by Amy Andrews
“Holding back how? Emotionally? Sexually?”
“Sexually.” Emotionally, he was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing and what she was failing at—keeping them right out of the mix. “He’s so…in control all the time.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“He’s so determined to make it good for me that he puts his desire…his pleasure last.”
Selena gave a half laugh. “I have a dozen clients right now who’d swap their partners for Tucker in a heartbeat.”
Having been in that boat, Della could relate. It seemed like a true first-world problem to be even voicing these concerns. Maybe she should just lay back and let him fly her to heaven every night and be damn thankful. But she felt like she’d gone from one extreme to the other.
Was it so wrong to want to be an equal sexual partner?
“The sex is very…safe. And I understand it’s important to him that I feel safe. Hell, I want to feel safe. But the sex is always missionary, very…101 kinda stuff. If you know what I mean. Don’t get me wrong…the man can make me forget my own name multiple times a night. It’s just…”
“You want to experiment some more?”
“No. Well, yes, I guess…maybe a little, but…” How did she explain this? “I don’t know…every time I see him, I just want to tear his clothes off and push him down on the floor and—” Della blushed, thinking about the things she wanted to do to Tucker on the floor. “Well, let’s just say I feel so irrationally insatiable I practically shake with it.”
“And Tucker is more…contained?”
“Yes.” Contained was an excellent word for Tucker. “For example, I scream like a banshee when I climax. I mean, I’ve tried to be quiet, Selena, I really have, because it’s a little embarrassing, to be honest, but it’s so good I can’t not. Tucker, on the other hand…he just kind of shudders through his, barely making a noise. Like he’s trying to internalize it or something.” Della grimaced. “Is that even good for you? Won’t he like…blow a disc or pop an eye or something?”
Selena laughed. “I think his eyes are probably safe.”
“I just feel like he’s holding back, like he keeps such a tight leash on his climax, and I don’t want that. I want him to be as uninhibited as I apparently am.”
Della had always thought maybe Winona’s heroines were a little OTT with their climaxes. Like they’d been embellished for dramatic purposes. But then Tucker had started dishing out orgasms and ooh la freaking la.
“Maybe that’s just him. A lot of guys have trained themselves as teenagers to be quiet while they masturbate, and it can”—she shrugged—“become entrenched.”
“It’s not just his orgasm, though. How he touches me and kisses me is always very controlled. He doesn’t get carried away. It never seems like he just wants to tear my clothes off and do me on the floor. It feels a little like he’s doing sex to me, not having sex with me.”
“I think it’s understandable, given the ordeal you suffered with Todd, that he’d be a little…tentative with you. Have you had a conversation with him about how you feel?”
“Not since our spank bank, starfish conversation just before we went all the way for the first time.”
“Maybe it’s time for another?”
Della grimaced. “I guess.” Or maybe she’d misread his control for disinterest, and how embarrassing would that conversation be?
“I know it’s not always easy to talk about such intimate stuff, but it’s best being up front with what you want.”
“Yeah…you’re right.” But ugh.
“Maybe you could start small. Rather than saying, I want you to rip my clothes off, do me on the floor, and come so loud they can hear you in Texas—” She smiled, and Della gave a half laugh. “Maybe just change up one thing. Suggest moving from the bed to the shower or the kitchen counter. Or tell him you want to go on top? Or…is there something you really want to do?”
“I’d like to…go down on him. I’ve set my mind to it a few times, but then he uses orgasm-distractive therapy to make me forget what I wanted in the first place.”
Selena nodded in what Della had come to know as her right-okay-but expression. “I can see why that would make him hesitant, given your history with the act. Are you sure that’s what you want? Fellatio?”
Della nodded. “I’ve been reading a lot of Winona’s books, and her characters seem to really be into it.”
“Sure, both men and women find oral sex very pleasurable. Giving and accepting.”
Della wanted to ask if Selena did, but she doubted that was an appropriate question to ask her therapist. “He goes down on me almost every night, so why not?”
“There’s absolutely no reason why you can’t or you shouldn’t. I guess you just need to be aware that it might be triggering for you, which is probably what is making Tucker so hesitant, because he’s a good guy who obviously cares about your well-being.”
“Yeah, I know. But…it’s me wanting to do it. Not him forcing it on me.”
“Right.” Selena nodded. “And the fact that he’s aware of your history probably makes him the most ideal guy with whom to explore that kind of intimacy, so…put on your big-girl panties and talk to him, Della.”
“Okay, fine.” She sighed. She’d rather just sink to her knees before him and let herself loose. But it looked like they were going to have to have a conversation. A blow job conversation.
Damned if she was wearing her big-girl panties during that, though. In fact, she wasn’t going to wear any panties at all.
…
It was almost one in the morning when Tucker dumped the sack of gourmet birdseed on Mrs. Doyle’s front porch. He’d picked it up for her from the feed store earlier today and handed over a hideous amount of money. Her two parrots—Cheech and Chong—apparently had champagne tastes.
