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“Because I was afraid,” I say.
Tuck’s lips flatten. The square between his eyebrows wrinkles. “What?”
“That’s why. Why I wouldn’t give us a chance.”
Surprise flashes in Tuck’s eyes. ‘You …”
I nod. “I heard what you said.”
His jaw muscles go tight. He leans forward, into the charged space between us over the table. “Everything?”
My stomach does a somersault as I nod. “Everything.”
“I still mean it,” he says.
Even through the intensity of the moment, his words make the edges of my lips twitch upward.
“The only guy I really seriously dated was in high school. It … didn’t end well.” I don’t want to share the whole story with Tuck, so I leave it at that. “You … reminded me of him. At first. Superficially. I know that’s not who you are right now, but …”
Tuck’s nostrils flare. Protective anger flashes in his eyes. “I hate that some piece of shit hurt you.”
“But I don’t want to think about him anymore,” I say, pushing memories of Ryan out of my head, where I wish I could make them stay permanently. “I don’t want him to have any power over me anymore. I don’t want him to be the reason I do, or don’t do, anything.”
“Then …?” Tuck asks.
An electric chill ripples up my back. “I think I’m ready to give us a chance.”
Tuck’s brow hitches, and then a smile splits on his face. A smile that becomes more devious when I say …
“And I’ve got my place to myself tonight.”
31
OLIVIA
Tuck’s lips feather onto mine the moment my bedroom door shuts.
I’m surprised how softly, how gently his kiss starts. The caress of his lips is slow, leisurely. Instead of hurriedly spearing his tongue into my mouth, he gently coaxes the crease of my lips, and I give him just enough access for the tips of our tongues to glance against each other.
His hand sweeps under my hair, his grip resting possessively on the side of my neck. The rough pad of his thumb rakes against the sensitive sliver of skin between my jaw and my ear. Sparks sizzle over me, radiating from his touch.
Gradually, his tongue pushes further into my mouth, slanting and swiping over mine. His lips caress with more hunger, less restrain, and soon we’re deep in the savage, all-consuming kiss I was expecting.
Our noses press together, the rough stubble of his chin and his cheeks rasping against my soft skin. Now his hand is moving, grazing up my body to cup my breast through my shirt.
It feels like fire is racing through my veins. I press into his kiss, swirling my tongue around his, like I’m stepping up to a challenge.
I snag his bottom lip between my teeth. He moans into my mouth. His hand curves around my hip to grip my ass. He pulls my center close to him, so I can feel the throbbing hardness of his cock through our clothes.
“Fuck,” he groans when I tug on his lip, still clenched sharply between my teeth.
When I let go, he presses the kiss further, sucking on my tongue. My senses are overwhelmingly full of him, of his touch, his taste, his scent.
He pulls away from the kiss and takes a step back. His gaze is hooded, his brow set low with intensity. The lusty gleam in his eyes spears right through me, filling my whole center with a hot, liquid tension.
“Strip for me,” he commands, his voice thick with gravel.
His jaw muscles arc when I pull my light sweater over my head. He does the same, pulling off his shirt and dropping it to the floor. My core clenches at the hard lines and sharp ridges of his physique. My eyes crawl down his torso, to the sharp V shape of his hip muscles that points below the waist of his jeans.
