He hadn't shaved. I felt Tucker's bristles against my mouth and I liked it. It felt primal.
His lips were very warm against mine, but softer than I expected. Softer than Ryan's, I realized, and felt guilty, but not guilty enough to stop.
He kissed me back, hard, demanding, his tongue pressing against my own. He tasted like coffee and something deeper, his own taste. He slid his hands into my hair and pulled my close, smoothing my locks before running down my back and squeezing my ass.
I could feel the tension in his arms and his back. He'd been wanting this a long time. He was restraining himself.
The other feeling I got was: possessive. When he took me, he'd want all of me.
My tongue danced against his, teasing. He groaned low in his throat and pulled me even closer, his hands smoothing my thighs before moving up again. I smiled. I knew he could feel my mouth curve against his.
He pulled away and kissed the corner of my mouth, my cheek, my neck, my eyelids. "Oh, Hope. Hope." Then he came back to my lips and kissed me again, slower this time, deeper, but no less urgent.
When I kissed Ryan, it felt like coming home.
Kissing Tucker felt like an adventure. I tilted my head to one side and he followed me, lighter now, more playful, like we had all the time in the world instead of whatever seconds we could steal away in the conference room. He nibbled my bottom lip. I smiled again. He nipped me lightly in response before tracing his tongue along the delicate skin inside my lips.
And I knew then, if I had ever doubted, that he would be a wonderful lover. Skilled, but more importantly, playful and considerate.
Time for me to pay back. I broke away to inhale the skin at his neck. Heaven. I licked up to his jaw and dropped kisses alongside before moving on to his ear.
He chuckled low in his throat, but I was just getting started. I pushed him back into his chair, the one that had no arms. And then I straddled him, settling onto his lap. His eyes flared, dark with desire and approval.
The little voice inside my head, the one always calculating and doubting, was silent for once. I rubbed my nose against his, momentarily shy, and he rubbed back and settled his hands on either side of my waist. "You are fucking amazing."
That pulled me short. I inhaled deeply, my lips on his ear, trying to think beyond Really? 'Cause I think you'd be an amazing fuck.
He murmured low in my ear, "What's the matter, can't take a compliment?"
"I guess." I wasn't used to talking dirty. Not that I didn't like it, but the guilt was kicking in at long last. All my life, I'd been the nice girl, the good girl, the one with straight A's, voted most likely to attract a unicorn until marriage. And now...
My body stiffened up. I couldn't help it.
He sighed. It was a microscopic sigh. But still, enough to quell my libido. I started to swing my leg back around and stand up.
He dropped his hand on my thigh to block me. I squirmed. It felt too intimate, somehow even more so because he didn't move to stroke or caress me. He just waited.
The heat of his palm, the anticipation, the mystery of this new man made me bite my lip and settle my leg back down. Just for a moment.
Our eyes locked again.
He moved his hand higher.
Oh, God. Why did I wear a skirt today? I knew why. Because I was feeling sexy and strong and I'd wanted the entire world, including Tucker, to know it.
In this heat, I wasn't masochistic enough to wear panty hose. Which meant only the thin fabric of his pants and my panties stood between us. I could feel him and, from the look on his eyes, he knew it.
I licked my lips and did not move away.
His palm rested against my skin, mid-thigh and inching higher.
I closed my eyes. My legs were trembling. I was so wet. In fact, he might even be able to feel it. Was I crazy, straddling this man and potentially leaving a damp patch on his pants? I veered between freaking out and fucking his brains out. I slammed my hand down on his. "Tucker—"
He pressed the fingers of his opposite hand to my lips. "We always screw up by talking. Let's not talk."
I hesitated.
In that moment of weakness, he slid his hand up to the edge of my panties. His fingers brushed against the elastic. Teasing me.
This was madness. There was no lock on the door. I could hear someone's footsteps padding down the hallway. Dr. Ludovich, a patient, a janitor—anyone could barge in here any minute. I tensed my thighs to lift myself up.
He slid his finger inside the elastic to touch my skin.
I bit back a cry. It felt so good.
Then I leapt away from him.
He jumped up with me, kicking back the chair. "It's okay, Hope."
I was shaking with I don't know what. Lust? Self-disgust. I wanted him so badly. "I'm sorry."
He held up his hands, not daring to come closer but not leaving me, either. "I'm the one moving too fast. Sorry." He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it askew. "I just want you so much."
I could not help looking at his pants. There was a damp spot over a very prominent area. I closed my eyes. "I want you, too."
"I know. And I know you're—" He took a long, ragged breath. "You're vulnerable. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you."
Now, wait a minute. "You didn't. I knew what I was doing."
He shook his head and tried to smile.
I retreated into my anger. It was safer. "Look, this is just like what I was talking about when I said I was coming back to work, no matter what you think. I know you get off on me being a damaged maiden or whatever, but I make my own choices. Get over yourself."
In answer, he slid his finger down my chin, down my throat, to the V neckline of my shirt. I held my breath. My breasts were so close to his hand, I could weep.
"I'm already over myself, Hope. You just bring out the worst in me."
I felt my nostrils flare. But before I could object, he said, "I'm sorry. Not about this. If I had my way, I'd take you six ways 'til Sunday. But I'm sorry our timing always totally sucks. I'll let you make your own choice." He walked past me to the door and, with a deep breath, threw it open.