Chapter 10
Maria
A soft intake of breath in the doorway reaches my ears and I stand and turn. I find Tuck standing there, backlit by the office light spilling down the hall, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his face half-shadowed.
“Tuck,” I murmur. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I came in here to get a drink and broke a glass.”
“Don’t move,” he murmurs as he steps into the kitchen, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Close your eyes. I’m going to turn the light on and don’t want to blind you.”
I do as he says, squeezing them shut. There’s a quiet click, the hum of the overhead light, and warmth washes over my eyelids.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I open my eyes slowly and glance down. Shards of glass glitter across the floor.
“Where’s the broom?” I ask automatically, already shifting my weight.
“Don’t move, Maria.”
There’s something in his tone that stops me cold. He disappears for a second, the soft thud of a closet door opening down the hall, and returns in a pair of runners. I watch, completely still now, as he grabs a broom from the utility closet.
“I’m sorry I broke a glass,” I say again, suddenly feeling like a kid caught sneaking cookies. “I didn’t turn on the light in case it woke anyone.”
“I’m not worried about the glass.” His voice sounds huskier now. Lower.
A shard crunches beneath his runners as he steps closer, the sound loud in the quiet kitchen.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m okay,” I answer, but my voice comes out breathless. My heart starts pounding faster, and not because of the glass. Okay, maybe because of the glass. But mostly because of him.
He’s close now—close enough that I can see the sleep still clinging to his eyes, the rough shadow along his jaw. Close enough that the heat from his body brushes my skin.
I reach for the broom out of pure instinct, needing something—anything—to do with my hands. He moves it out of my reach.
“Tuck.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans the broom against the counter, steps into the narrow safe space between me and the island, and before I can process what’s happening, his hands close around my waist. Warm. Solid. Possessive. My breath catches.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing. The world tilts for a split second and then the next thing I know I’m sitting on the kitchen island, the cool marble seeping through the thin fabric of my pajama pants. I’d changed earlier, wanting to be in comfortable clothes when studying.
He begins to look me over, his eyes scanning my hands and body. “Are you my doctor now?” I ask. “Or are you just playing doctor?”
“Yes.” I have no idea which questions he’s answering, because the second his dark eyes lock on mine, I lost my ability to think. “Are you hurt at all?”
“No, I’m fine.” I make a move to slide off the counter.
“Stay there,” he commands softly.
The words are quiet, but something in them sends a shiver skittering down my spine.
That’s when I notice what he’s wearing. Or, more importantly, what he isn’t.
I wasn’t the only one who’d slipped into something comfortable.
Tuck is now in a pair of gray sweats that ride low on his hips.
The waistband hangs loose, the fabric slung dangerously low, and my eyes betray me as they drop.
Hard lines. Shadows carved by rows of muscles across his stomach. The faint V that disappears beneath the cotton. I swallow hard and drag my gaze away, heat creeping up my neck. But a small sound escapes my throat before I can stop it and Tuck’s head lifts immediately.
“You okay?” he asks again, his eyes locking onto mine.
Suddenly the kitchen feels too small. Too bright. Too full of him.
Nope.
Not okay.
Not even a little.
“I…you shouldn’t be sweeping. Your calluses. I was supposed to put cream on them.”
What am I even saying?
He pauses mid-sweep and holds out one of his hands, turning it over to inspect it. His palm is rough, the skin thick from years of sticks and ice.
Wood.
“I probably should do something about them,” he says casually. “They seemed to be a sore point with Stella.”
A laugh bubbles out of my throat before I can stop it. “Are all little girls that honest?”
“Beats me.”
“Me too.” I grin, leaning back on my hands slightly. “I love my boys, but I do wonder what it would have been like to have a daughter. Maybe it’s too late for that. Do you want kids?” I ask tentatively. He might not want a ready-made family but maybe someday he’d like kids of his own.
His gaze flicks up to mine, and I spot something in his eyes, something that looks a lot like pain. “Not too late for you, Maria.”
When I realize he commented on my first statement, and didn’t answer my question, I quickly figure out having kids, or not having kids, is something he doesn’t want to talk about. I redirect and say, “No, but I’d have to have a partner first.”
Something shifts in his expression, hardens. “Isn’t Rowyn setting you up with that guy?”
Whoa.
What was that?
