18. Grace #2
The sensation of his tongue against my clit is enough to have my back arching off the pantry door, eyes closed on a gasp, hands trying—and failing—to find purchase on the flat surface.
It’s as though no time has passed, Tucker licking and sucking just the right amount to shallow my breathing and quicken my pulse, the way he always did.
One hand shoots out to grab at the countertop to my left while the other snakes its way back into the wayward locks atop his head.
The extra length is perfect for gripping.
Tucker moans against me when I tug slightly, sending a vibration through me so deep that it reaches my very core.
My knee buckles beneath me more violently this time, enough to catch Tucker’s attention.
He pauses his devouring, chuckling as he stands.
There’s a slight sheen to his lips, and I watch, chest heaving, as he licks them clean.
“C’mere.” I lean into his outstretched hands, gasping as he grabs my waist and lifts, opening the pantry door and depositing me onto the small countertop within.
He’s back on his knees not a second later, spreading my thighs with a groan.
The cold bite of the stone beneath my bare ass brings me back down to Earth just long enough to realize this is not the place to be doing what we’re doing.
“Tu—fuck,” I say on a sharp exhale, because at the exact moment I decide to protest, Tucker adds a finger to the mix.
The expression he gives me as our gazes lock is nothing short of wicked.
I hate that he knows exactly what I like, but even more than that, I hate that I don’t really hate it at all.
Flicking the tip of his tongue roughly over my clit, he tilts his head up toward me. “You were so close, just one letter off.”
I make a pitiful attempt at narrowing my eyes at him, giving up completely when his responding grin carves smile lines around the corners of his lips, pulling taut the scar above.
“Should we really be doing this in here?”
Tucker looks around us, his head whipping around as he makes a dramatic display of taking in the pantry space. When he’s satisfied, he looks back up at me. “I can’t see why not.”
His expression is almost unreadable; I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Well, for one, it’s a pantry.”
“Butler’s pantry,” he corrects matter-of-factly. “And your point?”
“The word ‘pantry’ wasn’t enough reason for you?”
“Gracie.” The nickname rolls off his tongue so innocently, and yet it’s laced with more desire than I care to acknowledge.
“I’d like nothing more than to think about the sweet taste of your pussy every time I come in here.
In fact,” he adds, his thumb drawing lazy circles around my clit, turning me on something shocking.
“I’ll eat you out on every fucking surface of this house if you’d let me. ”
The whimper that leaves my mouth is borderline wanton, but it only spurs him on.
“Is that a yes, Gracie girl? Or should we take this somewhere else?” His fingers haven’t left my clit, continuing the circling.
He pinches it gently, and I swear I see stars.
It’s getting harder and harder to pay attention to the conversation at hand.
“Perhaps the dining table? It seems a fitting place to eat. Or I could be a gentleman and lay you across my bed. I bet you’d look perfect spread out over the mattress, moaning my name. I always did love the sounds you made.”
“Christ, Tucker.” He teases my entrance with the tip of his finger, and I suck in a breath through clenched teeth, making a hissing sound.
His other hand reaches around to squeeze my ass while he continues to tease me.
“Bedroom,” is all I can manage, the breathiness of my voice giving away how close I am to unraveling.
But not here, not like this. “I need you to fuck me.”
He’s a man possessed, immediately rising to his feet and lifting me in his arms. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, my ankles anchoring together behind his back while my wrists wrap around his neck.
We’re face-to-face like this, and it’s both wonderful and frightening seeing the emotion in his features.
Having known those bourbon eyes so well for so long, it’s hard to ignore the unspoken words swimming in them.
Despite the heat of the moment and the tension between us, they soften as he looks at me, the smallest of smiles ghosting across his lips.
With my body pressed against his so tightly, I can feel the ridges of every muscle across his chest and back; muscles I’m aching to familiarize myself with.
I want to know him wholly, completely, like I once did.
His back muscles ripple with every step we take.
Once we’re safely up the stairs and crossing the threshold of Tucker’s bedroom, he begins kissing me again.
Slowly at first, taking his time to relearn my lips the same way I’m relearning his.
We let our tongues trace one another’s languidly, like we have all the time in the world.
I can’t help exploring every part of his body that I can reach—his broad shoulders and chest, his thick biceps, the hard muscles across his back.
It’s no wonder he can still be holding me when he’s made of pure muscle like this.
But I want to explore more of him. “Tucker,” I murmur between kisses, “you can put me down now.”
He chuckles against my lips. “It’s been so long since I’ve had you in my arms, I don’t think I could ever let go again.”
His words tug painfully on my heartstrings. My hand finds his stubble-coated cheek, giving it a gentle rub. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
There’s so much left unsaid behind those words, the weight of them not entirely registering for either of us.
Slowly, and with more ease than ever, Tucker lowers me.
I uncurl myself from his body, immediately missing his warmth, but my arms stay wrapped around his neck.
His hands come up to tangle in my loose curls as our mouths find each other once more.
I don’t think I’ll ever get over the way it feels to kiss him again.
It’s so simple, yet so intimate. It’s hard to imagine ever having enjoyed kissing someone else when he exists.