by Xavier Neal
“Actually, that was proven to be wrong. Bulls are more graceful around fragile objects than people think. It was a good episode of Myth Busters. Totally recommend.”
Tucker laughs and leans against the space opposite of me. “You like that show?”
“My youngest sister loves science of all kinds, so I've watched more Discovery Channel than any normal human should be proud of.”
“Well how about you stay for dinner and we can compare weird facts?”
I stop rubbing my elbow. “Is this a request or a requirement?”
Tucker takes two steps towards me and declares in a dropped voice. “I'll never require you to do anything, June Bug. Life is about living the choices you choose. Not the ones others expect you to.”
I quietly counter. “Can't cook I. Er. I mean...I...I...I can't cook.”
His lips curve into a smile that has my body begging to be what's on the menu instead.
Doesn't matter for which course. I'll gladly be how we start, how we end, or how we fill ourselves to the brim. Oh....I didn't just say that out loud. What is wrong with me? Wonder if there's a myth about how horny the human body can get before it combusts from lack of sexual fulfillment. Pretty sure with the way I keep feeling, I would be an ideal candidate to test that theory.
“I can.” His eyes dip down my top, only to lift with a more heated flare to them. “Why don't you pour us a couple glasses of wine and relax?”
Relaxing around Vincent Van Go Fuck Him please, doesn't seem likely.
“Consider yourself off the clock.”
Definitely off something.
At a loss for an appropriate response, I simply nod and slide to the side for access to the fully stocked wine fridge. “Preference?”
“As long as it's dark, I know it'll be delicious.”
Why does everything he say have to sound like a pick up line? He's gotta do that on purpose. No one just naturally sounds like they're one line away from starting a porn scene.
I reach for a bottle, open it, and pour us each a glass. After a polite clink, I make my way around to the bar top part of the island to stay out of the way while he does in the kitchen what I am incapable of.
Hey, I can make a mean grilled cheese, microwave anything, and open a can like I'm a goddamn award winning chef. Cooking real meals though? Not so much. There was a lot of frozen dinners during my stint as the 'mom' with my sisters.
Tucker begins pulling vegetables out of the fridge. “You okay with sushi?”
“You can make sushi?”
“You do know it doesn't grow on trees, right?”
I give him a sarcastic glare. “I meant, like make make it. Like the whole thing with the chopping and pressing and the....you can actually make sushi?”
He cocks a grin. “I can make many things, June Bug.”
“But sushi? I mean, come on! That's way beyond basic steak and veggies.”
“Spent about eight months in Tokyo a couple years back. It's one of the places I learned that cooking is an art within itself.” His hands curl around the edge of the sink as he leans slightly forward. “Really everything is a form of art.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Cooking. Drinking. Sex...”
The word parts my thighs unconsciously.
Apparently the word sex is the new abracadabra.
“I feel the word art is just the term we use to express the passion we pour into something we love doing.”
Finding truth in his words, I lift my glass in cheers to him, and have a drink. Afterward Tucker washes his hands and proceeds with the process. He takes his time, explaining to me each task he's completing as if trying to teach me from a far, while peppering in fun stories about the people he met during his time across the water. The conversation flows as easily as the wine.
It's interesting to me all the people he's told me about, but during the entire thing, he hasn't referenced himself or his experiences past the basics of how he met the people or what techniques they taught him. Is that weird?
Before I know it he's entering the final stages and I'm sipping on what I think is my third glass.
Calm down. It's not like they've been full glasses. At least I don't think they were full glasses...Do you really blame me for not paying close attention? I've got a half dressed man cooking me dinner and providing me with the best wine I've ever had. Forgive me for not remembering those details. This is the closest thing to a date I've been on since Jackie and Kelso made their love a real life thing.
Tucker's attention remains on his task. “You mentioned the other day you were the oldest?”
His question causes me to nod. “Yeah. I mean, if I hadn't told you, would you have guessed? I mean is it that obvious?”
“Your, live by numbers attitude, shouts more of a responsibility issue than control freak.”
A bashful smile sneaks onto my face. “It's just second nature to me now. I've got three younger sisters and growing up my mother worked for this big CEO doing....something, I never really understood what, and my father worked as a mail man. She worked long, crazy hours. Traveled a ridiculous amount, so I naturally stepped up to be mini-mom. I made sure everyone had lunches packed and ballet shoes. I made sure we all caught the bus on time or of course that we were all perfect for picture day. Made sure Dad signed the checks and permission slips. I checked folders and homework. Checklists were the easiest way to keep track of all five people.”
“Five?”
“I kept an eye on my dad too. Made sure he always had clean socks and underwear. That his work shirts were clean.” I have another sip and quickly add, “Oh and that he remembered to put the bills in the mail. Always found it funny the postman could never remember to put his mail in the mail box.”
