Chapter Thirteen

EMMA

“Everything feels great here. Emma, come over and feel around for any lumps.”

The woman with the bushiest nipples I’ve ever seen lies on the exam table, in all her glory, tits out, ready to be felt up.

It’s woman’s health week and we’re shadowing OBGYNs to determine if it’s a field we’re interested in. Let’s just say, I have no desire to be scooting around vaginas day in and day out. Nope, no interest at all.

“Oh, that’s okay.” I wave my hand as a dismissal. “I felt the last lady’s breasts. You feel one, you feel them all, you know.”

“Not even in the slightest,” Dr. Tinkle scoffs. Yes, Dr. Mary Ann Tinkle. Might as well call her Dr. Pee Pee and get it over with. Dr. Pee Pee to exam room four, there is an immature urethra waiting for you . . .

“Come over here.” Dr. Tinkle turns to Debra and says, “Students can be a little gun-shy when it comes to sexual organs.”

Thank you, Dr. Tinkle, for making this that much more uncomfortable.

Holding back my groan, I mechanically stick out my arm from my side and press around Debra’s breasts like Dr. Tinkle taught me earlier . . . on her own breasts. And when the nurse walked in her office to let us know her nine o’clock arrived, that didn’t make things weird at all, you know, with my hands on Dr. Tinkle’s naked breasts and all.

“These seem very soft, no lumps detected.” Stepping back, I clap my hands together. “Good job, Debra, on not growing the lumps. Well done, breasts.” I give her an awkward thumbs up and keep my distance.

Please, God. Please remove me from my misery.

“Thank you, Emmit,” Debra says condescendingly. Total bitch, right?

She’s been nasty to me ever since I asked if it was normal for patients to leave their socks on during examinations. It just seemed odd. They’re naked beside a thin garment that’s open in the front but wearing socks? I mean, at this point, with your cooter winking at everyone, you might as well remove the socks and be done with it.

Dr. Tinkle starts moving things around on her little metal table and scans Debra’s chart. Thankfully, the old PAP smear has already been done, so I think we should be finishing up.

“Do the cysts on your uterus still hurt? Has the birth control helped?”

“It seems to be. I haven’t been having the side pain like usual.”

“That’s good, I still want to check things out.” Turning to me, Dr. Tinkle says, “Grab a pair of gloves.” I quickly snag a pair from the box and try to hand them to her but she shakes her head. “No, those are for you. Put them on.” From the table beside her, she grips the lube and pulls the top off. “Hold out your finger.”

What the?

In a haze, I do as she says, my finger pointing awkwardly in the air as if I have vagina lube on it. Oh wait, I do. I have freaking vagina lube on my finger. I thought I skipped the whole tunnel digging, but I guess I was wrong.

“Okay, we’re going to do a quick rectal insertion and feel around for cysts. Debra, are you ready?”

Debra nods as I attempt to interpret the word rectal.

“Emma, go ahead and stick your finger in her anus and then press down on her uterus. We are feeling for any large lumps.”

Errr . . . anus? Finger in the anus? What?

Before I can process what’s happening, Dr. Tinkle is guiding me, finger forward, lube ready, straight toward the spread of Debra’s legs. I don’t want to be doing this; I don’t want my finger up someone’s ass, especially Debra’s, who seems like she’s ready to eat my finger through her rectum. Knowing I shouldn’t have a grossed-out look on my face—doesn’t seem like the right thing—I impersonate a psychotic clown instead: mentally scary smiling eyes fixed on Debra’s asshole plunging forward.

The insertion is just as I expected, dreadful beyond belief.

Dr. Tinkle guides my other hand where I press down on Debra’s uterus.

“Do you feel anything?” Dr. Tinkle asks.

Besides Debra clenching so damn hard on my finger that I’m starting to lose feeling in it? Not so much.

“Uh, seems okay to me.”

She really needs to unclench because the sensation of her butt trying to slice off my finger is completely freaking me out right now. “Debra, I think it might help if you relax a little,” I suggest, praying for the throbbing in my finger to stop from lack of circulation.

“How can I relax when you have your finger up my butt and a demonic smile on your face?”

Dr. Tinkle quickly looks at me to see the smile being wiped away from my face.

“Why were you smiling at her?” Dr. Tinkle asks, a little upset.