He shouldn’t be letting the old biddy get away with her unspoken blackmail, but she was harmless enough, and it was mutually beneficial. She got a supply of Annie’s pies, bird food, and running repairs, and he got Della, to himself, every night. Their…liaison, kept quiet.
Because it was imperative that it stayed quiet. For Della. The town may have drawn ranks around her when she’d first arrived, but she’d still been an object of speculation, and she didn’t need any more of that in her life.
Especially with her making such great strides in reclaiming it.
And frankly, he really didn’t want this thing to end yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted it to end ever. Yes, he knew it would. Della only wanted it to be a temporary thing, after all. But they’d never put a time frame on it, and she didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
Which begged the question: If nobody knew, then what was the hurry?
He crossed the street, barely aware of the touch of warmth lingering in the April night hinting at the long, hot summer ahead. Aware only of Betty barking and of Della only a few paces away behind that door.
Della, who had opened him right up when she’d told him everything about her marriage. He’d already known a little, and he had contemplated telling her that just to save her from the rerun. But it’d obviously been important to her to get it off her chest, and he’d been honored to be the one with whom she’d shared such intimate details.
Della, who he couldn’t stop thinking about.
Hell, he’d seen her less than twenty-four hours ago, but his heart was skipping, and his ribs were suddenly steel bars around his too-big lungs. His entire body was lit up with anticipation.
And not just physical anticipation. He couldn’t wait to see her face, her smile. To eat whatever she’d cooked for him and listen to her chat about her day as Betty watched her adoringly. It didn’t matter that it was late and he was exhausted from a busy night at Jack’s and a lack of sleep that was becoming chronic ever since he’d started staying the night.
Della was i
nstantly reviving. Just being with her energized him.
She’d gone to Denver this morning to see her shrink, and he couldn’t wait to hear about that and the lingerie shopping she’d taunted him with as he’d walked out her bedroom door this morning.
What color underwear should I buy at La Perla today?
His dick had set a new land speed record for penile engorgement. Zero to rock hard in three point nine seconds. He’d choked out a “Surprise me,” then hightailed it out of her house before Mrs. Doyle rose for the day and turned her heat-seeking gaze on Della’s house, spying two warm bodies instead of one and a giant glowing red rocket about to burst out of his pants.
Seriously, the NSA should employ her as a spy.
His knuckles had barely landed before the door was pulled open. A part of him had half expected to see her in her new underwear and nothing else, because the woman took a little too much delight in pushing him to the edge. But she was fully dressed. Although a short, tight skirt that barely reach mid-thigh and a tank top featuring a row of tiny buttons straight down the middle was tempting as fuck.
His fingers already itched to hike up her skirt, to grab the bottom of her shirt and rip. He wouldn’t though. He’d slowly brush his hands up her legs to tease under her hem and undo those buttons one by one, watching the sweet swells of her breasts and the pinkness of her nipples as they were slowly revealed.
“Hey,” he said, his voice scratching like gravel in his throat.
She smiled slow and sweet. “Hey.”
Tucker squatted next to Betty, who was turning excited circles around his feet. “Good evening, Missy B.”
The dog jumped up, planting both paws on his chest, and licked Tucker’s neck with enthusiasm. He scratched under her ears, but all the time he was aware of Della’s bare feet—complete with blue sparkly toenails—and the tight barrier of her skirt stopping him from finding out the color of her underwear.
Was it sparkly blue as well, maybe?
“On your bed, Betty.”
Tucker glanced up, surprised at Della’s throaty command. So did Betty. But there was a gleam in those blue eyes that accelerated his pulse and had the dog scurrying for the bed.
Bossy. He liked it.
Her eyes met his as she pushed a hand into his hair. “While you’re down there.”
Tucker bit back a groan. Bold. He liked that even better. Witnessing Della grow more and more sure of herself was fucking magnificent.
Her hair was pulled back into a messy kind of knot just above her nape, and the stray chunks that had come loose from around her face were now forming a wispy curtain. It made her look a little fey, a little wild.
The sexual energy vibrating from her bordered on feral.
Tucker felt it in his chest and all the way to his groin, his nostrils flaring as the heavy spice of her arousal taunted him. He wanted nothing more than to reach under her skirt, tear off her panties, and devour her, but that would be fast and furious and dirty, and he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t drag her to the floor afterward and slam himself into her.
Also, they were standing in her doorway.
Curling his hands into his palms to stop himself from running them up the sides of her legs, he stood. If he so much as touched the smooth skin of her calves, her underwear would be toast, and that seemed sacrilegious to anything La Perla. Plus, he wasn’t some kind of…animal. He wouldn’t pounce on her as soon as he came through the door. They had a perfectly good bed with a nice soft mattress in her bedroom, and he would take his time.
“What? No how was your day, dear?”
She shook her head, slow and deliberate. “Nope.” Then she grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt and kissed him.
And she kissed him dirty. She always kissed with unbridled passion. Those little soft whimpery noises she made at the back of her throat drove him slowly crazy, but she’d didn’t often take control, usually letting him lead.
