18. Grace
Grace
As my elbows glide along the countertop, my back arches in response, my chest pushing firmly against Tucker’s.
His heart is thumping hard against mine, both speeding up as though competing to see who’s fastest. My fingers find purchase in the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting and grabbing, but I can’t keep still.
Now that I’m touching him again, finally, I can’t stop my hands from roaming—gliding along the column of his throat, catching on the stubble covering his jaw, running through the dark hair atop his head.
My mind is in absolute disarray at the turn this afternoon has taken.
But at the same time, it feels so right.
The way I feel, the way I light up, when Tucker looks at me, let alone touches me, is unlike anyone else.
When we were younger, I often teased that he’d ruined other men for me, because no one would ever compare to him, to the way he kissed me.
Little did teenage me know that it would turn out to be true—no one’s ever even come close to making me feel the way Tucker did.
All he had to do was look at me with those big brown eyes, and it felt like I was the only girl in the room.
And when he kissed me? Oh, I saw colors I’d never seen; a kaleidoscope of untapped beauty.
Eyes closed, I see the same thing now as his lips claim mine.
Continuing to kiss me, Tucker slides his hands down my back, coming to rest on my ass with a squeeze that sends sparks of desire through me.
I’ve never needed someone to touch me, to kiss me, more than I need him to do exactly that right now.
But nobody has ever touched or kissed me the way Tucker does.
His kiss contains multitudes, his touch connecting my soul to his.
He doesn’t break the kiss as his hands slide back around to my front, his fingertips grazing across my stomach and making it dip.
I gasp against Tucker’s lips when his hands find their way to the outside of my bare thighs, tracing featherlight touches along the hem of my dress.
I can feel his fingertips toying with the edge of it.
“I’m gonna lift this now,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Mmhmm.” I nod enthusiastically, making Tucker chuckle as his head moves in tandem.
His palms flatten against my thighs, his hands rough against the sensitive skin as they drag upwards at a torturous pace. I lift my ass so he can draw my dress up further. When his touch ghosts over my hips and the sides of my underwear, I feel my pulse hiccup.
Tucker’s kisses begin to move up the side of my jaw before he dips his head, his lips grazing against the skin beneath my earlobe. “God, there’s nothing I missed more than my hands on your perfect body.”
My moan echoes off his kitchen walls as he grips my hips before digging his thumbs into the sides of my underwear, dragging them down to my ankles.
Rather than asking me to step out of them, he says, “Allow me,” bending down to lift one foot at a time off the stool’s frame and sliding them off.
The chivalry almost makes me swoon. I can do nothing but stare, jaw slacked, as he pockets my underwear and begins kissing his way up the inside of my left leg.
Every inch of my skin that his lips touch sets alight, burning with desire.
I’m completely at his mercy, pussy bare and legs spread wide, every inch from the waist down is his for the taking.
I close my eyes and let my head fall back between my shoulder blades, my breathing shallow and erratic.
Just as he reaches the apex of my thighs, he places an open mouth kiss mere inches away from the place that aches most for his attention.
I gasp when his teeth graze across the sensitive skin, prompting me to drop my head and look down at him.
The smug smirk and the way it pulls his small scar taut is far too sexy, and he knows it.
A whimper bordering on pathetic comes out of me as his fingertips stroke up and down my inner thigh.
“Uh-uh,” he chastises, shaking his head. “Patience, sweetheart.”
“I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?” I rasp.
“And that’s exactly why I’m gonna take my damn time, to savor every.
Fucking. Second.” The last three words are punctuated with a kiss down my right inner thigh.
I don’t know how he’s got this level of willpower right now—because lord knows I don’t.
It would be frustrating if it wasn’t so damn hot.
Once he reaches my ankle, his lips turn up into a satisfied smile.
He stands, holding out his hand. “C’mon, you. ”
Placing my hand in his, he wraps the other around my waist and sweeps me off the countertop.
I let out a yelp, but my feet are back on the floor in no time, my dress falling back into place.
His hands snake around my neck, his lips on mine again.
I don’t remember the last time I felt so hot and heavy from a make out session.
But I also don’t know if I’ve ever had one quite like this.
I squeeze my thighs together, trying—and failing—to quell the ache I feel between them.
I’m so wet and worked up, desperate for his touch.
Tucker takes a step forward, bringing our bodies impossibly closer as my back flattens against the pantry door.
My legs part as Tucker slides his thigh between them, my dress bunching up my sides once again.
He presses forward until his knee hits the door behind me.
On instinct, my hips buck forward, pleasure coursing through me—the roughness of his denim jeans against my bare pussy has me moaning and all but begging for more.
“Fuck, sweetheart, I can feel you through my jeans.” He pulls back, locking his eyes with mine. “Is that all for me?”
I can’t manage a single word, let alone string together a sentence.
Instead, I whimper. Tucker places his hands on my hips and pulls me closer.
I cry out at the friction on my clit, pain and pleasure mixing perfectly, and he swallows it with a deep kiss.
His tongue sweeps through my mouth, tangling with my own in a fight for dominance.
I give in, and our moans mingle with one another.
Tucker reluctantly pulls away, giving me a lone peck before kneeling down in front of me.
He slides my dress back up toward my hands, which hang limply at my sides.
Pressing the hem into my hands, he curls his fists around mine.
“Don’t let this fall. I’d hate to have my meal interrupted. ”
I stare dumbly at him, my brain failing to process the scene in front of me. Tucker dips his head forward, inhaling me as he runs the tip of his nose up the length of my pussy, placing the gentlest of kisses on my clit. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
I nod.
“Words, Gracie baby.” He runs his hands up and down the front of my thighs, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure to make my legs turn to jelly. “I need you to say yes.”
“Yes,” I say breathlessly, as if there’s any world where I could say no to him. His answering grin is downright diabolical.
“Fuck.” The single word is rasped against the skin of my upper thigh, his lips casting featherlight touches.
He looks up at me from between my thighs and my legs almost give out beneath me.
Tucker, in all of his 6’1, broad-form glory, is on his knees before me.
Our eyes lock, and I can’t look away. The golden hues in his bourbon irises shimmer, drawing me further in.
Even now, he makes me feel like the only person on the planet worth looking at. “I can’t wait to taste you properly.”
Despite what would be a throwaway line for others, Tucker says it with a level of sincerity that tugs at my heartstrings.
It dredges up old, intimate memories of the two of us.
Silently cursing him for pulling me out of the moment, I slide my fingertips into the front of his hair and gently guide him back toward my pussy.
A downright wicked grin flashes in my direction, a silent confirmation.
Or at least I thought it was—until he draws back, grabs my hand from his hair, and pulls it to his mouth.
He places a kiss against my palm and locks his gaze on mine, his brows dipped.
“I thought I told you to use your words, Gracie.”
“And why do you get to call the shots?”
“Because, sweetheart, I want to devour you until you’re unraveling beneath my mouth, and I think you might want that, too.”
I open my mouth to disagree, but nothing comes out.
“Tell me, Gracie, am I right? Do you want my mouth on this sweet pussy of yours, eating like it’s my last meal?
Because I could stop, if you want me to.
” The way his fingers tease me, drifting up and across the lowest part of stomach and circling around to graze my ass, tells a different story than his words, but there’s no way in hell I want him to stop.
“Please,” I beg. “Don’t stop.”
His hands stop in place, gripping my ass. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” He hauls me toward his face, diving into my pussy, and a moan rips from my throat upon impact.