Finger still in Debra’s ass, I look back and forth between the two women, not quite sure how to answer this question. “Uh, I didn’t want things to be weird, so I smiled to help Debra feel at ease. You know, good bedside manner and all.”

Good save. Buyable for sure.

Dr. Tinkle grips my shoulder and lectures me. “Emma, when we have to do evasive exams on patients, we try to keep a controlled neutral face, especially when the patient is nervous. You never want to make them more uncomfortable.” Controlled neutral face. Right.

I nod. “Okay, but don’t you think we should be having this conversation when my finger isn’t up the patient’s rectum?”

Debra sits up on her elbows and looks at both Dr. Tinkle and me, her boobs flopping around past the “garment” she’s wearing. “Dr. Tinkle, I don’t care for this nursing student very much, but she has a point. Maybe she can remove her finger and you guys can have this conversation without me in the room.”

Without Dr. Tinkle’s permission, I remove my finger—from the horrible shackles it was bound to—and hold it by my side, finger still pointed. Turning to Dr. Tinkle, I bow—no idea why, it just happened—and I say, “Thank you for this experience, but I think it’s safe to say I won’t be investing any more time into the OBGYN field.” Turning to Debra, I curtsey—because why the hell not—only seems fitting with what we just went through together, and I leave the room.

I’m going to have to do some serious extra credit to make up for today. Not to mention, some brain and finger bleaching. I’m tainted for life.

No pun intended.

***

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It was disgusting.”

I hold up my hand, willing Adalyn to stop. “I love you, Adalyn, I really do, but if you continue to talk about your patient’s neck goiter, I might seriously throw up on you.”

I sit back on my bed and take a deep breath. What a rough fucking day. After I ran like hell out of the OBGYN wing of the hospital, I spent the rest of my afternoon in the cafeteria studying with Logan who would not stop laughing over my finger in the butt misery.

And then there was last night, when I couldn’t stop calling Tucker “thick dick.” Ughhhh, why did he have to come downstairs in his tight black briefs that showcased everything he has to offer? I’ve never been one for briefs on a man, but HOLY HELL Tucker is an exception. It was almost like he was naked standing in front of me, that expansive, muscular chest rippling with every movement he made, those abs contracting when he bent down to look at my foot, and that deep V in his waistline. I was a goner. There was no stopping myself from staring. And there sure as hell was no stopping myself from dreaming about him last night. Oh, the things that passed through my mind. I woke up horny, embarrassed, and on edge. But most importantly, I woke up guilty. Guilty for checking out the one man I should stay away from, the one man who is completely off-limits.

Now Adalyn won’t stop talking about the goiter guy, which is frankly disturbing. It’s a goiter; it’s disgusting, let’s not talk about the ins and outs of it. (Pukes in mouth.)

Don’t get me wrong, I knew what I was getting into when it came to earning a nursing degree but there are some days I wish I was doing something else, something less disgusting where bodily fluids and human deformities aren’t surrounding me. Perhaps something like accounting instead. Accounting sounds really nice right about now. Safe, easy, a job full of numbers instead of protective gloves and lube.

“Are you still upset about the butt thing?” Adalyn asks.

I wipe both my hands down my face. “I just need a break from anything that has to do with nursing. It’s been a rough day.”

Adalyn tosses me another fudge-stripe cookie—thank you, Keebler, for these delightful treats—and pops another in her mouth. She likes to take the whole cookie down at once where as I like to wear them daintily on my finger like a ring and slowly nibble.

“Sticking a finger up an unwilling asshole does seem like a rough one. So I’m guessing we won’t be doing any studying.”

I shake my head. “Not so much. My mind is fried.” I take a little bite off my cookie and ask, “Anything new with you? Did you ever go on that date with beard-man Bradley? Is that what he called himself on his profile?”

Adalyn giggles and nods. “Oh beard-man. He’s quite the charmer online, but in person, kind of a dud. But I will say, his beard was something to marvel at. He must condition it at least twice a day. It looked so soft, like the hair of a pussy . . . cat.”

“Why did you have to say it like that?” I shake my head at my friend.

“It’s more fun that way. I like to throw you off your game.”

“I’m already thrown off.” I take another bite and chew while looking up at my ceiling, trying to will the image of Tucker in briefs out of my head. But hell, he is so FUCKING hot. I’ve always thought Tucker was good-looking, but grown-up Tucker, Tucker with a house, and abs, and pecs, and thick dick—oh my God—that Tucker is a force to be reckoned with.

