Chapter Eighteen

“Well…” Selena blinked as Della finally finished spilling everything that had happened between her and Tucker. “You have been busy since I saw you last.”

She turned from the window to look at Selena. That was an understatement. It’d been ten days since she and Tucker had first made love. Yes, made love. Maybe it was stupid, given the temporary state of their arrangement, to think of their sex lessons as making love, but, as far as she was concerned, it was what she was doing with Tucker.

Being with Tucker in the most intimate way possible was an act of love for Della. Every time he held her, every time he joined his body with hers, it was more than a physical experience. It was an emotional connection. And every time he settled his hips into the cradle of her pelvis and stared down into her eyes, she felt he must be able to see it, too. Her heart so full of love it was actually brimming out of her eyes.

She should be calling it off. She knew that. Prolonging this liaison was only going to make it harder when it was over. Every morning, she told herself she’d end it tonight. And every night, she welcomed him into her arms and said nothing.

Frankly, she didn’t know how to give Tucker up.

“It’s been…” Della shook her head, still marveling at how good it was between them, how…intense. “Wonderful.” And torturous.

Selena laughed. “That good, huh?”

“God…Selena…” If only she’d known at seventeen sex could be that everything. No way would Todd have ever been able to get a foothold in her psyche. “The man’s some kind of…” She searched around for an appropriate word. “Orgasm whisperer. He should rent himself out by the hour.”

Selena laughed again. “I’m very pleased to hear that. And you haven’t had any issues? Apart from the panic attack you had waking up in the dark? No triggering or flashbacks?”

“No.” Della shook her head. Tucker had been the most considerate lover. Maybe a little too considerate. He kept such a tight rein on himself she doubted he’d ever do anything remotely triggering.

Selena pursed her lips and regarded Della for a moment or two, her head tipped to the side a little. “So why do I feel like there’s a but?”

For a moment, Della considered avoiding Selena’s question, because did the woman seriously need to know every detail? But the vague niggle that had been yammering in the back of Della’s brain since her first time with Tucker wasn’t going away, and Selena was there to be a sounding board. “I think he’s…holding out on me.”

Selena frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe out is the wrong word. Back is probably better.”

“Holding back how? Emotionally? Sexually?”

“Sexually.” Emotionally, he was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing and what she was failing at—keeping them right out of the mix. “He’s so…in control all the time.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“He’s so determined to make it good for me that he puts his desire…his pleasure last.”

Selena gave a half laugh. “I have a dozen clients right now who’d swap their partners for Tucker in a heartbeat.”

Having been in that boat, Della could relate. It seemed like a true first-world problem to be even voicing these concerns. Maybe she should just lay back and let him fly her to heaven every night and be damn thankful. But she felt like she’d gone from one extreme to the other.

Was it so wrong to want to be an equal sexual partner?

“The sex is very…safe. And I understand it’s important to him that I feel safe. Hell, I want to feel safe. But the sex is always missionary, very…101 kinda stuff. If you know what I mean. Don’t get me wrong…the man can make me forget my own name multiple times a night. It’s just…”

“You want to experiment some more?”

“No. Well, yes, I guess…maybe a little, but…” How did she explain this? “I don’t know…every time I see him, I just want to tear his clothes off and push him down on the floor and—” Della blushed, thinking about the things she wanted to do to Tucker on the floor. “Well, let’s just say I feel so irrationally insatiable I practically shake with it.”

“And Tucker is more…contained?”

“Yes.” Contained was an excellent word for Tucker. “For example, I scream like a banshee when I climax. I mean, I’ve tried to be quiet, Selena, I really have, because it’s a little embarrassing, to be honest, but it’s so good I can’t not. Tucker, on the other hand…he just kind of shudders through his, barely making a noise. Like he’s trying to internalize it or something.” Della grimaced. “Is that even good for you? Won’t he like…blow a disc or pop an eye or something?”