My brows lift. “Why do you sound like you’re jealous?”
The second the words leave my mouth, heat creeps up my neck. He called me out on my jealousy at the pet store, and I flat-out denied it. I’m pretty sure I didn’t fool him for a second.
Now the tables are turned.
He shrugs instead of answering. My gaze drifts to his shoulders as he turns back to the mess. They’re broad and bare, the muscles shifting under warm skin as he sweeps the last of the glass into a pile. My fingers are inches away from touching him again.
Don’t do it, Maria.
No matter what.
Do not touch him.
But…
No buts.
But…don’t I deserve a little—or big—something just for myself?
A voice in the back of my head answers immediately.
Yes, girl. Of course you do.
After making a neat pile of glass, he grabs the dustpan and sweeps it up. The soft scrape against the tile fills the quiet kitchen.
“Some people think flowers and candy are the way to a woman’s heart,” I say, trying to keep the moment light. “But there’s nothing sexier than a man sweeping.”
He dumps the glass into the trash and straightens slowly. His dark eyes lock onto mine as he leans the broom against the counter. “You think sweeping is sexy?” he asks.
My pulse kicks up another notch.
“I think…” God, what do I think? I think I want to put my hands and mouth on his body. I think I want to feel his hands on mine again. My throat tightens.
“I think I should get down now.” I shift forward, ready to slide off the island before my brain does something reckless. But before my feet even touch the floor, he’s there.
Right there.
His warm hands land on my legs, and he gently—deliberately—widens them as he steps between them. My breath catches.
“Maybe I am jealous,” he growls. The words rumble low in his chest, sending heat rushing through me.
I glance toward the hallway. The house is silent. The boys and Marbles are fast asleep upstairs. My brain races. Because the truth is staring me in the face.
Maybe… just maybe… tonight I can make myself the priority.
Maybe tonight can be about what I want.
What I need.
Not the future I can’t have with this man.
“Maybe,” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper.
Oh God.
Am I really going to do this?
I am.
I’m really going to do this.
“Maybe we should have sex again. Maybe that will get rid of all this jealousy we’re both feeling and—”
That’s as far as I get. His mouth crashes into mine, stealing the rest of the words right out of my mouth. The kiss isn’t gentle. Not by a long shot. It’s rough. Hungry. Like he’s been holding back for far too long.
I gasp against his mouth as his hands slide up my thighs, pulling me closer to the edge of the island.
My hands move on instinct, sliding around his back, my fingers spreading across the warm, hard planes of muscle.
His body tightens under my touch, and the reaction sends a jolt straight through me.
I moan softly into his mouth. Tuck answers with a low sound of his own, his grip tightening just enough to make my pulse race faster.
For a moment, the rest of the world disappears.
No past.
No future.
Just this.
Just him.
“Tuck.”
“Yeah, babe,” he murmurs, his mouth going to my cheeks, nose, forehead, before settling in the hollow of my throat. He kisses my sensitive flesh, and I slide my hands over his back, lightly raking his skin with my nails.
His kisses are warm, wet, as he slides his mouth along my skin and I move my body, shamelessly rub myself against his stomach. When have I ever needed—craved—a man so much?
His fingers touch the hem of my loose T-shirt, and his eyes meet mine when I lift my arms, granting him full permission to do with me what he pleases, and from the look in his eyes…he pleases.
He peels my shirt off, and a soft moan of pleasure rumbles in his throat when he finds me bare beneath it. He strokes me with his eyes first, and my nipples tighten under his appreciative gaze. Then his hands are on me, softly. Brushing the outer edges of my breasts before skimming the bottoms.
His eyes lift to mine again, and when he wets his lips, I lean back on my hands, arching into him. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs before dipping his head. That first sweet touch of his hot, wet tongue to my tight nipples pulls a moan from my throat.
“Tuck, yes,” I whisper and slide one hand around his head, holding his mouth to me as he runs the soft blade of his tongue over my hard bud. “That’s so good.”
He moves to my other breast, treating that nipple to the same pleasure, before sucking it in hard.
The pleasure shoots through my body and settles deep between my legs.
My body ripples, my pajama pants grow damp, and he must sense the urgency in me because he inches back, his palm going to my cheek.
“I need to fuck you.”
“I need you to fuck me,” I murmur, and he grins, because I never talk like that and he knows it.