Adalyn props herself up on my bed and says, “What’s throwing you off? Please tell me it’s the sexy roommate you have living upstairs. Please tell me you’re doing him and he’s knocked your head so hard against the headboard that your brain is a scramble. Please, oh please, tell me that he’s had his evil way with you.”

I shake my head but keep my eyes trained on the ceiling. “No, nothing has happened between us.” Unless you want to count the amount of times I’ve sat on his lap, or when he’s run his nose along my neck and jaw, or how about the amount of times I’ve stared at his body like a horny teenager licking her New Direction poster—Niall only. It’s the accent, ladies, am I right?

“Are you sure? Because when I mentioned Tucker, your face got red.”

“It’s just hot in here.” I wave my hand in front of my face, trying to cool myself down. It really does feel hot in here. Maybe because I’m living in Dante’s inferno, lusting after my best friend’s ex-boyfriend. Not even her ex-boyfriend, her long-time love for goodness’ sake, the person she thought she was going to marry one day. Oh hell . . .

“So you’re telling me nothing—”

Knock knock knock.

“Hey.” Tucker peeks his head in the door and smiles brightly when he sees Adalyn and me. “What’s up, Adalyn?”

Oh look, it’s thick dick . . .

Like the flouncy woman she is, Adalyn twiddles her fingers at Tucker as she flips her hair over her shoulder. “Hi, Tucker.”

He doesn’t even have a beard, Adalyn.

“Just wanted to let you know I’m home, babe. I’m going to take a shower and make some spaghetti. Want some?”

Adalyn snaps her head in my direction from the term of endearment. Act cool, Emma, just act cool. “Uh, sure.” Right about now I would eat anything with him if it meant I get to see his mouth work back and forth. That’s what it’s come to. I’m pathetic.

“Cool. What about you, Adalyn? Are you staying for dinner?”

She looks down at her phone and cringes. “I wish I could, but I should be getting home soon since this one isn’t studying anymore tonight.”

Tucker raises his brow at me, and Lord help me, my uterus just kicked me in the stomach from how sexy the move was. “No studying, huh? Looks like a night of fun is in our future.” He winks, because why wouldn’t he, and then shuts the door.

I let out a long breath just as Adalyn hits my leg. “He calls you babe? You guys are so fucking.”

“Adalyn,” I snip at her, trying to shut her the hell up. “He can probably still hear you.”

“So, if you’re fucking he already knows about it.”

Leaning forward, I grit between my teeth. “We’re not fucking.” Since I share a wall with the bathroom, I can hear the faucet turn on garnering us a little more privacy. “We’re just friends . . .” My words trail off as I think about that for a moment. Just friends. Honestly, I now desperately wish there was more between the two of us.

“Come on, be straight with me.”

Knowing she won’t leave me alone, I sigh and fall flatter on my bed. “We’re not fucking, but sweet Jesus, I wish we were.”

“I knew it.” Adalyn bounces on her knees with glee.

“It’s been torture, Adalyn. He’s so hot. I mean, it’s obvious he’s good-looking and has a nice body under his clothes, but I’ve seen him with his shirt off, I’ve felt the way his hands feel on a woman’s body. It’s addicting. Every time I’m around him I want him to touch me. I want him to slam me against a wall, spread my legs, and make me come until my voice is hoarse.” I look over at her and say, “And last night didn’t help. I saw him in nothing but a pair of black briefs and I’m going to be honest, I think I almost came just from the sight of him.”

“Oh my God, like Chris Hemsworth good?”

“Yeah, like Chris Hemsworth good, but dare I say, sexier? If that’s even possible.”

“I didn’t think it was possible until I saw Tucker. You lucky girl.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Not lucky at all, because he’s my friend and he once belonged to my best friend, but all I want to do is rip his pants off, tap his penis and say, ‘I have a friend I want you to meet. It’s my vagina; want to have a play date?” Adalyn laughs so loud I think she might have rattled my windows. “Do you know how bad it is? How bad I want him?”

“How bad is it?”

“It’s so bad that I want to stick my pinky finger in his pee hole and say, ‘goochey goo, I want you.’ ”

Adalyn howls in laughter at my expense, her hand clamping over her stomach. “Oh my God. Please do that. I will give you a hundred dollars just to see you stick your finger in his pee hole.”