Selena laughed. “I think his eyes are probably safe.”

“I just feel like he’s holding back, like he keeps such a tight leash on his climax, and I don’t want that. I want him to be as uninhibited as I apparently am.”

Della had always thought maybe Winona’s heroines were a little OTT with their climaxes. Like they’d been embellished for dramatic purposes. But then Tucker had started dishing out orgasms and ooh la freaking la.

“Maybe that’s just him. A lot of guys have trained themselves as teenagers to be quiet while they masturbate, and it can”—she shrugged—“become entrenched.”

“It’s not just his orgasm, though. How he touches me and kisses me is always very controlled. He doesn’t get carried away. It never seems like he just wants to tear my clothes off and do me on the floor. It feels a little like he’s doing sex to me, not having sex with me.”

“I think it’s understandable, given the ordeal you suffered with Todd, that he’d be a little…tentative with you. Have you had a conversation with him about how you feel?”

“Not since our spank bank, starfish conversation just before we went all the way for the first time.”

“Maybe it’s time for another?”

Della grimaced. “I guess.” Or maybe she’d misread his control for disinterest, and how embarrassing would that conversation be?

“I know it’s not always easy to talk about such intimate stuff, but it’s best being up front with what you want.”

“Yeah…you’re right.” But ugh.

“Maybe you could start small. Rather than saying, I want you to rip my clothes off, do me on the floor, and come so loud they can hear you in Texas—” She smiled, and Della gave a half laugh. “Maybe just change up one thing. Suggest moving from the bed to the shower or the kitchen counter. Or tell him you want to go on top? Or…is there something you really want to do?”

“I’d like to…go down on him. I’ve set my mind to it a few times, but then he uses orgasm-distractive therapy to make me forget what I wanted in the first place.”

Selena nodded in what Della had come to know as her right-okay-but expression. “I can see why that would make him hesitant, given your history with the act. Are you sure that’s what you want? Fellatio?”

Della nodded. “I’ve been reading a lot of Winona’s books, and her characters seem to really be into it.”

“Sure, both men and women find oral sex very pleasurable. Giving and accepting.”

Della wanted to ask if Selena did, but she doubted that was an appropriate question to ask her therapist. “He goes down on me almost every night, so why not?”

“There’s absolutely no reason why you can’t or you shouldn’t. I guess you just need to be aware that it might be triggering for you, which is probably what is making Tucker so hesitant, because he’s a good guy who obviously cares about your well-being.”

“Yeah, I know. But…it’s me wanting to do it. Not him forcing it on me.”

“Right.” Selena nodded. “And the fact that he’s aware of your history probably makes him the most ideal guy with whom to explore that kind of intimacy, so…put on your big-girl panties and talk to him, Della.”

“Okay, fine.” She sighed. She’d rather just sink to her knees before him and let herself loose. But it looked like they were going to have to have a conversation. A blow job conversation.

Damned if she was wearing her big-girl panties during that, though. In fact, she wasn’t going to wear any panties at all.

…

It was almost one in the morning when Tucker dumped the sack of gourmet birdseed on Mrs. Doyle’s front porch. He’d picked it up for her from the feed store earlier today and handed over a hideous amount of money. Her two parrots—Cheech and Chong—apparently had champagne tastes.

He shouldn’t be letting the old biddy get away with her unspoken blackmail, but she was harmless enough, and it was mutually beneficial. She got a supply of Annie’s pies, bird food, and running repairs, and he got Della, to himself, every night. Their…liaison, kept quiet.

Because it was imperative that it stayed quiet. For Della. The town may have drawn ranks around her when she’d first arrived, but she’d still been an object of speculation, and she didn’t need any more of that in her life.

Especially with her making such great strides in reclaiming it.

And frankly, he really didn’t want this thing to end yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted it to end ever. Yes, he knew it would. Della only wanted it to be a temporary thing, after all. But they’d never put a time frame on it, and she didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

Which begged the question: If nobody knew, then what was the hurry?

