by Amy Andrews
Her hand tensed in his hold, trying to go south again, and Tucker clamped around her wrist a little more firmly. “I’m fine,” he said, leaning in to kiss her neck. “This isn’t about me.”
She pushed him back, her brows beetling even further. “Damn it, Tucker, this is about both of us. Not just me.”
Somehow, she managed to flex her pelvis just enough to ride him a little. Her breath hitched, and Tucker stifled a groan as sensation flooded his loins. Fuck. So damn good. For her, too, obviously, as she shuddered against him. All this heavy kissing, their groins plastered together, had obviously pushed her really, really close to the edge.
Her other hand moved in a determinedly southerly direction, and he had to make a grab for it with the hand he had anchored at the small of her back.
“Tucker.” Her voice was strained and urgent, but she quickly realized she was now free to move her hips, and she did so with no hesitation.
Damn it. He didn’t want to deny her—or him—this outlet of pleasure. His plan for the next couple of weeks had only involved kissing. He’d planned to kiss her so much and so often their lips would be almost permanently numb.
It was rule number two, damn it.
But…he didn’t want her going to bed tonight and using a vibrator to get off when he was perfectly capable of giving her what she wanted. What she needed. He wanted to be the one to put a smile on her face—not some toyfriend from Frieda’s.
“You want to move to the next level?”
Her hips ground to a halt, her eyes, the pupils huge, seeking his. “Yes.”
“Really, Della?” He’d told her he’d check in and he meant it.
“Really.” She panted and rocked her hips again.
His pulse beating like a train, Tucker dragged her hands up to his shoulders, anchoring them there before grabbing her hips and holding her fast again to halt all her crazy-good rocking.
“You want to touch me?” he asked, his voice full of gravel. One hand slipped from her hip, tracing along the front of her jeans until it reached the seam between her legs. “Like this?”
His forefinger followed the stitching upward. She gasped and bucked against him, her grip on his shoulders like a vice. “Easy,” he whispered, leaning into her a little, his lips hovering over hers. “Allow me.”
He kissed her then, slow and long and deep, groaning as her taste and cupcake scent once again filled his senses, getting lost in it, in her, before remembering his task. She moaned as he traced his forefinger all the way up the middle seam of her jeans to where her zipper began. But still his finger went higher, tracing the rough teeth all the way up to the tab, then reversing direction, pulling on the tab, pulling it down, easing the teeth apart slowly, slowly.
One by one.
When it would go no farther, Tucker slid his hand inside her jeans, finding the waistband of her panties and sliding two fingers inside. The suck of her breath spurred him on, his fingers seeking and seeking until they slid into the furrow of slick heat between her legs.
“Like this?”
She bucked, pulling away from him a little, their eyes locking, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. “Yes.”
“And this?” He found her clit and gave it a light rub.
She gasped, her fingers digging into the balls of his shoulders. “Oh…yes.”
Christ she was gorgeous. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her hair was loose around her face, her eyes fluttering to half-mast as his fingers worked the engorged little nub. Her head wobbled on her neck like she was too damn boneless to support herself, and the thought that it was him making her boneless was a rush to the head.
Even fully clothed, she looked utterly wanton, her eyes heavy, his hand in her panties.
“More?” he asked. “Harder, faster, slower? Tell me what you want, Della.”
“Harder.” She panted. “Faster.”
Tucker increased the tempo, her head rocking now, the grip of her hands on his shoulders turning vice-like. Her pelvis started to flex. The faster he rubbed, the more it flexed, until she was practically riding his hand. The earthy aroma of aroused woman wafted over him in an intoxicating mix, and his pulse started to throb through his groin.
Jesus…he wanted to kiss her so fucking bad, but he couldn’t stop looking at her as breathy pants turned to moans turned to gasps. He wanted to witness her orgasm, see the moment it broke, and watch it unfold in all its glory.
He didn’t want to miss a second of that show. Tucker hoped he’d get to see it often, but nothing beat the first time. “More?”
“God…Tuck.” She moaned. “Yes, more…everything.”
So he gave her everything and watched her eyes close in ecstasy and her head fall back and her hips buck wildly. Suddenly, her clit went hard as a marble beneath his fingers, and she cried out. Her head snapped up, her eyes snapped open.
“Tucker!”
“Yes, baby,” he muttered, his fingers flying as Della’s body bucked violently. “Yes.”
Her climax was every bit as spectacular as Tucker had known it would be, and he held her tight as it barreled through her body. She was so incredibly sexy tossed around like this that he never wanted it to end. He wanted her to wring every last bit of pleasure out of this experience and know that this was what she deserved.
Nothing less than total, wanton, lustful abandonment.
Finally, as the orgasm ebbed, her eyes closed, and within seconds she’d collapsed against him, breathing hard. Removing his fingers from her panties, Tucker slid both his hands around to rest on her ass cheeks, and for a minute, neither of them said anything.
Hell, he didn’t have enough breath to form words.
“Are you okay?” he asked eventually, when he could speak without puffing.
She pushed away from him a little, a process that seemed to take an extraordinary amount of effort, and stared down at him dazedly. “Yes.” Then she shook her head. “No.” She frowned. “Yes?”