He hits me with a smile before sighing, “No offense, but that doesn't sound like there was much time for yourself.”
“There wasn't,” I confess. “Just art. While I suck at creating it, my art teacher in high school said I had a good eye for it. Most of my extra-curricular activities revolved around it. I used to check out art collection books from the library and look through them while staying up late to finish laundry. In college, I figured, what the hell. Why not look into being an art history major? Next thing you know...”
“You're working as my aunt's assistant a few years later.”
“Not exactly The New York La Galerie d'art, but it's not as bad as selling 'Dogs Playing Poker' from gas stations either.”
Tucker lets out a hearty laugh. “I actually like that painting.”
“Shut up.”
“What! I do! It hung over my bed freshman year in my dorm and over my bed in the only apartment I've ever actually rented.”
I shake my head on a giggle.
“And to sweeten the pot, I actually did buy it from a gas station.”
The two of us exchange laughs once more. Immediately after, I push my glass of wine to the side, the heat in my cheeks now indicating it's time to sober up. “Do you um...need help with anything?”
“You can cut one set of rolls while I cut the other.”
Hopping off the stool, I maneuver my way back into the kitchen, nearly tripping over my own feet only once.
Impressive, given the fact without alcohol I can barely do that.
“Tell me what you want me to do...”
His tongue strolls across his lips and I find myself suddenly craving for the sentence to be related to sex rather than food.
Is it normal to want someone this bad? Especially someone you know you shouldn't even be thinking about in that way?
“Well,” Tucker's voice drops lower as he grabs a knife. In two short strides, his body is behind me, hips gently nestled against mine. “Let me...let me show you how it's done.”
Pushing down the urge to moan, I nervously glance up at him. “Sure...Best if. That.” Frustration builds and I attempt to correct, “I was trying to say-”
“I know,” he whispers and his blue eyes pierce through much more than mine.
“Take the knife,” he instructs. Once I have it in my possession, he lies his hand on top of mine, the touch sending an instant shudder through my system. Tucker fluidly guides it down the uncut roll while his hot breath appears next to my ear, “Start slow...” The temptation to shut my eyes increases. “And roll through the cutting...” Tucker gently moves my hand to repeat the action. Unable to resist my eyes drifting back up to his, I longingly admire the flawless execution in everything he does.
He's a damn super human! Everything I've seen him do, he does to perfection. From the art I spied on the easel to the chopping of fucking vegetables, it's mind blowing. No person should be this...this...incredible without trying. No one should be this naturally perfect.
Tucker wets his lips and lowers his face a little closer to mine.
Wonder if he tastes as delicious as he smells. Maybe he's perfect at everything else because he lacks in the bedroom. That would be balance!
He gives me one more chance to pull away before dropping his mouth on top of mine. The softness of his lips steals a sweet moan while the fierceness of his tongue buckles my knees.
There goes that theory...
There's a small clinking sound of the knife hitting the counter seconds before his hand grips the side of my neck, anchoring us together. Despite my desperation to speed the kiss up, to devour more of him at a harder rate, Tucker's demeanor remains the same. He overpowers my persistence until my body has no choice but to submit.
Look, it's been a really really long time since I've had a guy this close to my face. Forgive the impatience. You know what? Let's blame it on the wine. That always works for cheating bastards, why can't it work for us single ladies too?
As the rolls of his tongue continue to make me dizzy with satisfaction, his free fingertips gently graze my stomach during the descent for the ache he's created. Tucker doesn't bother asking permission. He doesn't request approval. He simply slides his hand underneath my loose fitted skirt directly over the silk material blocking his path. I whimper from the slight pressure pushing against my clit. Like a practiced craft, he guides my legs further apart to allow him access to dip his finger deep inside. The under used muscles clamp down at the invasion just as another mewl is captured by his relentless tongue. Tucker's tender yet precise thrusts tumble me towards the other side of ecstasy I haven't seen in years. Afraid of falling apart too fast, I grip forcefully onto his forearm in an attempt to hold back the pending orgasm.
Can't come this quick...even newbies last longer than this.
His slight increase in speed shatters any last defense I had.
My lips fall from his to release a ferocious pant while my pussy pulsates with enough force to collapse my entire body. Tucker's mouth drops to my neck, as if to consume the quakes and quivers spreading throughout me.
When I finally find my bearings, he whispers, “Did you come already, June Bug?”
Embarrassment shuts my eyes.
Insanely pathetic, right?
The soft swipe of his tongue on my collarbone forces me to whimper. “Answer my question.”
I hesitate, but the repeated action frees my confession. “Yes.”
“Good.” His smile against my flesh is surprising.
Did he say good? How is coming before we get to any of the better stuff a good thing? Well, I know how it's a good thing for me.... but I meant for him. Maybe because now is where I should just turn around to return the favor? Did he get me off quickly just so I would get him off too? Is this all some sort of master player move to get from me what he hasn't had time to get elsewhere? Am I being used? Is it wrong to not care if I am because that's how good it feels?
