Chapter 8
8
K nock, knock, knock.
Oh, shit.
Oh, shit.
He was here.
Sure, she’d had the place spotless for hours, but now it was real.
A human man was about to walk into her ultra-girly apartment.
And that had never happened before.
With one frantic sweep of her eyes across the kitchen and living room, Hanna wrangled her fingers together and took in a deep breath. She didn’t know why she was nervous. Being with Tucker felt eerily natural—even when she said something stupid. In fact, he seemed to find her penchant for being completely uncensored… dare she say, cute?
She sighed, shaking her head. God, wasn’t that every girl’s wet dream? To find a guy who found all her weird quirks to be adorable and even sexy?
Hanna couldn’t let herself hope for that. But she could certainly let herself enjoy what this is, for now at least.
Her phone buzzed, and she looked down to see Tucker had texted her.
I’m here, I think. Please tell me I’m not pounding on the wrong door.
She laughed, opening the front door to find him clad in linen white shorts and a navy button down tugged up over his forearms, carrying a black plastic bus bin on his shoulder with one hand and a grocery bag in the other. Her gaze snagged on the veins bulging under where his sleeves were rolled up as she bit her lip.
Okay, so he was being slutty tonight, and she was here for it.
“Sorry,” she said. “I was peeing.”
He laughed.
“Okay, I wasn’t peeing. I was panicking.”
He laughed harder. “Panicking?”
“This is the first time I’ve had a boy over,” she whispered conspiratorially.
“Ever?”
“Well, here.” She thought for a moment, pressing her lips together. “Honestly, it’s the first time I’ve had anyone over since I moved here, period.”
“When did you move here?”
“A little over two years ago.”
Tucker blinked, then recovered. “Well, lucky me. I get to be the first. Can I come in?”
Cheeks going hot, Hanna realized she’d not even opened the door the whole way.
“Yes, of course,” she said all too quickly, opening the door so fast the doorknob banged against the wall.
Get your shit together, Hanna.
He’s just a man.
A man with very slutty forearms.
“So what are we cooking?” She asked as he placed the groceries on the counter.
“Shrimp tacos and peanut butter cookies.”
“Interesting combo.”
“It’s the two easiest things I could think of to cook.”
“Yeah, about that. I appreciate that you want me to learn, but I need you to know that many have tried and failed.”
“I know.” Tucker’s lips tipped up. “Where are your pots and pans?”
“Uhh…” Hanna bit her lip.
Didn’t he remember her story about starting a fire with the boiling water? Hanna had a microwave and an electric tea kettle. That was it.
Tucker’s half-smile turned to a full-on smirk. “Yeah, I figured.”
He put everything down and pulled out a silver pan, a cookie tray, a mixing bowl, and various other utensils Hanna didn’t know the name of. As he tugged everything out of his backpack, his tattooed forearms flexed.
Did he understand what his slutty forearms were doing to her?
She wanted to lick them.
And then lick other parts of him.
Thoroughly.
“You came prepared,” she said, unable to help how impressed she sounded.
“Don’t worry, these are mine,” he said, his smirk growing. “I won’t leave them here with you. Wouldn’t want to create a fire hazard.”
“That’s not the fire hazard I’m worried about,” she said breathily, her eyes glued to his arms. Cheeks flushing, she covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes in mortification. “Sorry. Between being homeschooled and being a teacher who works with kindergartners, sometimes I can’t quite figure out how to censor my thoughts before they come out of my mouth. Unless I’m replacing ‘fucking shit’ with ‘fiddly sticks’ after stubbing my toe.”
“It’s cute,” Tucker chuckled, organizing the ingredients of their soon-to-be-meal.
“…cute?” Hanna deadpanned, then under her breath, added, “That’s a first.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know.”
“No, I don’t,” he responded, rolling his sleeves up further to wash his hands. “That’s why I asked.”
“Are you doing the slutty forearm thing on purpose?”
He stopped washing his hands for a moment, then looked at her with furrowed brows. “Slutty…forearm thing?”
Hanna groaned. “The slutty forearm thing!”
Tucker finished washing his hands, then dried them off before throwing the washcloth over his shoulder. “You’re going to have to explain this one to me, shortcake.”
“It’s a truth universally acknowledged that when a man rolls up his sleeves to display his muscular forearms, women in his presence have an instant, bodily reaction. Especially if those forearms have tattoos.”
