutter as he blinks twice in obvious surprise. His mouth opens like he might speak. He’s not used to granting his consent, and that knowledge pinches my heart. I’m asking him to do the very thing he wants. I sense war raging within him. The want versus the should versus his understandable lack of trust.
I trust him for some reason. For several reasons. He freed me from my restraints, he fed me, he let me shower, let me touch him. He washed my clothes by hand.
“I won’t do anything but sit here.” I fold my hands in my lap to illustrate. “I’ll stay completely still.” My heart is relentless in its heavy beats. I may be able to remain still on the outside, but on the inside, I’m an active volcano.
His throat moves to swallow, but he doesn’t say no. If his body language spoke for him, yes would be written all over the subtle way he leans closer. The way he licks his lips in anticipation.
His face nears mine. I’ve longed to taste his mouth since I first saw that signature pout. He comes closer and sweat dampens my palms. I unlink my hands and wipe them down my shorts. Have I ever been so nervous?
Please, I silently beg.
“Close your eyes.” His voice is husky, thick.
A tentative smile arches his mouth as a fat, cold raindrop splashes onto my arm. Then another. And another. I don’t move. Or maybe I can’t.
I close my eyes. My senses take over. It’s raining. I feel every other fat drop hit, then cool my skin. Above, I hear the rain slap the leaves in the trees. Below, it patters on the wooden deck. My shallow, quick breaths match his as he draws nearer. The smell of summer rain and Tucker’s skin invades my senses, heightened with my eyelids drawn.
The soft prickle of stubble abrades my skin, followed by the tender press of his lips against mine. His firm, tentative kiss ignites every cell in my body. Heat lingers between us in the brief half of a second before he pulls away. I twist my fingers together in frustration, my promise not to touch him an anchor of regret around my neck.
“Don’t stop.” My eyes fly open.
His body is coiled. Tendons stand out in his neck below wet, dark hair curling at the tips. Was that one kiss too much for him? It wasn’t enough for me. I want to push him. He got used to my touch. He will get used to my lips.
“Please?” My request comes out like a question. Being this close to him is like lightning striking way too near. The air is hot. Sharp. Electric. I want more.
He leans in again, his trepidation fading. His lips touch mine and I shut my eyes against the sensation of every erogenous zone on my body tingling. I’m overly warm, overly dressed. My skin practically ignites, even in the cooling rain.
I slit my eyes and see his hand hover near my jaw before he pulls his arm away. I risk pulling my lips away to tell him what I want. “Touch me.”
His knuckles slide over my wet cheek and another soft press of his mouth has me aching to the core. My eyes slide shut and I test his lips with my tongue. He tastes as incredible as I imagined. Warm, spicy. And just…Tucker. Thought is a faraway thing as I reach for him, forgetting my promise, or maybe not caring. I wrap my hand around his shirt to pull him closer.
I pay for my mistake instantly.
He yanks the sodden material out of my grip and bursts from the plastic chair, sending it onto its back as he stands over me. His hands curl into fists. Lightning streaks the sky, giving me a view of the way his shirt is plastered against his incredibly muscular chest, the way the raindrops cling to his biceps. He rakes a hand through his dripping hair and pegs me with a look I can’t quite read. Betrayal? Fear? Shame? Anger?
Maybe all four. I wish I knew for sure.
“Tucker, I’m sorry.” I stand and make a helpless ges
ture. Because that’s how I feel. Helpless. Helpless to save him, to pull him out of whatever cage he’s locked himself in.
I don’t know what else to say. Neither does he. He yanks open the front door and disappears inside, leaving me in the downpour. The sizzle from our kisses wanes. I grow cold and begin to shake.
Chapter 10
Regret
Tucker
Shame washes over me like acid. I step into the cabin, which feels more like a cramped tomb. I hold out my hands. I’m not visibly shaking, but on the inside I’m rattling like the old pipes in juvi, where I spent too many sleepless nights.
Kissing Morgan has a side effect that makes my stomach lurch—the erection pressing insistently against my fly. Reacting this way to her makes me feel…dirty. Even covered in clean rain. She was the one who grabbed me, but I’m left with the feeling that it’s me who’s soiled her. My angel. Sweet. Delicate. Tender. To make her as unclean as I am—
I can’t do that to her. I’m the last thing she needs.
