by Emilia Finn
If I was feeling braver, I’d toss the helmet and bury my lips between his shoulder blades. But instead, I snuggle in and slide my hand beneath his shirt to rest on bare skin.
His body reacts, his stomach tenses, and his chest shudders, but I only smile in the dark and let my hands explore. The line of hair that stretches below his navel, the slight paunch of stomach because of the angle he sits.
I lean against him and delete any space that comes between us, and because of my angle, the vibrations of the bike make my stomach tingle.
I feather my fingertips along the ridges of his abs, then up between his pecs to another light dusting of hair.
“You’re gonna make me crash,” he chokes out.
A week or two ago, those words would have sent me into a tailspin of fear as terrifying scenarios played out in my mind. Crashing in the dark. Sliding along the gravel. Torn limbs and painful screams. But tonight, the torment in his voice makes me smile.
“No I’m not. You never crash.” I slide my hand down again, away from his chest, over his stomach, and stop on his belt. “Maybe if I went lower…”
“Of course you would,” he growls. “Finally you think to touch my dick.” He shakes his head. “If you go lower while I’m trying to ride, we’re both gonna get hurt.”
“I trust you.”
I wait as we come closer to Main Street, until streetlights illuminate our way, then I slide my hand lower and swallow my gasp when I find him hard as steel and filling my hand.
“Nora…” he rasps. “Fuck. Gimme just a sec.”
“Get us home, Tucker.” Showing mercy, I slide my hand out of his pants and wrap them around his stomach. “Hurry.”
“Fuck.” He revs so loud that the whole town will wake. He speeds straight down Main Street, runs a yellow light, skids his way into the parking lot of our building, then he pulls into his space and cuts the engine.
Instead of letting my nerves beat me down with doubt, I climb straight off the bike and hand the helmet back. He watches me like I’m a wild animal. Unsure, wary, and dare I say, a little terrified.
“Come on.” I take his hand, and hold it as he climbs off. I wrap myself in his arm when he follows me into the building, and start up the stairs with a smile on my face.
I know where every camera is. Where every pair of eyes wait. So I smile for them. I tell them with subtle hand movements to stand down. Because somehow, a little more than ten years ago, I lost a sister in a really horrific way, and gained a dozen heavily armed brothers who would die to protect me.
I walk with Tucker up the first flight of stairs. The second. The third. When he tries to turn right, toward his door on the fourth, I tug him left, and let him see as I slide my thumb over the hidden security panel that unlocks my door.
Trust. It’s about trust.
I push my door open and meet Galileo’s smile with my own, then as soon as we’re in and I close the door, I take Tucker’s hand and move along the hallway. “Galileo, go to bed. Tucker…” I peek over my shoulder and grin. “Follow me to mine.”
“Fuuuuuck…” He drapes himself over me from behind, wraps his arms around my body as we walk, and nibbles at the base of my neck as we move through my bedroom door.
“We don’t have to…” He clears his throat. “Ya know.”
He’s such a liar.
“I sure hope you’re not having performance anxiety now,” I tease.
I close the bedroom door once we’re in, extricate myself from his arms, and, flipping a lamp on at the opposite side of the room, I reach up with shaking hands and pull my top over my head.
“You don’t have to be gentle with me,” I croak. “You don’t have to be slow or anything. I’m scared of the dark…” I shake my head. “But I’ve never been scared of you.”
Swallowing, he takes a step forward, and stares deep into my eyes while he moves. He could stare at my bra, he could stare at my breasts or my bare stomach, but he looks deep into my eyes and makes his way across the room.
I kind of expect him to ask me a million times if I’m sure. Perhaps he’s going to be extra slow, extra careful, and make me question myself. Maybe he’ll be the type to make slow, sweet love and look into my eyes the whole time, like some kind of creepy staring match.
But that’s not what he does.
Instead, he slides his fingers into the loops of my jeans and tugs until I slam against his chest. He attacks my throat with fast, biting kisses that make me hiss.