He crossed the street, barely aware of the touch of warmth lingering in the April night hinting at the long, hot summer ahead. Aware only of Betty barking and of Della only a few paces away behind that door.

Della, who had opened him right up when she’d told him everything about her marriage. He’d already known a little, and he had contemplated telling her that just to save her from the rerun. But it’d obviously been important to her to get it off her chest, and he’d been honored to be the one with whom she’d shared such intimate details.

Della, who he couldn’t stop thinking about.

Hell, he’d seen her less than twenty-four hours ago, but his heart was skipping, and his ribs were suddenly steel bars around his too-big lungs. His entire body was lit up with anticipation.

And not just physical anticipation. He couldn’t wait to see her face, her smile. To eat whatever she’d cooked for him and listen to her chat about her day as Betty watched her adoringly. It didn’t matter that it was late and he was exhausted from a busy night at Jack’s and a lack of sleep that was becoming chronic ever since he’d started staying the night.

Della was instantly reviving. Just being with her energized him.

She’d gone to Denver this morning to see her shrink, and he couldn’t wait to hear about that and the lingerie shopping she’d taunted him with as he’d walked out her bedroom door this morning.

What color underwear should I buy at La Perla today?

His dick had set a new land speed record for penile engorgement. Zero to rock hard in three point nine seconds. He’d choked out a “Surprise me,” then hightailed it out of her house before Mrs. Doyle rose for the day and turned her heat-seeking gaze on Della’s house, spying two warm bodies instead of one and a giant glowing red rocket about to burst out of his pants.

Seriously, the NSA should employ her as a spy.

His knuckles had barely landed before the door was pulled open. A part of him had half expected to see her in her new underwear and nothing else, because the woman took a little too much delight in pushing him to the edge. But she was fully dressed. Although a short, tight skirt that barely reach mid-thigh and a tank top featuring a row of tiny buttons straight down the middle was tempting as fuck.

His fingers already itched to hike up her skirt, to grab the bottom of her shirt and rip. He wouldn’t though. He’d slowly brush his hands up her legs to tease under her hem and undo those buttons one by one, watching the sweet swells of her breasts and the pinkness of her nipples as they were slowly revealed.

“Hey,” he said, his voice scratching like gravel in his throat.

She smiled slow and sweet. “Hey.”

Tucker squatted next to Betty, who was turning excited circles around his feet. “Good evening, Missy B.”

The dog jumped up, planting both paws on his chest, and licked Tucker’s neck with enthusiasm. He scratched under her ears, but all the time he was aware of Della’s bare feet—complete with blue sparkly toenails—and the tight barrier of her skirt stopping him from finding out the color of her underwear.

Was it sparkly blue as well, maybe?

“On your bed, Betty.”

Tucker glanced up, surprised at Della’s throaty command. So did Betty. But there was a gleam in those blue eyes that accelerated his pulse and had the dog scurrying for the bed.

Bossy. He liked it.

Her eyes met his as she pushed a hand into his hair. “While you’re down there.”

Tucker bit back a groan. Bold. He liked that even better. Witnessing Della grow more and more sure of herself was fucking magnificent.

Her hair was pulled back into a messy kind of knot just above her nape, and the stray chunks that had come loose from around her face were now forming a wispy curtain. It made her look a little fey, a little wild.

The sexual energy vibrating from her bordered on feral.

Tucker felt it in his chest and all the way to his groin, his nostrils flaring as the heavy spice of her arousal taunted him. He wanted nothing more than to reach under her skirt, tear off her panties, and devour her, but that would be fast and furious and dirty, and he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t drag her to the floor afterward and slam himself into her.

Also, they were standing in her doorway.