But you need her.
God. I do. I ram my hands into my wet hair and slick back the strands.
I thought at first it was the connection to her father, but something has changed. I want to touch her. Feel her body against mine. Feel her wanting me. I’ve never allowed myself to want anyone before, and now that I have, it’s not an easy thing to forget. Correction: Impossible to forget.
Touching her grounds me, relaxes me…makes me want to do things I shouldn’t want at all. It’s not right. I’m broken. Lost.
She deserves better.
The door swings open, its hinges creaking. Her sweet voice cuts into my torrential thoughts. Just barely over the pounding rain, I hear her say my name.
“You liked kissing me.” Her words are both an accusation and a fact. “I liked it, too.”
The door shuts, shutting out the rainfall with it. The sound of her shoes tumbling heavily to the floor is followed by the scuff of her bare feet as she comes to me. My palms sweat and my mouth goes dry as her hands touch my back and slide over my wet shirt.
I’m nervous. So nervous. My mind is a knotted tangle of thoughts and desires.
“Is this wrong?” she asks.
I face her and confess with a nod.
Yes. Very.
“Then why doesn’t it feel wrong?” Her voice is raised, her hands kept to herself. “Why does touching you feel…” Her eyes move over me in sensual confusion, and her head shakes back and forth as if she can’t find the words. “I want to touch your skin,” she admits on a whisper. “Every inch of it.”
Each thud of my tortured heart shakes my bones. She wants to touch every inch of me. It’s a heady, intoxicating thought my mind refuses to release.
She licks her lips and bites down on the bottom one. I am overcome with a need…a want I’ve never allowed myself to experience. I want to give Morgan what she wants. Even if it’s something I’m not sure I should allow.
I peel the wet shirt over my head and drop it in on the ground. I owe her this. I owe her so much more than this. Her eyes skate over my naked chest and I fist my hands and wait.
“Tucker. You’re beautiful.” She reaches for me, palm first, fingers relaxed. Her eyes find mine again. “Can I?”
Jaw tight, I nod.
Her fingertips brush over my collarbone and down my chest, over one nipple, then the other. My chilled skin puckers, but inside, I’m on fire. She quivers, either chilled as well or because she’s nervous. I like the idea of her being as nervous as I am. The idea of her wanting me as much as I want her is…intoxicating.
Her fingernails abrade my abdomen and I flinch when her finger dips into my bellybutton.
“Ticklish,” she says, smiling.
I can’t smile. I’m strung too tight.
I take a step closer to her and put my hand on the back of her head. I’m going to kiss her again, but this time, I want her in my arms when I do it.
Morgan
He’s getting braver, I think, when his hand cradles my head. But I still have the power. He stripped off his shirt, but it’s because I told him what I wanted. He let me touch him. He let me. It takes a few moments for that to soak in.
His chest is a thing of beauty. When he stood in the rain, I only had a moment to admire the way his T-shirt plastered against his pecs. Now he’s gloriously bare. I tear my eyes from his chest to his biceps, and his muscles ripple when he takes a deep breath.
Gorgeous.
Running my fingers down the bumps of his abs, I count six before I draw my fingers up again.
How much more will he let me do?
How much more are you willing to do?
Too much. My thoughts go to the lone condom I packed. How I intended to use it with Drew. That version of me feels far away—light-years from who I am now. The solitude of this place and my captor’s dark story have changed me.
He’s changed me.
He steps closer, cocooning us in the heat rolling off his body. I flatten my hand on his chest, excited and honored that he’s allowing me to touch him. He tilts his chin down, moves his palm to my jaw, and tips my lips to his. He is so gentle, so tentative, I melt. I turn to liquid beneath him and he’s drinking me in. Ever so slowly, our mouths come together and part in an intimate dance only we know the steps to. His tongue finds mine and I hear a whimper—mine—as I rest my other hand on his chest. His skin is hot, yet I shiver against him. It’s like the cold rain has settled into my bones.
