Chapter 3
SLOANE
Tucker's mouth is everywhere at once, it seems. His lips trail fire across my collarbone, down my sternum, between my breasts. I arch into his touch, my body responding with an eagerness that surprises me. We've been at this for hours, yet I want more. Need more.
"On your knees," he commands against my ear, his voice a deep growl that sends shivers down my spine.
I immediately comply, rolling onto my stomach and pushing up onto all fours.
His hands slide up my sides, then back down to my hips, gripping me hard enough that I know I'll have fingerprint bruises tomorrow.
The thought thrills me rather than worries me.
The position is vulnerable, exposed, and utterly intoxicating.
Josh never wanted me like this—always missionary, always predictable, always. ..safe.
Tucker is anything but safe.
He presses more bites into my skin, each one leaving a sting that fades into pleasure. The first nip of his teeth makes me gasp, but I push back against him, silently begging for more.
It should be ridiculous, this giant man fucking me in a bunk bed, but the confined space seems to urge him on as he hunches over me and uses his hands to flick and pinch and stroke.
"You like that?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.
"Yes," I breathe, my face heating at the admission.
He rewards me with a harder bite, sucking the sensitive skin between his teeth, marking me. The pain-pleasure has me moaning into the pillow, my body trembling.
"God, I love how responsive you are," he groans, soothing the bite with his tongue before moving behind me to my leg and repeating the process. "Going to have my teeth marks all over these gorgeous thighs."
I glance over my shoulder to find him reaching for another condom from the Thin Ice box.
The sight of his muscular body, glistening with sweat in the dim light of the bunk room, sends another wave of desire through me.
He catches me looking, and his expression turns predatory, with that cocky smile that somehow manages to be both dominating and devastatingly sexy.
"Can't get enough, can you?" he asks, tearing open the wrapper.
"No," I admit, the word slipping out without hesitation.
His expression darkens with lust. He rolls on the condom and positions himself behind me, one hand fisted in my hair again, the other digging into my hip. He somehow manages to be incredibly considerate and dirty as hell. His first thrust makes us both gasp.
"Fuck, Sloane," he breathes, his grip tightening. "So tight, so perfect for me."
From this angle, he feels impossibly deep, hitting places inside me that I didn't know could feel this good. I drop to my elbows, changing the angle further, and he rewards me with a growl of appreciation.
"That's it," he encourages, setting a hard pace that has me clutching the sheets. "Take what I give you. Take what you need.”
I do, pushing back against him, chasing the building pleasure. The bunk bed knocks against the wall, and Tucker reaches out to brace against it, steadying us both without breaking his rhythm.
"Get up," I pant, suddenly wanting more. "I want to feel all of you."
He withdraws, hauling me to my feet at the edge of the lower bunk with surprising strength.
I bend over the bed, my hands on the mattress and my ass in the air, and look back at him expectantly.
His eyes devour me as he takes in the view, one hand running down my spine, the other still gripping my hip hard enough to leave marks.
"Like this?" he asks, voice strained as he positions himself behind me again.
"Yes," I hiss as he enters me with one powerful slide.
The new position has him even deeper, and I bite into the sheet to stifle the sounds threatening to escape.
His thrusts become more forceful, more demanding, and he leans over me to sink his teeth into the junction where my neck meets my shoulder.
The sharp sting, combined with the fullness inside me, has me seeing stars.
"You're mine tonight," he growls against my ear, the possessive words sending an unexpected thrill through me. "Fucking mine."
Behind me, I hear a dull thud followed by a muttered curse.
Tucker laughs darkly, ducking his head. "Hit the upper bunk," he explains, barely slowing his pace. "These beds weren't made for this kind of fucking."
I can't help but giggle, glancing back at him. "Maybe we should lie on the floor.”
"Next time," he promises, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that makes me gasp. His fingers find my clit, circling with just the right pressure.
The dual sensation has me spiraling toward release again. Tucker's breathing becomes more ragged, his rhythm faltering as he nears his own climax. Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by a completely irrational desire.
"Pull out," I gasp. "I want to feel you finish… on me."
He stills for a fraction of a second, then groans. "Fuck, Sloane. You want me to mark you? Want me to come all over this perfect ass?"
"Yes," I plead, not entirely understanding my own request but desperate for it, nonetheless. "Please. I want to feel it."
He withdraws quickly, and I watch over my shoulder as he removes the condom with one hand while the other keeps working between my legs.
I come again with a muffled cry against the pillow, my body shuddering with release.
Moments later, I feel the hot splash of his orgasm across my lower back, his hand still gripping my hip with that deep intensity.