Curling his hands into his palms to stop himself from running them up the sides of her legs, he stood. If he so much as touched the smooth skin of her calves, her underwear would be toast, and that seemed sacrilegious to anything La Perla. Plus, he wasn’t some kind of…animal. He wouldn’t pounce on her as soon as he came through the door. They had a perfectly good bed with a nice soft mattress in her bedroom, and he would take his time.

“What? No how was your day, dear?”

She shook her head, slow and deliberate. “Nope.” Then she grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt and kissed him.

And she kissed him dirty. She always kissed with unbridled passion. Those little soft whimpery noises she made at the back of her throat drove him slowly crazy, but she’d didn’t often take control, usually letting him lead.

Tonight, she was in the driver’s seat, her mouth twisting and turning on his, her tongue hunting and finding and stroking, her hand fisting in his shirt. And those little noises were guttural now and very, very dirty. The sound of her heavy breathing filled his head, and the wild cocktail of cupcakes and aroused woman intoxicated his senses as she rubbed against him like a frenzied feline.

Like she was trying to melt her way inside him. Like she couldn’t get enough. Escalating her arousal. Escalating his arousal.

It was all he could do to contain her, clamping his palm hard against the small of her back to limit the heat she was stirring. His cock was already hard and responding to the friction in a way that could soon become embarrassing.

He was trying to slow things down, to meet her kisses with measure and control, but her bristling sexuality was shoving hot, sticky fingers under his skin, making it almost impossible. With his pulse pounding at his temples and thudding like a jackhammer through his abdomen, he wanted nothing more than to push her against the nearest wall and fuck her into tomorrow.

It took all of his resistance not to obey the roar of his arousal.

“Why don’t we take this to the bedroom?” He pulled out of the kiss, panting a little. They were still in full view of the street, for fuck’s sake.

“No.” She shook her head. “Here.” Then she yanked him forward and kicked the door shut.

Christ.

Her cheeks were flushed. Her chest was heaving, and her mouth was wet from their kisses, as she planted her hand in the center of his chest and gave him a shove. Tucker’s ass and shoulder blades hit the back of the door as her body followed, flattening against him again, her hand sliding between them, reaching for his belt buckle, sliding it from the loop.

His dick was very happy at the direction things had taken.

“Della.”

She ignored him, working at his belt, her gaze holding his, bold as freaking brass. Christ, he wanted to kiss the hell out of her right now—hunt down her mouth as she had done with his—but then his belt flapped open and a triumphant little noise from the back of her throat sidetracked him totally.

Then she dropped to her knees. Oh Jesus, no. Hell no. “Stop, Della.”

His dick was decidedly unhappy at that.

She glanced up at him with those unwavering eyes. Eyes that said make me. Who knew determination could be such a damn turn-on? The stray wisps of hair framed her face now as she held his gaze and reached for the tab of his zipper. Her fingers brushing across his erection was painfully good, and for a second Tucker’s eyes drifted shut as eddies of sensation swirled in his ass and his thighs and his balls.

They snapped open at the first sound of zipper teeth opening.

Okay. No. Definitely 100 percent no. No matter how fucking amazing she looked staring up at him with a mouth swollen from their kisses and her hair falling all over her face and her fingers poised temptingly at his fly.

She didn’t have to do this for him. He didn’t need his dick sucked. Even if the organ in question was currently in vehement disagreement.

Knocking her hand away, he cupped himself to protect from further zipper incursions while reaching down with the other, sliding it around her biceps and pulling her gently to her feet. “Let’s go to bed,” he whispered, hoping to cool some jets in the time it took to get to her bedroom.

But Della didn’t shift as he tried to move forward. She stood her ground. “You don’t like blow jobs?”

Oh, dear God… He was a red-blooded man. Liking blow jobs was pretty much hardwired into his circuitry. Along with boobs and football. “I like blow jobs just fine.”

“So let me…” She reached for his fly again, hooking her index finger over his and tugging.

But Tucker held firm. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to say no if she actually got her hands on his erection, and he had to be mindful of her history. “There’s no need.”

