Chapter 16 #2
But I can’t say the words. I’ve held myself back a dozen times, and every time he gets close, the only thing keeping me upright is sheer willpower and the fear of what wanting him will cost me.
I’ve been restraining myself since the second I got into town and he looked at me like I was something worth having.
Restraint when he drove me home from the bar.
Restraint when I found the porch swing he put in for me.
Restraint when he stood too close in the kitchen and I could feel the heat rolling off him.
Restraint with every look in my direction.
Restraint today when his hand slid to my waist under the camera lights and my breath stuttered like my body forgot how to function.
Every fucking time, I’ve held back.
Every time, I’ve said no when I wanted to say yes.
Tucker steps inside without permission, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
“It wasn’t nothing,” he repeats his words from earlier with a little less rage with each word. “And for the record, I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
I shake my head. “You can’t say things like that,” I whisper, the anger draining out of me. “Not if you’re not going too—”
“Not going to what?” he challenges, but his voice cracks.
I hate that my eyes sting.
I hate that my chest feels tight.
I hate that I’m seconds away from either crying or kissing him, and neither option is acceptable.
When I don’t answer him, his jaw flexes again. For a moment I think he’s going to open the door and leave. I assume he’s going to do the thing men always do when things get complicated and turn this into a joke.
But he doesn’t.
He exhales. “I’m not trying to act like nothing happened back there at the house.” With every word, his tone rises and my heart stutters. “I’m fucking trying here and every moment with you kills me more and more. You keep acting like you’re alone in this but—”
“I am!” I cut him off before he can finish the thought forming on his face. Every time support came with rules and expectations. My mom showing up only when I performed well. My dad believing in me but failing to protect me from my mother’s constant disapproval.
A career where I had to work extra hard to be taken seriously.
His face shifts like I hit something, but then his gaze turns darker.
The air between us shifts. I open my mouth to apologize for my outburst or say anything else, but steps closer. “You ran today.” I shake my head. “You ran because you felt it.”
“Felt what?”
His eyes lock on mine harder than before. “Me.”
My breath leaves my body and he takes another step closer. And another. I should move and put space between us but my body betrays me and stays right where it is.
“You have to stop saying things like that,” I whisper with a bit of an edge to my tone.
“Why?”
“Because…”
“Because it scares you, Scottie?” he finishes for me.
He waits a moment for me to say something, but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out.
“It fucking scares me, too. You scare me. Every time you look at me it terrifies me because you unknowingly knock down another wall I’ve put up to protect myself from this exact thing. ”
“Tucker,” I breathe out, looking away from him.
“No,” he says, gripping my chin hard and forcing me to look at him. “Look at me.”
I am.
I can’t find it in me anymore to look anywhere else.
His hand lifts, hovering near my waist without touching me. It feels like he’s asking and giving me a choice. Despite what my head is telling me, my skin aches for his contact.
“I’m going to need you to tell me to fucking stop. Because I don’t know if I can on my own. Not this time. Not again.”
I should.
I should use the same restraint I’ve used before, but… “I can’t,” I whisper.
His eyes flick down to my mouth again while his hand lands on my waist. Heat flashes through me instantly. My entire body reacts like it recognizes him as something dangerous and familiar all at once. His grip isn’t harsh, but it’s firm.
It’s claiming.
“Tucker,” I breathe out, my voice sounds like a warning.
My hand lifts before I can think about it, fisting the fabric of his shirt for something solid to hold onto.
He leans in, close enough that his breath brushes my cheek.
I can’t tell if the apartment is too hot or if I’m just too close to him.
His mouth hovers near my ear, not touching, but close enough that every breath against my skin sends chills up my spine.
“I know why you did it,” he says against my skin. “You ran because it felt real. For a second, you forgot about the cameras and the plan. You forgot what this was supposed to be.”
“I—I didn’t forget.”
“Liar.”
Heat crawls up my neck and I hate that he can read me like this.
I hate that he’s right.
“I ran because I didn’t know what to do with it,” I admit.
“With what?”
“With…” I swallow. “With you.”
My confession hands between us, trembling like glass.
Tucker goes still before he exhales—a slow and controlled breath. “You don’t have to know what to do with me,” he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead is pressed against mine. “Just stop pretending you don’t feel this thing between us outside of the show.”
“But that’s not what this is.”
“Really?” he challenges, pressing his body into mine and my lips part on a shaky inhale.
My body feels like it can melt right in front of him from just the contact.
The ache between my legs throbs without even trying.
“Because this doesn’t feel fake and I don’t see anyone staring at us here.
” His thumb strokes the side of my waist, and I swear my body answers him before my mind can.
“Nothing about you feels fake,” he breathes against my lips.
He’s right.
My god, he’s fucking right.
My breath catches and the sound is enough to tilt his control into something darker. His eyes flash and his mouth drops closer. Close enough that his lips graze the corner of my mouth with a whisper of contact. A test that jolts my whole body like he struck a match inside of me.
“You’re fucking killing me,” he snaps.
I gasp, and it’s over. Tucker makes a low sound in his throat before his mouth is on mine. It’s not gentle or soft. It’s controlled only by how badly he’s trying not to consume me whole. His hand tightens at my waist, pulling me flush against him and every inch of air between us disappears.
I kiss him back without restraint—without permission.
My fingers twist in his shirt harder, pulling him into me as if there’s any space left.
He deepens the kiss like he feels me choosing him and can’t stop himself from taking more.
He kisses like he’s been waiting. Like every joke, every smirk, and every teasing comment was just him trying to survive wanting me.
My knees feel weak, but Tucker catches me.
Wrapping an arm around my waist before spinning me and slamming my back against the door.
My hands fly to his hair, tangling them in there as his tongue swipes against my bottom lip.
I open for him, allowing him in completely.
The kiss turns hungrier as if he can’t decide if he wants to ruin me or keep me safe. Maybe both.
I should be panicking.
I should be pulling away.
Instead, I lift my chin, chasing his mouth again like he’s the air I need to breathe.
My hips rock forward, pressing into him as I moan into his mouth.
His hand moves from my waist, slipping to the back of my neck as fingers tangle in my hair.
He groans softly against my lips, and the vibration goes straight through me.
“Fuck,” he says, pulling away just a fraction. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
My chest is rising and falling too fast. “Do you want to stop?”
He shakes his head. “Not a fucking chance, Scottie.” His mouth hovers mine again. “I want to keep going until you forget every single voice that ever told you that you have to be perfect to deserve what you want.”
I blink, unable to process what he’s saying.
He sees right through me. Of course he does.
“You can’t say things like that.”
His eyes soften. “I can, because it’s true.”
And for one terrifying second, I see it. I see what it would feel like to let him.
To stop holding myself together.
To stop performing.
To let someone else carry me for once.
The idea is so foreign it hurts.
Instead of thinking too much into it, I grip his shirt, pulling him down to meet my lips again, and allow myself to get lost in this moment with him.
Even if just for tonight.