I come again to the idea of it, the white, sticky, potent mess of it, so obscene, so perfect, exactly what I asked for. I’m whimpering into the mattress as Tucker repeats my name on ragged exhalations.
For several heartbeats, we stay frozen in that position, both catching our breath. Then he leans down, pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades, just above where his jizz cools on my skin.
"God, you're incredible," he murmurs, his voice rough.
He steps away briefly, returning with what feels like a T-shirt to gently clean my back. The tender gesture makes my throat tighten unexpectedly. When he's done, his fingers drift to my inner thigh, carefully tracing the edge of what must already be a darkening bruise from his teeth.
"Too much?" he asks, his voice soft as he gently massages the marked skin.
I shake my head, surprised by how much I like the idea of carrying this evidence of him on my body tomorrow. "No. I like it."
His eyes meet mine, understanding passing between us before he guides me back onto the bed, pulling me against his chest as we lay on our sides.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my hip as our breathing slows. The silence is comfortable, intimate in a way that transcends the physical connection we just shared.
"That was..." I trail off, unsure how to articulate what just happened.
"Yeah," he agrees, seeming to understand.
I feel a strange melancholy settling over me as my mind drifts to my request. Why had I been so fixated on feeling his semen on my skin? The thought makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment and something more profound, more painful.
Tucker seems to sense my mood shift. "What's going on in that head of yours?" he asks, his breath warm against my ear.
I consider deflecting, offering something light and meaningless. But in the darkness, with this man I'll never see again, honesty feels safer.
“My marriage,” I say quietly. "It ended badly."
His hand stills on my hip, then resumes its gentle movement. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It needed to end." I turn in his arms to face him, searching his expression in the dim light. His eyes are serious, all traces of the playboy momentarily gone.
"This is just a one-night thing," I reiterate, needing to establish boundaries before I lose myself entirely in whatever this is.
His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "Doesn't have to be just one night. We're both in Pittsburgh, right?"
The thought is tempting—continuing this, having more nights like this. But reality intrudes. I'm putting my life back together, still figuring out who I am without Josh. And Tucker... Tucker is exactly the kind of man I should be avoiding.
"Let's not complicate it," I say, offering a smile to soften the rejection. "Tonight was perfect."
Something flickers in his eyes—disappointment, maybe—before he nods. "Whatever you want, Sloane."
The conversation drifts to lighter topics.
He tells me about growing up in a house full of brothers, about summers spent learning to kayak, about his love of fast cars.
I share stories about my grandmother, about college classes I enjoyed before dropping out.
I don’t tell him I’ve always dreamed of my own house full of kids.
Growing up as an only child of an only child, I didn’t have cousins. I never had what Tucker describes, but I’ve always wanted it more than anything. A huge family to yell, tease, and celebrate. A baby on my hip, slung on my back, asleep at my breast.
At some point, I drift off in his arms, more comfortable than I should be after fucking my ex-husband’s co-worker.
I wake to the sound of his even breathing, the room now completely dark except for the faint moonlight filtering through a small window. The clock on the nightstand reads 3:17 AM. Carefully, I extricate myself from his embrace, gathering my discarded bikini pieces.
He stirs slightly, mumbling something in his sleep before settling again.
I watch him for a moment, memorizing the lines of his face, the curve of his lips, the tousled blond hair.
This beautiful stranger, who, for a few hours, made me forget everything else.
I probably shouldn’t have sought this out with this specific man, who knows my ex.
But boy, did Tucker Stag deliver what I was looking for.
I dress silently, resisting the urge to leave a note or wake him for a proper goodbye. Better this way—clean, simple. A perfect memory unmarred by reality.
At the door, I pause for one last look. "Thank you," I whisper, though I know he can't hear me.
Then I slip out into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind me.
As I tiptoe up the stairs, I can't help comparing tonight to what sex had been like with Josh. My ex-husband approached sex like everything else in his life—with discipline and restraint. It was satisfying in a basic way, but never passionate, never spontaneous.
Never like tonight.
Tucker had been attentive, playful, intensely focused on my pleasure. He'd asked what I wanted and then delivered with enthusiasm. The freedom to express my desires, to be as loud or quiet as I wanted, to change positions on a whim—it was intoxicating.
I creep back into the room I'm sharing with Mel and quickly shower before sliding beneath the covers of the giant bed.
My body aches pleasantly, bearing the memory of Tucker's touch.
Tomorrow, I'll return to Pittsburgh, to my uncertain future, to the process of rebuilding.
But tonight, for a few precious hours, I'd been just Sloane—desired, fulfilled, and completely free.
As sleep reclaims me, I wonder briefly what might have happened if we'd met at a different time, in different circumstances. Then I push the thought away.