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“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Summer’s still with Hudson in the library, right?”
“Should be,” I answer.
“Your place, then. I’m hungry.” There’s a rasp in his voice.
“We don’t really have a lot of food in the place right now.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, that rasp now thick with more gravel. “I don’t think I’ll have a hard time finding what I’m in the mood for.”
My thighs clench, the dense muscle of his forearm feeling hot on the backs of them as he carries me.
“Are you going to put me down now?” I giggle as he walks towards my door.
“No,” he says, letting the sled drop onto the snow in front of my house. He stops in front of the door and holds his free hand palm-up behind his back. “Key.”
My stomach flips at his firm tone. Still dangling on his shoulder, I fish my key out of my pocket and hand it to him. He doesn’t put me down after he’s opened and carried me through the door, either. He toes off his shoes, and at his command, I do the same, letting them fall in front of him. He steps over them on his march to the kitchen.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I told you,” he says. “I’m hungry.”
Those last two words are a growl on his voice. Heat streaks through me as his hand slides up the back of my thighs and squeezes my ass. He steps into the kitchen and sets me sitting down on the counter.
“For you,” he finishes, his blue eyes flashing.
He crushes his mouth to mine, his kiss rough and insistent. His scent dances in my nose, cinnamon and sandalwood. He’s sweating from so much physical activity under all those layers, adding a musky undertone of raw masculinity that makes me feral.
He steps forward, nudging himself between my thighs. I spread them wide, rolling my hips against the front of his pants. His lips vibrate as he groans into our kiss. His hands grip the top of my legs, his right thumb tracing the outline of my hipbone through my jeans.
He drags his lips down, dropping hot kisses around the outline of my jaw before raking them lower. His lips hit just the right spot on my neck to make a sharp pang of want detonate between my thighs, and I tilt my hips into him harder, desperate for all the friction I can find.
He pushes back. Flames pulse through me when I feel his hard outline between my legs.
He unzips my sweater and slides it off me, tossing it away carelessly. His hands wrap behind me and he tugs my ass closer to the edge of the counter before falling to his knees between my legs.
My nipples are sharp points underneath my shirt. A knot of anticipation tightens inside me, heat blasting between my thighs as Tuck reaches up to the waist of my jeans. I feel the hot scrape of his knuckles against my stomach as he undoes my button and slowly slides my zipper down.
I spear my hands into his thick, messy hair.
Anxiety hits me when my eyes flit to the clock on our microwave. It’s later than I thought. “Summer should be home soon,” I say, though my voice is still thick with want.
Tuck grabs a firm hold of my pants and tugs them down. I wiggle my hips so he can pull them past my butt where I’m seated.
“Is that right?” he asks, utterly unconcerned.
“She could walk in …” The words send electricity shooting through me. My eyes fasten on the front door. The knowledge that the doorknob could turn with Tuck’s face buried between my legs makes my clit tighten with arousal.
“I guess she could,” Tuck drawls, shimmying back to pull my pants off my legs. He kisses his way back up my thighs, each hot press of his lips making sparks dance on my flesh.
I suck in a gasp when the tip of his tongue drags up my panties, tracing my slit.
“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”
He’s right. My panties are soaked. My center is a hot, wet mess for him. I’m going crazy as Tuck kisses around my upper thighs, stomach flipping and flopping in torturous anticipation.
“Please, Tuck,” I plead.