“Never. I would never ever do that, even though the urge is strong.” Taking a deep breath, I sit up and hold one of my throw pillows to my chest. “I just need to focus on the task at hand. School, graduating, and finding a job. That’s all. I can do this.”

Adalyn starts to gather her items and stands while slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Yeah, good luck with that, Emma. I know if it were me, I would be in that man’s bed faster than you can blink. But that’s just me.”

That is just her. She hasn’t had many years of history with the boy Tucker. She didn’t watch him drool over her best friend for years, or then watch him mourn when things ended. She didn’t know the boy who was so lost and alone when his father died, who desperately needed loving. She didn’t see the empty expression in his eyes the day he showed her his house, or experience the elation of watching her expression when he’d spoiled her with coffee mugs and a couch. Yes, I want to have sex with Tucker, but there are strings we’re balancing on.

Shrugging, she heads to the door and calls out, “See you tomorrow, sweet cheeks. Try to get some sleep, if you can.” She wiggles her eyebrows and takes off.

Get some sleep, ha! The only way I know I’ll get any sleep is if I pull out my little vibrating friend, take care of the thick-dick images in my head, and then pop Tylenol PM down the gullet.

I’m abut to change for the night when my phone chimes. I see the name displayed on the front and groan. Just what I need.

Sadie: Hey girl! I miss you!

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

When was the last time I talked to Sadie? I can’t even remember, before I moved in with Tucker, that’s for damn sure.

Swallowing hard, I reply.

Emma: Hey Sadie, I miss you too.

There, short and simple. Nothing incriminating. Nothing that says, “I know we’re best friends and all, but hey, I’m living with your ex-boyfriend and I can’t stop lusting after him, to the point that if I slipped and fell, my mouth landing on his penis, I would probably start sucking.”

Sadie: Can we get together soon. We need to catch up. We haven’t talked in so long, I feel like a piece of me is missing.

Sweat starts to coat my upper lip as guilt reins down upon me. What would she think if I told her how I was feeling, if she knew I was dreaming about Tucker. She would hate me, I just know it. Tucker was such a big part of her life and for me to step in on her territory, it almost seems unforgiveable.

Emma: I would love to get together. Just let me know the time and place.

I really don’t want to see her which is sad because she’s one of my favorite people, but I’m not sure how much I can hide from her. She reads me like a book and she will see right through my wall.

Sadie: Perfect! I will text you tomorrow about a day. Maybe we can grab coffee.

Emma: Sounds great.

Yeah, sounds great. Not really, but I can’t avoid her, she will know something is up.

Tense and uncomfortable more than ever, I change into my favorite deep purple plaid pajama set, tie my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head, and put some lotion on my hands. I can do this. Of course Tucker is gorgeous, but am I really that undisciplined I can’t live with him in the same house and not think about him? No, I have self-control. I’m an adult for fuck’s sake. I can handle my yearning with dignity. I can stop lusting after this man, this man that belongs to someone else.

Puffing my chest out with my head held high, I open my bedroom door just as the bathroom door opens as well. Billowing steam pours out of the doorway, the bright bathroom light reflects off the pink of the flamingos, casting an angelic type haze over Tucker as he walks out into the hallway, dewy, dreamy, and wearing nothing but a low-slung towel. My heart seizes in my chest, my thighs clench together as I take in his damp, messy hair, his freshly shaved face, and the little droplets running down his chest to the edge of his towel that is barely covering thick dick.

“Oh my God,” I drawl out. And it isn’t until Tucker wickedly grins at me that I realize I said that out loud. Okay, maybe I have ZERO self-control.

“You okay there, babe? You look a little flush.”

I nervously laugh, probably one of the ugliest laughs I’ve ever heard come out of my mouth. “Oh yup. You know . . . uh, oh my God,” I move my hands around, trying to act casual but not pulling it off at all, “Look at all that steam. Ever heard of a fan?”

Smooth, really, really smooth.

Tucker tilts his head to the side and studies me, one of his hands on the knot of his towel. “If I had the fan on, then how could I have possibly heard what you and Adalyn were talking about?”

And just like that, my face heats up, my ears are in a blaze, and my body feels like lava was just poured all over it.

