Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
For a second I worry I’ve turned him off. Am I being too forward? Too . . . kinky, maybe? Yes, we just crossed almost every line imaginable. But now that the heat of the moment’s faded, maybe he’s grossed out by what we did.
Then he very, very carefully slides his first two fingers through the swollen slickness between my legs. Eyes locked on mine, he brings those fingers to his mouth and sucks on them.
“You are fuckin’ delicious,” he says. “How ’bout I taste you in the shower? We gotta rinse you off, honey. You’re covered in me.”
My stomach flips at the words.
God, I want this man. I want him for more than tonight.
But I know I can’t have him, and that hurts.
Still, I let him take me to the shower. He uses his bulk to crowd me underneath the spray. I watch, mouth going dry, when he joins me, raking his long, thick fingers through his hair as water courses down his neck and shoulders.
He is so big and so beautiful.
I shake my head when he falls to one knee. “Too soon. Let’s just . . . hang here?”
And we do. We stand underneath the spray until he’s fully hard. Together we use our hands to make him come again. Black indents have appeared underneath his eyes. He’s tired.
I’m tired. I came so much and so hard I feel wrung out.
Tuck turns off the water and wraps me in a towel. I wonder if he’s on his way out, but when I grab a T-shirt from the drawer, he gives me a dark look.
“You sleep with me, you sleep naked.”
Then he climbs into bed with me and pulls me against him. The smell of shampoo fills the space between us.
I’m warm, drowsy with happiness. I fall asleep easily.
When I wake up, Tuck is gone.
twelve
. . .
Tuck
One Slip-Up
Three weeks later
I blink, hard, in a failed effort to clear out the sweat that keeps dripping into my eyes.
“God damn it,” I bark, making Abel slow his stride.
“You need to stop?”
Shaking my head, I force myself to keep moving. The October air is crisp, finally cool after a long, hot summer. Now that being outdoors doesn’t feel like you’re being baked in an oven, I’ve been joining Abel on his five-mile runs on the beach during lunch. When I was in the Navy, I liked how running cleared my mind. Like hitting a reset button.
And these runs do help to some extent. Meaning the physical misery of it distracts me every so often from thinking about Maren.
It’s the only thing that works, albeit temporarily.
But then I’ll see someone in a Carolina T-shirt, or Abel will randomly mention how he fell off a ladder at one of our construction sites, and bam.
She’s all I can think about again.
I haven’t laid a finger on her since we hooked up in the beginning of September. That morning, I left her some Advil and a big glass of water on her nightstand before leaving. I wanted to fuck her again so badly my teeth ached. But she was sleeping peacefully, lost in her dreams. And I know how much she needs sleep. She was also sore as hell.
So I left. Went about my day like the incredible sex we had never happened. I did ask her when I saw her next how she was feeling.
“I’m okay, Tuck,” she’d said. And we left it at that and never spoke of that night again.
Maren hasn’t missed a beat. Me, on the other hand? I’m awkward as hell trying to avoid her in an attempt to stop wanting her, stop thinking about her. But she catches me looking at her all the time. I make extra effort to keep distance between us, physical and otherwise, but I somehow end up bumping into her more that way.
Like the other day. She was folding laundry in the laundry room when I was bringing my stuff down. When I saw her, I immediately turned back around. But then she pokes her head out the door and tells me to come in, that it’s fine.
“I’m good,” I said. “I was, uh, just looking for . . . shoes.”
Her brow creased when she saw the basket of dirty laundry in my arms. “We can do laundry at the same time, you know.”
“I know. Yeah. I just—uh.”
So I quickly threw my laundry into the washing machine. My face burning up the whole time. Because I was rushing, I end up dropping the cap of detergent I was filling on the floor. Maren, being Maren, laughed it off and offered to help clean it up.
I glowered and wanted to die.
“We’re clearing the lot over on Chicamacomico Way today,” Abel is saying.
My chest burns. The sun is warm on my bare torso. “Good.”
“Closing on Twelve Row Boat Row this afternoon too.”