In a flash, I pull away and take off my shirt, dropping it next to his. I didn’t put my bra on earlier, so he’s getting an eyeful. Tucker’s chest expands as he takes in a breath and holds it.
“I want to feel you,” I say. He doesn’t take his eyes off my breasts.
“Can I…” He wants to touch me, and he has my permission. The hunger in his eyes is evident. I grasp his wrist and lead his hand to my breast, and his nostrils flare. When his index and middle finger brush my nipple, warmth floods my body. His shoulders are tight, his muscles contracted, but his touch is gentle. He doesn’t stop touching me, and I don’t want him to. He’s resisting me, and I know why, but I also want him to embrace what he’s feeling. It’s new for him. I have to remember to respect that.
“You’re a virgin,” I point out, letting him know I understand. “How far have you gone with a girl?”
His father did unspeakable things to him, but I want to know if Tucker has ever given in to his normal male lust. Has he ever been close with a girl? He was a rowdy teen with devastating good looks and a protective streak a mile wide, so I have a hard time believing he didn’t get offers.
“This far,” he answers, his voice barely a whisper. Testing me, he plucks my nipple. My mind blanks and I arch my back, gasping with delight. The control has shifted from me to him. He’s turning me on and I can tell by the reverent way he watches me that this is a gift for him.
He’s untouched, save for the man who should have protected him. I’m not sure if Tucker can have a normal experience after the atrocities he’s suffered, but I want to find out. And I want his first experience to be with me. I lift his other hand and bring it to my breast.
His expression is almost peaceful, his weightless gaze resting on mine as he explores me gingerly, before he asks a question I’m not sure how to answer. “What about you?”
I blink, deciding what to say. He flattens his palms against my breasts while he waits. His question is a fair one—the same one I just asked him. He won’t like the truth. But that’s what I tell him.
“I’m not…um, I’m not a virgin.” Guilt and regret linger behind my admission. Because it’s unheard of for a girl to be more experienced than a guy. I’ve never been with a guy who wasn’t more sexually active than I was.
“Drew,” Tucker mutters, still cupping my breasts.
I shake my head. “Drew and I never…” The cabin is dark, but I’m sure I’m glowing red with embarrassment. I can’t finish what I started saying. Tucker doesn’t make me.
>
“Good. I don’t like him.”
I smile. “That makes two of us.”
Tucker’s thumbs coast down the tops of my nipples while his index fingers curl under. He tugs gently, dragging a moan from my throat and me a few inches closer to him.
Beneath my fingers, his stomach muscles clench.
“We shouldn’t.” His hands leave my body, but he’s not only pulling away physically. His mind is shutting down, like protective gates sliding down around him.
“Shouldn’t what?” I argue, desperate to keep him with me. “We’re just kissing.”
But we’re not “just kissing” and we both know it. We’re exploring like wanderers lost, mapping the paths in search of the one thing we both want but neither of us will blatantly admit.
I take a step toward him. He backs up.
“If you don’t want me, say so,” I challenge, my eyebrows sinking. I’m being unfair, but I can’t help it. Getting rejected by him hurts. Especially when I want him so badly.
“It’s not that I don’t want you.” His voice is hoarse, and as he takes another step away, light from a lone bulb over the porch angles in through the window, highlighting the thick ridge of his erection pressing against the fly of his jeans.
Oh. Wow.
I straighten my spine, refusing to shy away from the connection we’ve forged. I’ve never felt anything like this. He retreats a step and I follow. When his back hits the ladder to the upstairs loft, I advance until my naked torso is pressed against his. My breasts smash into the hard heat of his chest.
“Don’t you?” I ask.
His nostrils flare and there is a protracted moment between us where I can feel him deciding Do I?
Then he does. His palms are on my face and he’s kissing me, whatever hold guilt had on him snapping free. He bends me, scooping an arm around my back and hauling me close. I love this closeness with him. I love being devoured by him.
The ladder shakes as he backs into it, his lips never leaving mine. Lightning flashes through the windows, and thunder shakes the sills. The volatile weather feeds our frenzy and we clash in the most elemental way. Limbs tangle, fingers roam; my need for him is out of character and almost frightening.
Forgotten Promises (Lost Boys #1) Page 10