Her hand slid away, her make me eyes changing to are you seriously fucking kidding me eyes. “But…I want to.”

And Tucker would like nothing more, but that incident with her waking to the lamp being off had rattled the hell out of him. Maybe all those memories weren’t as far away as she thought.

“Why don’t you let me get you first?” Tucker waggled his eyebrows. “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, after all.” He tried to push forward again, but still she didn’t budge.

“So you can melt my brains and make me forget all about it?” she demanded.

Tucker grinned. “I melt your brains, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “Quit stalling, Tucker.” And she walked away.

Tucker was grateful for the distance. Those damn buttons were distractingly tempting. She pulled to a stop near Betty’s basket. The dog had been dozing and thumped her tail twice at Della’s presence but didn’t rouse further.

“Do you even want me?” she asked, turning to face him. “Or am I just a duty to you? Some kind of favor? Teach poor, sex-starved Della the ropes—check!”

Tucker blinked. Duty? Favor? Was she crazy? He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. Including that Birdhouse skateboard signed by Tony Hawk he’d jonesed over obsessively when was a kid.

How could she take him inside her night after night and not know the depths of his want?

But the question was clearly rhetorical as she pushed on. “Because all I think about is having sex with you. Like, all day and right up to the second you knock on my door, all I think about is tearing your clothes off and pushing you to the floor and grinding all over you.”

Tucker swallowed hard at her frank admission. Christ…he hadn’t let himself go there, but the fact that she had was like rocket fuel to his already supercharged arousal.

“And yet, you… You’re always so controlled. You want to eat and chat and play with Betty and…change the damn blown light bulb, and all I can think is why isn’t he kissing me? Or, why aren’t we on the bed going for it? Or, would he be shocked if I met him at the door naked? And I feel like a…” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Like a sex maniac.”

Tucker laughed. He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but her voice had gone all high at the very end, like she’d been sucking on helium. And it was less distracting to focus on how she’d said it than the content of her little speech. Knowing she was in a constant state of sexual awareness because of him was going to seriously fuck with his concentration going forward.

“Trust me, I know how you feel,” he said, keeping his voice gentle as he walked slowly in her direction, stopping a few feet away. Betty’s tail gave two thumps. “I want you so much I shake with it sometimes.”

“No, you don’t.” She tossed her head, her voice husky. “Not really. Not like that time in Denver when you pushed me against the glass and kissed me. Your body shook so hard that night I could practically feel it rattling my bones.”

Yeah. Tucker remembered that incident with startling regularity. How quickly it had escalated. It was what he reminded himself of every night on his walk from Jack’s—how easy it was to give in to the dark pull of desire he felt for Della. “I shouldn’t have let it get out of hand like that.”

“Oh my God! Tucker.” She gave a frustrated growl and marched to the other side of the room. “I wanted you to kiss me like that.” Her eyes practically bugged from her head, in case her exasperation wasn’t clear enough. “I told you that on the night, and I meant it. I want you to kiss me like that now. Not so damned steady and controlled all the time.”

Tucker’s balls tightened at her heartfelt plea. Her frustration was a palpable force he could feel clear across the distance separating them. If he’d been an insecure kind of guy, he’d be worried he was boring her, but he was confident enough as a man, as a lover, to know Della was extremely physically satisfied.

He was melting her brain, for fuck’s sake.

What she was asking for was more, and hell if he didn’t want to give it to her. But he only had two speeds where she was concerned, and he didn’t think she understood the firestorm that was speed two.

“And I want to be an equal partner,” she continued, her eyes flashing. “I want to…pleasure you, too.” She took a deep breath. “I want to give you a blow job.”

Her blatantly direct statement slugged him right in the middle of his chest, and his dick voted with an instantaneous booyah. But the easily led did not get a say.

And Tucker had read enough about triggering these past weeks to be wary about going there.

“Are you…sure you can handle that?”