“You heard us?” I whisper. I don’t know why, seems like something I have to whisper, maybe to make it less true.

“Just a little.” He takes a step toward me, which causes me to back up into the hallway wall. “Something about fucking. What could she possibly be referring to?”

“Guh, you know.” I put my finger to my chin trying to look thoughtful. “I can’t seem to remember exactly what we were talking about.”

“No?” He takes another step closer, the smell of his soap making me feel drunk, hazy, so damn infatuated that it’s hard to stand on my own two feet. “So Adalyn didn’t ask you if we were fucking?”

Gah! Stupid Adalyn and her big stupid mouth.

Playing dumb, I ask, “Did she? Huh, well Adalyn doesn’t seem to have a filter.”

He nods and takes one more step closer, now only a foot between us. He places both his hands on either side of my head, framing me in place, giving me the perfect view of his flexing chest. Sweet mother, may I? Just a little touch, a lick of his nipple, maybe a little bob the apple on his penis.

“What did you say?” The rumble of his voice vibrates through my ribcage, sending my libido into overdrive. He smells too damn good, looks too damn good, and sounds too damn good for any girl to have coherent thoughts.

The space between us evaporates as he brings his face inches from mine making the air feel thick. When he speaks, his breath tickles me, sending me further into a sexual awakening. My entire body throbs with need, with yearning for the irresistible man standing before me.

He enunciates every word when he repeats himself. “What did you say to Adalyn about fucking?”

“Oh yeah, the fucking.” I laugh nervously. “I told her we were not doing the fucking.”

“Did she believe you?”

Unsure of what’s happening, I fidget with the hem of my shirt. Why is he so close? Why does he continue to tempt me like this? Is he trying to drive me crazy?

“She did. You know, we’re honest with each other and everything. Kind of like you and me, acting like adults, telling the truth and all. No need for roommate rules or boundaries.” I swallow hard.

Boundaries, man, we should have set some of those, because right now, Tucker doesn’t understand the common courtesy rule of personal space. I don’t think he’s ever understood that since I moved in.

“Telling the truth, huh?” He licks his lips and bends his head down, which draws my attention to the towel barely hanging on his hips. My heart rate picks up when his eyes meet mine, those sultry, seductive eyes. “Tell me, Emma, when was the last time you fucked someone?”

Everything inside me is aware of his question, of his presence, of the way my clit is throbbing uncontrollably. If he can’t tell by the flush of my face and the sweat breaking out on my skin, it’s been a while.

Continuing to twiddle with my shirt, I answer, “It’s been a bit. I can’t quite remember.”

Tucker nods and brings one of his hands to my face where his thumb runs along my jaw to my mouth. He rubs the pad of his thumb along my bottom lip, tugging it down ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on my mouth.

“And when was the last time you used this mouth for anything other than talking and eating?”

“I . . . I don’t remember.” My breath hitches on me, causing my words to stutter.

Nodding again, Tucker steps in another inch, the heat of his body starting to warm me from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. “Can I ask you one more question?”

I wish he’d press me against the wall and end this horrible burning need I have for him, but I nod instead.

“What if Adalyn asked you, do you want to fuck Tucker, what would you have said?”

His eyes bore into me, slicing me in half. He knows the answer, it has to be written all over my face, displayed in my body language, and in the way I react to his every touch.

Do I tell him? Do I admit my burning crush? Does he even feel the same way? Or is he teasing me, trying to get me to admit something just because he can?

No, that’s not the case. Tucker is not like that. He’s sweet, caring, considerate, sexy, and irresistible. If I tell him I want to fuck him, what would that do to our relationship? Would it ruin everything we built back up over the last few weeks? But what would happen if I didn’t tell him? Would the tension grow so thick that I eventually give in and throw myself at him? At least if I tell him now, I could get it over with and we could have an awkward moment and move on.

Taking a deep breath, I face him head-on and answer his question. “If Adalyn asked me if I want to fuck you, I would have told her yes.”

Slowly, like the Grinch on Christmas morning, a sexy grin takes over his handsome face. I shake in place, waiting, as if my next breath depends on it. Lazily he takes me in, starting at my feet and meeting me at my eyes, when his perusal stops, he says, “Good to know, babe.”

Lifting off the wall, he puts unwanted space between us, and like a cold bucket of water, every ounce of heat building inside me extinguishes when he grips the knot on his towel again and starts to walk away.