Tonight, she was in the driver’s seat, her mouth twisting and turning on his, her tongue hunting and finding and stroking, her hand fisting in his shirt. And those little noises were guttural now and very, very dirty. The sound of her heavy breathing filled his head, and the wild cocktail of cupcakes and aroused woman intoxicated his senses as she rubbed against him like a frenzied feline.
Like she was trying to melt her way inside him. Like she couldn’t get enough. Escalating her arousal. Escalating his arousal.
It was all he could do to contain her, clamping his palm hard against the small of her back to limit the heat she was stirring. His cock was already hard and responding to the friction in a way that could soon become embarrassing.
He was trying to slow things down, to meet her kisses with measure and control, but her bristling sexuality was shoving hot, sticky fingers under his skin, making it almost impossible. With his pulse pounding at his temples and thudding like a jackhammer through his abdomen, he wanted nothing more than to push her against the nearest wall and fuck her into tomorrow.
It took all of his resistance not to obey the roar of his arousal.
“Why don’t we take this to the bedroom?” He pulled out of the kiss, panting a little. They were still in full view of the street, for fuck’s sake.
“No.” She shook her head. “Here.” Then she yanked him forward and kicked the door shut.
Christ.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her chest was heaving, and her mouth was wet from their kisses, as she planted her hand in the center of his chest and gave him a shove. Tucker’s ass and shoulder blades hit the back of the door as her body followed, flattening against him again, her hand sliding between them, reaching for his belt buckle, sliding it from the loop.
His dick was very happy at the direction things had taken.
“Della.”
She ignored him, working at his belt, her gaze holding his, bold as freaking brass. Christ, he wanted to kiss the hell out of her right now—hunt down her mouth as she had done with his—but then his belt flapped open and a triumphant little noise from the back of her throat sidetracked him totally.
Then she dropped to her knees. Oh Jesus, no. Hell no. “Stop, Della.”
His dick was decidedly unhappy at that.
She glanced up at him with those unwavering eyes. Eyes that said make me. Who knew determination could be such a damn turn-on? The stray wisps of hair framed her face now as she held his gaze and reached for the tab of his zipper. Her fingers brushing across his erection was painfully good, and for a second Tucker’s eyes drifted shut as eddies of sensation swirled in his ass and his thighs and his balls.
They snapped open at the first sound of zipper teeth opening.
Okay. No. Definitely 100 percent no. No matter how fucking amazing she looked staring up at him with a mouth swollen from their kisses and her hair falling all over her face and her fingers poised temptingly at his fly.
She didn’t have to do this for him. He didn’t need his dick sucked. Even if the organ in question was currently in vehement disagreement.
Knocking her hand away, he cupped himself to protect from further zipper incursions while reaching down with the other, sliding it around her biceps and pulling her gently to her feet. “Let’s go to bed,” he whispered, hoping to cool some jets in the time it took to get to her bedroom.
But Della didn’t shift as he tried to move forward. She stood her ground. “You don’t like blow jobs?”
Oh, dear God… He was a red-blooded man. Liking blow jobs was pretty much hardwired into his circuitry. Along with boobs and football. “I like blow jobs just fine.”
“So let me…” She reached for his fly again, hooking her index finger over his and tugging.
But Tucker held firm. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to say no if she actually got her hands on his erection, and he had to be mindful of her history. “There’s no need.”
Her
hand slid away, her make me eyes changing to are you seriously fucking kidding me eyes. “But…I want to.”
And Tucker would like nothing more, but that incident with her waking to the lamp being off had rattled the hell out of him. Maybe all those memories weren’t as far away as she thought.
“Why don’t you let me get you first?” Tucker waggled his eyebrows. “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, after all.” He tried to push forward again, but still she didn’t budge.
“So you can melt my brains and make me forget all about it?” she demanded.
Tucker grinned. “I melt your brains, huh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Quit stalling, Tucker.” And she walked away.
Tucker was grateful for the distance. Those damn buttons were distractingly tempting. She pulled to a stop near Betty’s basket. The dog had been dozing and thumped her tail twice at Della’s presence but didn’t rouse further.
“Do you even want me?” she asked, turning to face him. “Or am I just a duty to you? Some kind of favor? Teach poor, sex-starved Della the ropes—check!”
Tucker blinked. Duty? Favor? Was she crazy? He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. Including that Birdhouse skateboard signed by Tony Hawk he’d jonesed over obsessively when was a kid.
How could she take him inside her night after night and not know the depths of his want?
But the question was clearly rhetorical as she pushed on. “Because all I think about is having sex with you. Like, all day and right up to the second you knock on my door, all I think about is tearing your clothes off and pushing you to the floor and grinding all over you.”
Tucker swallowed hard at her frank admission. Christ…he hadn’t let himself go there, but the fact that she had was like rocket fuel to his already supercharged arousal.
“And yet, you… You’re always so controlled. You want to eat and chat and play with Betty and…change the damn blown light bulb, and all I can think is why isn’t he kissing me? Or, why aren’t we on the bed going for it? Or, would he be shocked if I met him at the door naked? And I feel like a…” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Like a sex maniac.”