It didn’t matter how serious she was, it would give him zero pleasure to be the cause of a flashback or any kind of psychological distress. Turning the light out that night had been harrowing enough to witness.

“Yes. I want to give you the kind of pleasure with my mouth that you’ve been giving me with yours.”

Jesus. His balls throbbed at the steely determination in her voice, and he dragged in a breath as heavy as lead. He really, really wanted her to suck his dick, too.

“Just let me try.” She took a step forward and, dropping to her knees as she’d done before, reached for his fly.

It took all of Tucker’s willpower to shield himself once more. Never had he been so conflicted over a blow job. Christ. Tucker shoved his other hand through his hair. “What if you have a flashback?”

“Then I’ll stop.” Her fingers curled over the top of his and pulled gently at his hand. Tucker resisted. “And you can hold me.” Another tug at his hand. “And we can talk about it.”

When she pulled at his hand this time, Tucker’s resistance, which had been pretty much at breaking point, snapped so loudly he was surprised they hadn’t heard the crack in Kansas.

Damn it. Why was he fighting this so hard? He’d asked her to be sure about wanting to progress things, and the woman was kneeling in front of him being as sure and as clear as was possible.

Dragging in an unsteady breath, he removed his hand from his crotch, sliding it straight onto her face, cupping her cheek as his fingers slid into her hair. His thumb stroked over her cheekbone, his heart beating loud and fast, his chest tight. “If you need to stop…”

She rubbed her cheek into his palm. “I’ll stop.”

Tucker swallowed as her fingers slid to his fly, and she slowly drew the little tab all the way down, the release of each zipper tooth loud as a gunshot in the dead-of-night silence typical of Credence. Mrs. Doyle’s bat ears were probably already twitching.

His heart thumped in his chest, and the air in his lungs was thick as soup as he waited, belt and fly hanging open, his erection straining against the confines of cotton boxer briefs and thick denim. It bucked almost violently when her index finger finally touched down. The touch was featherlight, but he felt it deep inside his buttocks. He tightened his hand in her hair as a low groan was pulled from his throat.

She ran her fingers along his shaft—or the part of it that was exposed through his open fly, anyway—and damn if her concentration, the way her gaze followed the action, the way her teeth dug into her bottom lip, wasn’t a serious fucking turn-on. Her index finger traveled north a little, hooking into the waistband of his briefs and tugging, dragging the fabric down.

All the way down.

Tucker groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as his erection sprang out, the sudden sensation of freedom walking that fine line between pleasure and pain.

“Mmm,” she hummed. Tucker opened his eyes in time to see her staring intently at his dick. “It’s so beautiful.” Her voice was hushed as she glanced up at him, reverent, almost, like she was looking upon a magnificent work of art.

Nobody had ever called his cock beautiful before, and he’d certainly never thought of it as such. Most women just went with huge. Some had even been a little intimidated. But he was a big guy, so it was hardly surprising that he was anatomically proportionate.

To him, it was just…functional. Ugly functional in the way all genitals were but functional nonetheless. Not to Della, though, clearly. She was staring at it like it was a beribboned maypole, and for excruciating moments he wondered if she was just going to keep looking at it until he came. Which, right now, was an absolute possibility.

She didn’t, though. Her fingers slid onto his engorged flesh. Tucker’s pulse spiked, the muscles in his belly jumped, and he sucked in a harsh breath. Her touch was both balm and stimulus as she wrapped her fingers around him mid-shaft. Tucker’s quads went weak, and he groaned again as she fisted him all the way down to his root and all the way up to his crown before returning to the middle again.

Her eyes flicked to his. “I don’t want you holding back from me.”

If she thought he’d be able to hold back once she wrapped her lips around him, then she totally misunderstood the depth of his desire. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible,” Tucker said, a strangled kind of grunt sliding from his throat as he fought the primal urge to pump into her hand. “I should warn you, I don’t think I’ll last very long, though.”