He chuckled at her sexed-up confusion, which was cute as fuck. “Which is it?”
“I…” She shook her head. “I don’t think I can word right now.” And she slumped into his chest again.
He chuckled, his hands roaming up her back, stroking her gently. Speechless and boneless. “Then my work here is done.”
For a man with a painfully erect penis, he was feeling pretty damn smug.
She laughed, but it was muffled. “Are you kidding? After that little demonstration, your work is just starting.”
Tucker was totally up for further demonstration. But not tonight. His poor strangulating penis needed some time and space away from temptation. “Greedy girl,” he said as he grasped her around the ass. “Hold on to my shoulders.”
She complied without argument, and Tucker half turned, tipping Della back onto the couch cushions, her legs spread in a way that had his libido growling.
Her eyes opened. “You’re leaving?”
“Yep.” Then he ducked his head, kissing the spot where the button of her jeans would have been had her fly not been gaping open. “See you tomorrow night,” he murmured, untangling himself from her legs and pushing to his feet.
She roused, rising up onto her bent elbows. For a woman with all her clothes on, she looked utterly sated. “Please tell me you can do that again?”
“You bet your ass I can.” Tucker grinned. “I can even do it with my mouth.”
“You’re a tease, Tucker Daniels,” Della said as her elbows collapsed from underneath her and she lay sprawled and very, very inviting on the couch.
Oh yeah. Tucker had every intention of teasing this woman as frequently as she’d let him. She’d missed out on a hell of a lot of making out, and he intended to see that she caught up real fast.
Chapter Fifteen
Ten days later, on a quiet Thursday afternoon, Tucker was whistling as he c
ut up fruit for cocktails. He had no idea why a man with balls as blue as the Cookie Monster had a right to be so fucking chipper, but he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.
Last night, he’d gone down on Della for the first time. They’d been having a good time taking things slowly, even if it was a delicious kind of torture, having both lost their shirts over a week ago, and while he could play with and suck on her nipples for hours, her underwear and what was inside had been the next frontier.
To say she’d had a good time was the understatement of the century. He’d didn’t like to brag, but he’d made her come twice in five minutes with his tongue, and she’d looked at him like he was some kind of wunderkind.
And they hadn’t even had sex yet.
He didn’t need a crystal ball to know that was going to be an out-of-body experience. For both of them. The fact that he was suffering from a severe case of what Drew called MSP—massive sperm pressure—almost guaranteed it. He’d been assured most of his life that it wasn’t possible to die from being this backed up, but his sperm levels were definitely reaching critical mass.
He should have taken himself in hand that first night after he’d kissed her in Denver and things had escalated wildly out of his control. God knew it would probably have been the quickest tug he’d ever had in his life. But he refused to put Della in some spank bank and pull out her image for some quick, mindless gratification.
He was perfectly okay with her using him for that purpose, but it didn’t feel right the other way around. And yes, he could have still indulged in a spot of manhandling and thought of something else, somebody else, but he hadn’t thought of another woman in such a long time he wasn’t sure he knew how. His brain had been totally stuck on Della, so jerking off had not been on.
And yet still, despite the load he was carrying, he couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. Della was happy, and he was responsible for at least some of that.
“Why are you whistling?”
Tucker glanced over his shoulder at the familiar voice to see Arlo and Drew sitting their asses on stools. Arlo was, as usual, in his uniform, like Tucker needed another reminder that the brother of the woman he was secretly bringing to orgasm every night packed a taser and a gun.
Drew was shrugging out of his jacket to reveal his crisp white business shirt and conservative pale blue tie. Old Mr. Fraser’s funeral had been today. He’d been ninety-six and worked for the railway for over fifty years.
Tucker wiped his hands on a cloth. “I wasn’t whistling.” Was he? He’d been too occupied remembering Della’s smell and her taste and her vocal appreciation to register much else.
Arlo narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, you were.”
“Yup,” Drew confirmed. “Like a canary. With laryngitis.”
“Huh.” He probably needed to watch that. “You two want beers?”
Drew nodded. “Yes please.”
“Just a Coke for me. I’m expecting a call.”
Tucker grabbed two beers and a Coke and distributed them. Any hope that Arlo might have dropped the whistling thing was dashed as he continued his line of questioning like making music with ones lips and teeth had suddenly become a national crime. “So? What’s with the whistling?”
There was no way in hell Tucker was about to tell Arlo the real reason. Yes, he’d decided Arlo and what he might think shouldn’t be a factor in what he was doing with Della, but that didn’t mean they were advertising it, either. They’d managed to keep a lid on it despite the book club thing, and, so far, there’d been no whispers around town.
“I’m sorry, dude, did some statutes change, suddenly making it illegal to whistle?”
“Nope.”
“So you’re what…the fun police now?” Jesus. Being a cop had made Arlo suspicious of everything, but whistling?
He shrugged. “You’re either a whistler or you’re not. I’ve known you all my life, and you, dude, are not.”
Drew nodded. “Plus, you kinda suck at it.”
They looked at him expectantly, and Tucker shoved his hands on his hips. “What, I can’t be happy?”