“An instant bodily reaction, huh?” Tucker asked, pressing his hands against the kitchen island and leaning into it as he held Hanna’s gaze. “What kind of bodily reaction?”
“And now the lean? And a raspy, sex voice?” Hanna dropped her head into her hands. “Dear God, what are you trying to do to me?”
A quiet, throaty laugh escaped him. “I’m trying to feed you.” He paused, and she looked up. “And hopefully make out again.”
“You keep doing all that, we’ll be more than making out in no time,” Hanna said before she could stop herself. She grimaced, biting her lip. “See? No filter.”
“Like I said: cute.”
Hanna’s heart was pounding, and not just because the man in front of her was straight out of a romance novel—what with the forearms and the leaning. He lifted his hands from the counter, then slowly prowled around to where Hanna stood on the other side of the island, a predator stalking prey. Glued to where she was standing, all Hanna could do was stare with what she was sure were flaming hearts in her eyes as Tucker came to a stop right before her.
Barely inches separated them.
“Can I kiss you again?” He whispered.
“Uh-huh,” was all she could breathily muster.
His lips crushed against hers in a heartbeat, and she was lost again. In him—in the way his hands gripped her waist as if she was the life vest he needed to hold onto, in the way his mouth consumed hers as if he were a starving man, in the way his arms felt underneath her tentative fingertips. She whimpered as he nipped her lip, spurring him to kiss her harder.
Yes, God, YES.
She’d gotten herself off to the memory of yesterday’s kiss as soon as she got home last night and had hoped—dreamed—about what another kiss with Tucker would feel like.
The answer?
Even better than she remembered.
His hands were calloused and strong from cooking, and the way his fingertips dug into her hips as he devoured her was spellbinding.
His hands wandered to her ass, where he squeezed her gently before dropping to the backs of her thighs. Tucker lifted her up and seated her on the kitchen island, her legs wrapping around his middle as if by instinct.
“Fuck, you’re delicious,” he rasped against her lips, his mouth trailing down to her chin, her neck, her ear. “Good enough to eat.”
“Ohmigod, please find out.”
His hand drifted down until it hovered over her sex. Even through the layers of her jeans and panties, her core heated as his fingers rubbed against her. Overwhelmed by the sensation, she cried out. She hadn’t been touched like this in… years? Ever? Nobody had ever made her feel so desirable. So edible.
Probably because nobody had eaten her before.
Sure, she’d had some hookups, and she was certainly no virgin.
But a man’s tongue on her pussy? That had never happened before. And with Tucker, she desperately wanted to.
She whimpered as he drew his hand away.
“I plan to,” he whispered against her lips. “My taste tests are… meticulous.”
“I can handle that,” she said breathily, grinding against air, seeking for the friction her body so desperately desired.
“We’ll see about that,” Tucker said, pulling away and heading around the island, back to where he’d organized all his groceries and cooking supplies.
“But—wha—wait…” Hanna spluttered. “I thought you were going to… taste test me?”
Her cheeks flamed, but she felt the ache of emptiness where he was just moments ago.
“Like I said, I plan to,” Tucker said. “But first, I need to see how good a student you are.”
Why did the prospect of needing to earn sex make her insides go molten?
“But… I’m a terrible cook.” Hanna bit her lip, hoping there were other things she could do to earn what she so desperately sought.
“But I’m not. And I’m sure you’ll leave me… satisfied.”
She gulped, jumping down from the countertop where he’d left her, then crossed her knees to try and assuage the need that was coursing through her.
“Tell me what to do.”
Tucker wanted to taste her.
Rigorously.
Attentively.
Scrupulously.
But they needed their energy for that. And he wanted to show her that she could cook one thing. She didn’t need to be a sous-chef, by any means, but Tucker got the feeling Hanna needed a bit of self-confidence. And in his experience, learning to cook had a way of making people feel a little bit unstoppable.
“Okay, so now what do I do?”
Tucker stood behind her as she finished mixing the coleslaw that would go on the shrimp tacos—an easy recipe he’d made up based on some time he spent in the restaurant scene in New Orleans.
“Perfect,” Tucker said. “Now, just let that sit, and you’re going to cook the shrimp.”
Hanna froze. “Wait, me? As in… me… cooking the shrimp?”
“Now you’re getting it. Come here.”