He’s got to be kidding me right now.

That’s it?

Not that I wanted anything to happen . . .

He’s not going to do anything about my little confession? A kiss would have been nice, a little diddle against the wall would have been nice. I would have even taken a vag tap with his index finger. Anything really, but instead, he takes off toward his bedroom, taking the steps two at a time before he’s out of my sight.

“What just happened?” I ask myself softly, trying to make sense of it all.

Why the close calls with Tucker, but never anything substantial? Never anything to feed this need to be around him, this need for him to touch me in any way possible. And that little interaction between us only worsened the ache between my legs.

Huffing, I walk into the kitchen and grab a pot to start boiling water. “Jeeze, thanks a lot, jerk.”

Unsatisfied, hornier than ever, and frankly irritated, I put the pot on the stovetop and turn it on. Storming around the kitchen, I take out all the ingredients for dinner, which consists of a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce, and set them on the counter.

I’m just going to say it; men are stupid. Men are stupid and rude. Men are stupid and rude and teasers. They like to tease your fantasies but never really make them come true. I mean, would it really have hurt Tucker to pull my pants down and stick his dick in me just once? I’m not asking for a whole lot here. Just a little dick to vagina friction accompanied by an orgasm for the ages. I’ve officially lost my mind.

“So stupid.” I cross my arms over my chest just as I hear Tucker come down the stairs. Casually, as if he didn’t just blow my clit up to epic throbbing proportions, he walks in the kitchen, shirtless, wearing a pair of thin plaid pajama pants with his large hand ruffling through his hair.

“Got the water going?”

Don’t show him your anger. Don’t let him know how much he affected you. Be cool, Emma, be cool.

“No, thought it would be fun to boil bleach to see what happens,” I snap sarcastically, exposing my poor attempt at a bluff. Nope, not cool at all.

Knowing fully well I’m irritated, he swaggers toward me—yes, swaggers—his stomach flexing with every movement and with one quick lift, he has me sitting on the counter. Without looking at the stove, he reaches over and turns the burner off, his eyes fixed on me. Parting my legs, he steps in between them and positions himself right in front of me. Once again, my heart rate picks up, my body coming alive from its short hiatus.

I swear if he teases me again, he’s getting a kick to the balls.

Moving in closer, he places his hands on my thighs and says, “You seem tense, babe.”

Ya think? At any moment I’m about to combust from the amount of sexual tension running rampant in my body. To say I’m tense is an understatement.

“Oh I’m just fine,” I lie.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” His hands start to move up my thighs to my waist where he grips tightly and presses himself even closer so there is no space between our bodies. “Seems like there’s something you want to get off your mind.”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “I’m just dandy.”

“Dandy, huh?” His hands work their way up my arms now, to my shoulders where they land on my neck. Spread over my collarbones, his thumbs rub the column of my neck as his eyes search mine. “Ask me the question.”

Confused, I ask, “What?”

His thumbs are now caressing my jaw, his head drawing in close, his lips wet and ready. “Ask me if I want to fuck you.”

Oh God, I feel like if he answers the way I want him to, I will orgasm. I’m right there, ready to be pushed over the edge, my clit begging for release.

I take my time and search his eyes, pleading for his answer to be yes. “Tucker,” I pause to take a deep breath, “do you want to fuck me?”

His eyes bounce back and forth over mine, his grip on my face growing tighter. When he speaks, his voice is deep, full of a sensual rumble that takes over every bone and muscle in my body. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since I saw you at the bar with your friends.”

Hnnnnnnng

From his little confession, I clench my legs around him, knowing damn certain that I’m wet, aroused, and beyond ready for him.

Shyly, I look at him through my eyelashes and ask, “What’s taken you so long then?”

He strokes my cheek, heart in his voice. “You deserve more than just a quick fuck.”

I gulp, deciding to throw all my cards on the table. “Sometimes a quick fuck is just what someone needs.” Where is this coming from? What happened to all the guilt, all the knowledge coursing through my mind that this is wrong?

I look into his sultry eyes and know it’s coming from deep within me. No matter how wrong it might be, I can’t help myself. I can’t help but egg him on and see how far I can push him, how far her will take this. If he will actually make a move . . .

He shakes his head. “Nah, not with you, Emma. You’re the kind of girl you spend the night worshipping.”