Arlo shook his head. “That’s not why.”
Exasperated, Tucker reached for his beer. “Well then, go ahead, tell me why.” This ought to be good. He took several long swallows of his beer, hoping like crazy Arlo could not see inside his head.
Narrowing his eyes again, Arlo said, “You’re getting laid.”
Tucker almost choked on his mouthful, coughing and spluttering for a moment as he placed his beer on the bar. “I am not getting laid.”
He’d never been more relieved that he could put his hand on his heart, look Arlo straight in the eye, and tell the truth. Arlo could sniff out someone talking horseshit at a hundred paces. Sure, he and Della were pushing the boundaries, but there had been no P-in-V action, and that was the truth.
“When would I even have time for that?” he continued. “My life is this place. I work seven days a week and go straight from Jack’s to home every damn night.” Drew frowned slightly, but Tucker continued on pressing his point home. “Jack’s to home, home to Jack’s. That’s it. That’s my life.”
Okay, he needed to shut up now and stop harping on, considering he’d gone to Della’s from work every night since she’d moved in.
“And besides—” Time for a redirect. “It’d be all over town if there was someone.”
“That’s true,” Drew agreed. “When you got caught by old Mrs. Hutchens banging that redhead on her way to the Kansas state fair in the alley behind the bar four years ago, everyone knew the next day.”
“That’s because she called the cops,” Tucker said. “And you”—he stabbed his finger at Arlo—“threw me in the cell overnight for public indecency.”
Arlo shrugged. “It’s against the law to expose your genitals in public.”
“No way did she see what she claimed to have seen. It was almost midnight, and she wears glasses that are two inches thick. There are bats who can see better than her.”
“She saw enough of you, apparently, to have mentally scarred her and her poor pooch for life.”
“It’s a compliment, if you think about it,” Drew butted in. “I mean, now everyone in town knows about that monster you’re packing, not just Mrs. Hutchens and her dog.”
Ignoring Drew, Tucker scowled at Arlo. “You could have let me off with a warning.”
“And disappoint the fine, upstanding, law-abiding citizens of this community who pay their taxes and keep their junk in their pants?” Arlo smiled as he wrapped his mouth around his Coke bottle.
Tucker rolled his eyes. Anybody would think he’d been caught in a trench coat flashing his wares around. “You enjoyed yourself.”
Arlo’s lips twitched. “It’s not my fault you got caught with your pants down by a little old lady. She’s blind, not deaf. Be quieter next time.”
A phone rang, and Arlo pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Gotta take this,” he said, hitting the answer button as he slid off the stool.
Tucker took a mental breath now the whistling police had left the building. But not for long, as Drew turned his narrow-eyed gaze on Tucker. “So what is going on with you?”
“Oh Jesus, you, too? Nothing is going on with me.”
“And I call horseshit on that. Why did you lie to Arlo?”
“I did not lie. I’m not getting laid.” It might have been a technicality, but it didn’t make it any less true.
Drew’s gaze seemed to bore right into him. Because of his job, Drew met people at a time when they were at their lowest, which made him a very good listener and a person in which people often confided. He also knew death could bring out the best and worst in people, and between that and growing up with four sisters, he was really good at sniffing out bullshit.
“I was talking to Eadie Doyle at the Fraser funeral today.”
/> “So?”
“She lives opposite Della.”
Well, crap. Suddenly Tucker knew exactly where this was going. But fuck it, he could bluff it out. “So?”
“She was telling me Della’s had a visitor every night since she’s moved in.”
Tucker shrugged nonchalantly. “Della’s a friendly person. I’m sure she’s had plenty of visitors.”
“This guy normally comes after ten, stays for an hour or two.”
“That so?”
“It is.”
“Well…good for her.”
Christ, he sounded so calm, but it was far from what he was feeling. He hadn’t driven his pickup to Della’s because he hadn’t wanted to attract any attention from nosy neighbors. He didn’t realize Eadie Doyle was keeping a fucking journal on his comings and goings.
“Dude…” Drew shook his head. “What are you doing?”
Tucker sighed as he saw the truth in Drew’s eyes. He knew. Drew knew the exact identity of Della’s nightly visitor. But he didn’t know anything else, right? Unless Eadie was also lurking in the bushes with a pair of binoculars.
“Fine…I’ve been calling in to check up on her and the dog. That’s it. Just dropping in to make sure she’s doing okay.”
“Yeah…except you just lied to Arlo about going home every night from Jack’s. I mean, if you really are only calling in to check up on a friend, why wouldn’t you just tell him that? And what the hell is with the whistling?”
“Jesus.” Tucker glared at Drew. “I’ll stop whistling, okay?”
But Drew was clearly not going to be deterred. He regarded Tucker for long, long moments with eyes that could spot a person jockeying for some inheritance action from across a room. “Fuck. You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?”
Tucker shook his head vehemently. “No. Jesus—” He glanced around at his few disinterested customers. “Keep your voice down.”
“Shit, Tucker,” he whispered. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
There was absolutely no point in trying to deny it any further. Drew knew something was going on between them, and they’d been friends long enough to know the guy couldn’t be dissuaded when he knew he was right.