“Will you be mad if I only last three minutes?” he rasps. “Because you’ve kinda caught me off guard here…”
I throw my head back and laugh. “You’re making it weird! Stop talking about how long you’re gonna last.”
“Nobody lasts a few hours, that’s all I’m saying.”
He reaches around and unsnaps my bra, but before releasing it, he pulls back and meets my gaze. “Good?”
Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I nod and drop my arms so the scrap of material falls free and plops to the floor. Without giving him space to step back and study my body, I unzip his coat and peel it back off his shoulders. The second his arms are free from the sleeves, I pull the hem of his shirt up and stand on my toes to push it away.
“Help me.”
Smiling, he takes the shirt and pulls it over his head. Within seconds, he’s as uncovered as I am. We stand in jeans, shoes, but no shirts, and before I can stand back to study his body, he pulls me in and swallows my sigh when our chests touch and bare skin rests against bare skin.
“I’ve thought about this since the first moment I saw you on the stairs.” He pushes me back until my legs touch the bed. Then, slowly, he lays me down and grins as my hair fans out on the blankets underneath me. “I thought you might kill me with that damn Glock. Add in the ferocious dog, and I thought I was a goner. But lord, Nora.” He follows me down and nibbles on my collarbone. “I would have died with a hard dick and a healthy curiosity for my new neighbor.”
Working his way over my chest, his erection pressing against my thigh as he moves, he circles my nipple with his tongue, then latches on.
I cry out when he bites, tense and arch up when he sneaks a hand down between my legs, and whimper when he slides his thumb over my already primed clit on the outside of my jeans.
“Tucker…”
“I’ve thought about this so many times that I was starting to wonder if my thoughts were memories, and not fiction. I could see it so clearly in my head.” He switches breasts, and unsnaps my jeans with a fast flick of his fingers. “I’ve wanted to touch you since I looked into your beautiful – furious,” he chuckles, “eyes. I’ve wanted to taste.”
He slides down my body faster than my brain can process. He was up here, now he’s gone, and with a swipe of his hands, he tugs my jeans down and doesn’t stop until they catch on my shoes.
“How does your pussy taste, sweet Nora? I’ve wondered.”
He sits back on his haunches on the floor and works on the laces of my shoes. He tugs one free, tosses the shoe aside, and works on the next. He creates knots in his hurry, grunts in frustration when he can’t fix them, then declares “Fuck it,” and yanks it off anyway.
He drops the shoe to the floor with a thump, tugs my jeans all the way off, so I lay on the bed naked but for my panties as he stands over me and digs his hand into his jeans. He plays with himself, groans as his hand glides over his cock, and stares directly into my eyes while he does it.
My pulse beats, heavy and demanding beneath the black material of my panties. Tucker is muscular, broad, strong, so his pectoral muscles bunch and flex while he touches himself, and his eyes roll into the back of his head.
“I’ve touched myself thinking about you,” he murmurs.
I push to sit up on the bed. Leaving my legs wide open, I rock forward when my clit throbs and demands to be touched, and when I can’t take it a second longer, I slide my fingertips over the pulsing bud.
“Ah,” I whimper at the instant contact. My hi
ps move without my permission, they roll and search for more. “Tucker…”
“Take your panties off.” He pulls his hand from his pants and instead reaches for me.
He pulls me to my feet, drops to his knees so fast that I turn dizzy, then he peels my wet panties down and lets them fall to the floor. Peeking up, his eyes meet mine while his lips stop at the exact right height to touch my core. He smirks, his eyes flash – that’s the only warning I get – then he buries his tongue between my folds, and holds me up when all I want to do is fall to the bed.
I want to lay down, to open my legs wide and let him feast. But instead, he makes me stand, he refuses to let me spread my legs more than a foot apart, so when he brings his hand up and slides a thick finger inside, the fit is tighter, and sends my eyes shooting back in ecstasy.
“Tucker!” I fist his hair and cry out while my breath comes out in pants. “Jesus.”
“So fucking sweet,” he rasps. “So tight and perfect. Here, sit down.”