“You're thinking too much.” He presses a kiss on my shoulder at the same time he removes his hand from between my legs. “Learn to just...feel....” The command is proceeded with another kiss, this one more forceful than the first. Suddenly, Tucker turns my body and steers it to the left, barely breaking our connection. My mind is in such a sexual haze already it barely registers when my back hits the counter top. In one fluid motion, he pulls away, removes my underwear, my skirt, and lifts me onto the counter top. As if he's already received an all access pass to Orgasmville, Tucker's strong, slightly calloused hands push my thighs apart while his anxious mouth latches onto my clit.
“Holy shit,” I mindlessly whisper and grab a fist full of his hair to keep him in place.
The moment I realize how barbaric I'm behaving, I let go, which is when he pulls away to command. “Do it again, June.”
I shake my head in reluctance.
No....No I can't! I may in fact be that horny, but he's not some sex toy to jerk around just to get off. No, I have toys at home for that. He's a person. He should be treated like one, not like an animal that needs controlling. I have to keep some self-control. I always have self-control...
“Do it again.”
“Can't....Sh-sh-shouldn't.”
“Do it again and I'll give you exactly what you want....”
I bite my bottom lip at his tempting offer.
Tucker returns his tongue to my pussy where it curls and whirls with such skill and devotion, my hands mindlessly twitch to tug him deeper by his thick brown hair. All of a sudden the pleasing lightens to teasing, which increases the rashness to have another orgasm torn out of me. He continues the sexual torture, each light lick creating more madness than the last.
I guess I could give him what he wants. Pulling someone's hair isn't crazy adventurous. A little pulling never hurt...Ha. More than it's meant to, I mean.
My fingers wind through his hair to secure the sexual satisfaction at a more consistent rate. A pleased groan is muffled between my thighs. I try not to grin. Tucker returns his efforts to an untamed tasting, every lick and suck yanking me towards the blinding bliss he's already proven once that he can deliver. Brazenly, I thrash my hips to meet the thrusts and twirls of his tongue.
With what feels like no warning, another orgasm is ripped from me, this one resulting in shivers as well as the repeated faint sound of his name. “Tucker...”
He continues to lap up every drop despite the death grip I have on his head.
Oh God...he probably can't breathe down there like this! That would be a fun thing to have to explain to the police...Yeah. My name's June Bailey, I'm a PA and managed to kill a billionaire by pussy suffocation. That'll show my little sisters what a great example I really am.
The thought quickly releases my fingers.
Tucker teases the sensitive area a final time before lifting himself back up for our eyes to meet. My heaving chest attempts to steady itself while waiting for him to cleverly say something that equates to requesting a return of the favor.
His blue eyes light up as his mouth slowly spreads into a smirk. “I've had dessert. How about dinner now?”
Slightly baffled by the lack of insistence for sex or at the very least a mouth hug, I question, “Demand non for-” I take a deep breath to collect proper sentence placement. “You're not gonna demand for me to reciprocate?”
“I meant what I said earlier,” he sighs. “I'll never require, or demand for that matter, you to do anything, June Bug. Your life. Your choices. Your wants matter too. I think you've forgotten that and it's time you remember.” Another wide grin appears and he asks once more, “You ready for dinner?”
Not really sure what I'm ready for.
Somehow I manage to give him a nod.
Tucker kicks up my clothing and offers them to me seconds after he's caught them. “Why don't you get dressed and I'll finish cutting the rolls?”
Impressed as well as uncertain about how he's acting, I simply slide off the counter and wiggle back into my clothing.
It's weird for him to be so nonchalant about all of this, right? I know some men are notorious for hit it and quit its, but they always want something out of it. It's typically a
bout making sure they get off and if a woman does too, then extra gold star for them. Tucker doesn't seem to care about potentially being left blue. The way he's moving part of me doubts he even will be. Should I be offended? Was I so bad at pre sex stuff that it turned him off from even wanting to give me a chance? To even try me on for size? I mean, I'm sure he found a little dust on the unused organ down there but it's still maintained, I swear! Staying waxed always makes it on my to do list! Always! Overreacting? I mean...I could be....Tucker Frost does seem to have this weird way of making me insane and irrational. Very irrational. Come on, who lets some random guy they barely know just sex them up in the kitchen?! Especially when that guy could be viewed as their boss! Or hell, at the very least possesses the power to have them fired at his will, even though nothing about Tucker screams that he's the type of billionaire brat to do something that harsh. What kind of role model is that for my sisters? They look at me and see how to be a responsible, well dedicated, adult, not an unsupervised slut who forgets her morals for the guy with the attractive face. Ugh. I'm not sure I'm cut out to keep an eye on him for seven more weeks. Pretty sure I should just start looking for a new job now.