“You want my cock in here?” He slides a hand between my legs, and lightly strokes me through the cotton.
I groan, because I get it. He likes when I talk like that and wants more of it. Wants me free, relaxed, open and unapologetic.
“Yes, I want your cock in there.”
“Here, in your hot little pussy?”
“Oh God,” I murmur and he angles his head, waiting for more. “Yes, Tuck. I want your cock in my hot little pussy.”
“That’s my girl.”
He picks me up and carries me to the kitchen table, a much better height for what he’s about to do to me. Instead of sitting me on it, he sets me on the floor and I’m about to slide onto the table when he stops me and turns me around.
“This…” he begins, and cups my ass cheeks. “I’ve been dying to get my hands here all day.” He presses his chest to my back, forcing me forward and I lean over the table, my bare breasts on the cool hard oak.
His fingers trace along the band of my pants and I can’t help but wiggle, practically begging for him to take them off me, put his hand and mouth where I need them most.
“Please,” I murmur, and his hot huff of air, falls over my naked skin.
“Need something, Maria.”
“Yes. I need you to touch me.”
He growls and the next thing I know, his fingers are grazing my legs as he slowly slides my pajama pants to my ankles. I lift my legs and he fully removes them, then he nudges my feet apart, spreading me wide.
“Jesus,” I hear him as his mouth presses against my upper thighs. He kisses me, and his lips are hot, as he inches up. His palms cup my buttocks and he squeezes gently, tugging and pulling until my sex is wide open.
I scratch my fingers along the table, blind need gripping me and I’m about to beg, scream even, until one hand slips between my legs and dips into my liquid arousal. “Oh, God, yes, Tuck.”
“So, so beautiful,” he murmurs and slips a finger inside me. I’m so damn hot, wet and ready, he easily slides in, and when he crooks his finger, touching that deep bundle of nerves, I nearly climax.
“Babe,” he murmurs, pride in his voice. “You’re so close.”
“This is what you do to me,” I confess, his teeth now grazing my backside as he moves his finger in and out of me.
“How about I get my mouth on you, and take you where you need to go before I put my cock in here.” He slides another finger in, stretching me, and heat rockets through my body.
“Yes, please.”
“Come here.” He gently eases me up, and turns me around.
The second I see the need, the tenderness in his gaze as he looks at me, my stupid heart thumps harder.
His warm fingers brush my cheek, and the scent of my arousal reaches my nose.
He moves me easily, lifting me and setting me on the table.
With a nudge, I’m flat on my back and he slides onto a chair, positioning his mouth right where I need it.
I gasp, a part of me hardly able to believe I’m naked, on his kitchen table, his head between my legs. The other part of me is thrilled, and doesn’t give one iota about the consequences.
“Oh my,” I murmur as his tongue flicks over me, tentatively at first, like he’s slowly reacquainting his tongue with my hot sex.
But a chuckle rumbles in his throat when, needy girl that I am, I rake my hands through his hair, and simultaneously lift my hips and drag his mouth to my sex at the same time.
Groaning, he softens his tongue, running it along the length of me as one finger slips back in side. Small ripples begin at my core and I moan, concentrating on the delicious points of pleasure.
“This what you need?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer and move my body, rub my sex all over his face. He growls, and it’s easy to tell he loves when I give in to my needs.
“You’ve got me so hard, Maria.”
I grin, everything about that adding to my pleasure. Honestly, it’s crazy. This man can have any woman he wants, but it’s me…me that he wants—me who makes him hard—and that is its own aphrodisiac.
He inserts another finger, stretching and widening me, as his mouth goes to my engorged clit. Heat zings through my blood, every nerve in my body alive, on edge, waiting, just waiting for the pleasure to peak.
I lick my lips, remembering the last time I had his cock in my mouth, and decide that’s exactly where I want it again.
I’m about to tell him just that, but lose all focus when one hand moves to my breast. The trifecta—two fingers inside me, one hand toying with my breast, his mouth on my clit—sends me tumbling over the precipice.
He growls as heat floods from my body, and he moves his face back and forth, drawing out the pleasure. I go up on my elbows, loving the way my release is soaking his face and he’s reveling in it.
That’s when I realize what I want for winning the pool game. I know what I can and can’t have, but can I have this man…between my legs, every day.
Would asking for it be a danger, to my life…or heart?