He’d already unpacked, rinsed, and dried the shrimp, telling her as much so she knew what went into it. He grabbed a few spices, encouraging her to cover the shrimp in the spices as she saw fit.
“As I see fit? What the fuck does that mean?” She sounded panicked, and he bit back a laugh.
“There’s very little you can do to mess up this recipe, shortcake. Just toss a little pinch of each spice on the shrimp, and maybe do a bit more of the ones you think you’ll like the most.”
She pressed her lips together, then did as he said. “Good girl.”
Her body went a little looser at his praise, and he couldn’t hold back his smile this time. He grabbed the stainless steel pan, tossing a bit of olive oil on it and turning on the burner, explaining to her what he was doing each step of the way.
“Now, toss the shrimp in the pan,” he told her.
Delicately picking up the plate they were on, she did as he said. He handed her a spatula and told her to leave the shrimp alone for a couple minutes before flipping them over, keeping a close eye on the time since they can easily become overcooked. While she tended to the shrimp, he wetted some paper towels and stacked them with corn tortillas, putting them in the microwave.
“Oh God,” Hanna shrieked as she started flipping over the shrimp. “Oh God, they’re burning!”
Tucker looked over his shoulder, certain that Hanna was confused, despite the absolute terror in her voice that she’d ruined their meal. Sure enough, everything was fine—but he struggled not to laugh.
“Shortcake, they’re fine,” he said, calmly. “They’re just blackening.”
“Oh,” Hanna’s body stiffened, then she let out a deep sigh. “You probably think I’m such a drama queen.”
“Not at all,” he said, coming up behind her to tug the hair behind her ear and whisper. “I just think you really want me to eat you later.”
Her body visibly shivered, and he couldn’t help the smug grin that came over his face as her cheeks went pink.
“I do,” she whispered.
“Let’s eat these shrimp first. You can take them off the burner.”
He turned off the stove and grabbed the tortillas from the microwave, dividing them between their two plates.
“Ready, shortcake?”
“For what?” Her nose crinkled.
“To plate your meal.”
She bit her lip, then squared her shoulders. “Okay. I can do this.”
She was tenacious, his girl.
His girl.
Fuck if that didn’t sound nice.
Fuck if he didn’t want her to scream that she was his while his tongue was buried deep inside her.
Hanna grabbed the stainless steel pan, then divided the shrimp among the tortillas. Placing the pan in the sink, she grabbed the slaw and tossed it over the shrimp.
“And the final touch,” he said, grabbing the onion straws he’d purchased. “Want to sprinkle these on top?”
His mouth was starting to water—not just at the food the stunning woman in front of him had made, but at the dessert he’d been promised.
And he wasn’t talking about the cookies.
She grabbed the onion straws from him, then reaching her hand in the bag, she grabbed them and sprinkled them on top of each taco. As she set the bag back on the island, she walked toward the sink to wash her hand of the onion straw seasoning.
Before he could process what he was doing, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her hand to his lips, pulling her thumb into his mouth. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she squirmed, bringing her knees together, as he licked each finger on her hand.
It was erotic as hell, and he was ready for this damn meal to be over so he could lick the rest of her.
“Mmm. Just like I said. Fucking delicious.” Licking her last finger, he grinned. “Ready to eat?”
Silently, she nodded, grabbing both of their plates and heading for the kitchen table, which she’d set before he came over. He brought a couple of drinks over to the table and sat next to her, grabbing a taco.
“Moment of truth,” he said as she grabbed a taco. “You ready?”
She nodded, closing her eyes and taking a bite. She opened her eyes, wide with surprise, and grinned as she swallowed.
“It’s… good.” She took another bite then, with her mouth full, added, “Like, really good. Have I been a good cook this whole time?”
He laughed, finishing off his first taco. “Knew you could do it. You nailed it, shortcake.”
She beamed, and he’d never seen a site so beautiful. “Thank you. For teaching me. Most people give up when they find out I don’t have any pots and pans.”
“I’m not most people,” Tucker responded, shoving the next taco into his mouth.
“I’m just glad the lack of cooking supplies didn’t scare you away.”
“Takes a lot more than that to scare me away.”
She stilled, eyes wide. Then, as if shaking herself out of a stupor, she released a breath, then kept eating.
Something told Tucker there was a lot more to Hanna than met the eye—and if he wasn’t careful, she might scare easily.