He removes his finger and pulls back, but forces me to sit with his hands on my hips. He plops me down, moves forward on his knees until our tongues tangle, and my own flavor rests between us for the first time in my life.
Grinning, because somehow, he knows what’s in my mind, he probes his tongue against mine and brings a hand up to massage my breast. “Tastes sweet, huh?”
“Um…”
He chuckles and pushes me back so I rest on my elbows. “It’s a guy thing, maybe. Here.” He takes my hand and drags it along my body until my fingertips touch my clit and I shoot up again. “Touch.”
My eyes flare wide in surprise. “What?”
“Touch yourself. I know you know how.”
I swallow.
He grins. “Show me.”
“Tucker, I…”
“I’m gonna touch myself.” He climbs to his feet and pushes his jeans down. “I’m gonna send us fuckin’ insane and not let you touch me until you show me your fingers knuckle-deep inside your pussy.”
“Tucker…”
His eyes fire with playfulness. “Show me how you fuck yourself.”
“If I wanted to touch myself,” I pant, “then I wouldn’t have gone to you.”
He makes the tut-tut sound in the back of his throat, and crawls onto the bed over me. Taking my hand, he separates my fingers, isolates two, then he grins and slides them inside as I buck beneath him.
“Nice and warm, huh?”
“Tucker,” I cry. “Fuck.”
“Keep going.” He guides my hand, in and out, in and out, until my heart wants to explode, and my clit feels like it might catch fire. “Keep going, beautiful.” He releases my hand, but lifts a dangerous brow when I slow. “Don’t stop.”
He helps me find the rhythm again, in and out, gentle strokes that send warmth to the base of my spine and make my toes curl. Then he stands tall and pulls his cock from black boxer shorts.
“You do you, and I’ll do me.”
“Tucker, no…”
“Yes.” He fists his cock so tight that I almost come at the sight alone.
The head is dark, purpling from excess blood. Standing in the muted light from my lamp, he groans and slides his hand over his dick, but each time I slow mine, he slows his. It’s kind of like an experiment in physics. But… not. When I speed up, he speeds. When I slow, he slows. When I touch my clit with my left hand, he reaches around and cups his balls with his.
“That’s it.” His hips jut forward with each stroke. “Fuck, Nora. Look at that cream.”
“I want you to touch me.”
“I will.” He works himself harder. “I swear I will. I wanna see you do it first. Do you touch yourself and think of me?” He fights to keep his hooded eyes open. “Nora?” His voice is like a whip. “Answer me.”
“Yes… I…” I swallow. “Yes. I’ve touched myself thinking of you.”
“Mmm.” A groan rolls from the back of his throat and into the pulsing air around us. “I’ve touched myself a thousand times since meeting you. You’re so fucking pretty.” He grunts when he gets closer to the edge. Closer. Closer.
I lose myself watching him, lose my rhythm and stop completely until he leans forward and forces me to do it. He’s faster than me, rougher, and brings me to the very edge of insanity until I’m left with no choice but to pump my hips in time with our hands.
“Tucker!”
“Cream into my hand, Nora. Explode, baby. Then I’m gonna fuck you until I bring you back up again.”
“Oh god.” My stomach flexes and releases in time with my chest. “Fuck. I’m gonna– Oh god! Tucker!”
“Come, Nora.”
The moment my release floods our hands, he drops to his knees and laps me up like he’s dying of thirst. His tongue slides between my folds, touches my clit, and sends me flying again and again.
Fumbling in the space I can’t see, my blood turns molten hot when I hear the telltale sound of a foil packet being torn open. Tucker moans against my pussy as he works with the condom, and the moment it’s on, he climbs onto the bed with deft movements, and rests so much of his weight on me, I know he’s not scared of hurting me.
Positioning himself at my opening and lifting my legs so they almost rest against his chest, he pushes in just one inch, one sinful, deliciously painful inch, before looking into my eyes.
“You ready?”
I nod. My heart feels like it might hammer straight out of my chest. My lungs are crushed beneath his weight, and my brain is fuzzy from erratic breathing. But I nod anyway, I smile when he does, then I scream when he slams his way home, and shows me how powerful he truly is.