One of his hands slides to the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him where he rests his forehead on mine.

“If that’s the truth, then can I ask you another question?” My breathing isn’t the only erratic one. Before me, Tucker seems to be feeling the same kind of tension I’m feeling with every passing touch of his thumbs.

“Ask me,” he says, his nose rubbing against mine intimately.

“Do you want to worship my body . . . tonight?”

Not even skipping a beat, he says, “More than you fucking know.”

His hand tightens on my jaw, the other one curling around my neck. His mouth opens as his nose grazes my face. Fuck me. Fuck me. Just do it. Just kiss me. I can’t take it any longer.

Our breathing quickens, our breath caressing one another as the air around us ceases to exist. With one more pause, Tucker presses his thumb into the back of my neck and then his lips graze mine, teasing me, tantalizing me with what’s to come. It’s a whisper of a kiss, a brief glimpse of our connection, and when I think he’s going to end everything with just that light touch, he presses further but never too hard. He keeps his lips soft, his need in control. It’s sexy as hell, to the point that I’m forced to wrap my legs around his waist and clench hard.

Lightly he nips my lips, runs his tongue along them and tastes each corner, as if he’s trying to memorize this moment. There is no memorizing for me. It’s impossible when I know this moment will be forever engrained in my brain.

Wanting more, I glide my hands tentatively up his chest. He groans from my touch and starts to work my mouth a little faster. When I press my hands over his pecs, he groans louder, and his mouth picks up pace. I match each kiss with his, our mouths sliding against each other until his tongue parts me, begging for entry. There is no denying his demand. I open my mouth and collide my tongue with his, the force of his kiss taking control. I try to keep up now, matching each thrust, each groan, every lick of his tongue.

This kiss is everything.

From the pit of my stomach I know this moment will top every first kiss I’ll ever experience. From the way he presses his body into mine, to the hold he has on my neck and face, to the way he equally matches my kisses with his, it’s undeniably the most sensual moment of my life, as well as the most misguided judgment of my life.

And just as I settle in for a long night of kitchen make-out time, Tucker removes his mouth from mine, but not before placing a final kiss on my lips. Hazily, I open my eyes to meet his. When I expect to see that charming grin of his, instead, I see a look of uncertainty.

Uncertainty?

Uh, not the kind of thing a girl wants to see after experiencing by far the best kiss of her life.

Uneasy, I ask, “What’s wrong?”

He steps away from me and grabs the back of his neck while his other hand rests on his hip. God, even standing there, looking unsure, he is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

“Tucker?”

With his head still turned down, he looks up at me. “Shit, Emma.” Oh no. “I lost control . . .”

And there it is, regret. Wow, that was a lot quicker than I imagined it would be. I would have at least given him the night.

I hop off the counter and put on a big smile. “No problem. I get it.” I pretend yawn and stretch my arms over my head. “You know, it’s getting late and I’m not really that hungry. I think I’m going to call it an early night.” I start to walk away and then turn to him. His eyes? They still look uncertain.

He wishes he didn’t kiss me. Does he want me to leave? Do I just go?

“Let’s just say this never happened, okay? A lapse in judgment. I’ll see you in the morning. Night, Tucker.”

I make my way to my bedroom, listening intently for him to quickly follow behind me, to tell me he was just kidding, that he actually wants to continue kitchen make-out session, but he doesn’t follow me. Instead, the house fills with an uncomfortable silence, while inside my heart and head, I’m screaming. In frustration, in anger, in humiliation.

Disappointed and more than embarrassed, I shut my bedroom door and go straight to my bed where I bury my head in my pillow.

Do not cry, Emma. This is not something you cry over. This is merely an experience that ended sooner than you expected.

Despite my self-talk, my nose starts to sting, the moment in the kitchen playing over and over in my head. Why did he stop? Was I a bad kisser? Was I not what he expected? Did I disappoint the hype he might have had in his head? Was it because I’m not her and never will be?

I can’t stop the stinging feeling in my nose and before I know it, tears start to leak from the corners of my eyes. The tingling, burning sensation of having Tucker’s hands and mouth all over me is quickly washed away by a vat of utter mortification.

There had to be something—

My door opens and without turning around I can feel Tucker’s presence. I have my back turned away from him so he can’t see the devastation I’m feeling.

“Emma.”

I don’t think I have the strength for this . . .