“Good,” she said with a smile. “I want to watch you lose control.”

She returned her attention to his dick, buzzing her lips against the engorged crown, and Tucker grunted as forks of lightning lit up the nerve endings from the base of his cock all the way through to the base of his spine like tiny little tributaries of white-hot pleasure. And then her tongue slicked across, too, and Tucker thanked God the wall was nearby as he reached for it, extending his arm and flattening his palm for purchase.

Which was timely, given her next move was parting her lips and slipping them over the taut, flushed crown, taking it into her mouth. “Oh fuuuuuck.”

Tucker groaned long and low on a rush of exhaled air, leaning heavily into his hand as his knees threatened to buckle. His eyes clamped shut as her tongue swirled tentatively around and around the dome, and every nerve ending in his body pulsed with pleasure. She withdrew for a second before sliding her lips around him again, going farther this time, her tongue exploring the dimensions of his girth. Her lips formed a seal as she withdrew, creating a suction he felt right down to his toes.

“Like this?”

Tucker dragged in a breath as he forced his eyes to open. The sight that greeted him almost had his knees buckling again. Della looking up at him, her hand wrapped firmly around him, her lips wet against the flushed, glistening crown of his cock.

Her blue eyes were unsure, though, looking for his approval, searching for signs of his pleasure. “Yes.” Tucker nodded.

After that, she didn’t ask any more questions, she just opened her mouth and took him back inside, sliding on and off him with excruciating thoroughness, her head bobbing as she grew bolder with each pass, taking him a little deeper each time until Tucker was panting hard and so very, very close.

“Della.” He shut his eyes, his hand involuntarily tightening in her hair, grunting as the taut fibers holding him in check started to ping lose. “I’m so close.”

Suddenly, she was gone. The hot, wet suction of her mouth no more.

Tucker’s eyes flew open, the pulse at his temple throbbing as his body frantically tried to put on the brakes. “Della?”

Her brow furrowed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Tucker shook his head, as much to clear it as to assure. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I just…don’t think I want to…” She paused, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, wet and full and so damn sexy from all that suction. “Go all the way. Not…this time.”

A cool wash of relief flooded Tucker’s chest. She didn’t want to swallow? He didn’t give one single fuck about that. “Christ, Della, I don’t care.” He reached down for her then, hauling her up his body, urging her legs apart as he lifted. “I’d rather be inside you when I come anyway.”

And he wanted that now. Right now.

Turning her, he pushed her against the wall and kissed her hard, his hands breeching the hem of her skirt like he’d been wanting to do ever since he’d knelt to pat Betty. “Oh Christ,” he muttered against his mouth as his palms encountered bare skin. “You’re commando.”

That was the moment any notion of being gentlemanly, of holding back even just a little, fled. Maybe he might have been capable of slowing things down had she been wearing underwear, but no panties was like a gallon of gas being tossed onto a bonfire.

His dick notched against her entrance as his hands moved to her shirt. Grasping down low, one hand on either side of the central row of buttons, he ripped. Hard plastic discs pinged everywhere as the shirt fell open and the sound of her gasp filled his ears. Her breasts were bare as well, and Tucker was suddenly ravenous.

He devoured them—licking and sucking her nipples—encouraged by the arch of her back and the hard twist of her hands in his hair. “Yes,” she gasped, “yes. Inside me, Tucker. Now.”

Tucker didn’t bother to lift his mouth from her breasts. He didn’t stop to think about his lack of protection or them being against the wall or Betty being two feet from their position and maybe licking his ankle in the middle of it all. He just thrust inside her, in one quick decisive snap of his hips.

Della gasped and called his name, and Tucker released her nipple to claim her mouth, kissing her deep and long and hard as he thrust deep and long and hard, her slick heat like a velvet glove around him, picking up his climax where he’d left off, crying out as he tipped over the edge, the walls of her sex clenching tight around him as she cried out, too, joining him in the rapture.