Chuck
He’s a Boss
“Hey, Nora?”
I don’t slam my fist against her door tonight. It’s been a week since our time at the cemetery. A week since we kind of admitted love. Since Nora gave herself to me, body and soul. Seven consecutive nights of being in her bed, or her being in mine. Of touching her body, her touching mine. We’ve had a full week of watching movies, dating each other, laughing and falling deeper into love. We’ve been able to float in ignorance, because nothing has popped our bubble except the hours we have to work. For every other minute, we’ve been twined together, reinforcing what we started, exploring something I had no clue could exist.
I mean, sure, my mom and daddy had it. But I didn’t know it was something I could, or even should search for.
Turns out, I didn’t have to search. I just had to move into a new building and keep my neighbor awake long enough for her temper to snap.
Now, I tap on her door and wait with nerves lodged in my throat.
“Hey, Nora? Open up.”
Galileo sniffs at the gap beneath the door, loud, huffing inhalations that make me smile. I stand in the hall in jeans, boots, a gray shirt, and a coat over top, because summer is gone, and nighttime is getting too damn cold.
Finally, a minute after Galileo’s investigations began, Nora unlocks the door, and cracks it open so I get a view of those tartan pyjama pants.
It’s Friday night, she’s dressed down for bed, and I’m… just heading out after two weekends off.
“Hey.” I study her gentle smile, her plump bottom lip, and the way she’s tied her hair back tonight, to keep the locks out of her eyes. “Damn.” I press a hand to my heart. “You know I have a weakness for those pants.”
“Shut up,” she snickers. “What are you doing?”
“Uh…” I look down at my body as odd nerves settle in my stomach. Then I glance back up and catch the way she let her fake smile drop while my eyes were down. She scrambles to recover, to pretend everything is okay. “I’m heading out now, so…”
“You’re going to Piper’s Lane?”
“Yeah. It’s race night…”
“I hope you have fun.” She steps back and starts to close the door. “Be safe, okay?”
“No, wait.” I jam my foot in the doorway so hard that Galileo’s lips peel back in warning.
He
’s my buddy, but no one is coming into Nora’s apartment without her permission.
“Just wait a sec,” I murmur. “Don’t lock me out.”
“I was just heading to bed.” She tosses a careless thumb over her shoulder and fakes a yawn. “It’s been a massive week of work for me with the tournament coming up. Plus, my annoying neighbor keeps me awake late every night, so…”
“I’ll be home around midnight.” Before I met Nora, I would stumble into my apartment around four in the morning, once the last races were over and the parties wound down. But now, I’m struggling to find the enthusiasm to leave this building at all. I don’t want to party. I don’t want to hang out in the cold, all for the sake of a few laughs and loud engines. “I won’t be too late.”
She smiles, fake and forced. “You forget that, in my world, eight o’clock is late. Have fun, and please try to be quiet when you come up the steps. Actually,” she waves herself off, like she doesn’t need me for this conversation at all, “I might put something on, the sound of rain or something, to drown out your noise.”
“I won’t be noisy.” I step forward when she steps back. “I promise. I’ll tiptoe. Can I…” I snag her shaking hand when she insists on backing away. “Hey, stop.” I pull her closer, and catch her eyes when they whip up. “Can I come here?” I look along her hallway. “Can I come to your apartment?”
“At midnight?” Her voice cracks with panic reminiscent of the scared woman I met months ago. “No. But maybe I’ll see you in the morning.”
“But…” I hate the way she pulls back – emotionally, and physically. “I want to sleep with you.”
She fakes a scoff that arrows straight through my heart. “Sex, sex, sex. You’re always trying to be funny with the sex.”
“I didn’t mean sex.” I tug her against my chest when she continues to back away. “I’m right here, aren’t I? I’m not asking for sex, I’m not making dick jokes. I just want to sleep in your bed. Or have you in mine. Or we could make the fort again.”
“No.” She avoids my eyes and tries to pull away. “Your world and mine aren’t compatible, Chuck. We just—”