Chapter Eighteen

TUCKER

The ringing of my alarm pulls me out of my deep slumber. I quickly turn it off before it can be anymore obnoxious than it is.

Not wanting to wake Emma, I carefully slip out from under her grasp and slide out of bed, making sure to line up my pillow for her to snuggle against. It does the trick as she readjusts and makes a cute little humming sound as she nuzzles her head.

I take a moment to observe her. Her chestnut-brown hair is a mess from my hands, her breathing is steady—an even rhythm that soothes me—and her mouth is slightly open, reminding me of just how deliciously dirty her mouth was last night.

I run my hand over my face and shake my head. I fucked Emma Marks. Not just once, but three times. Three fucking times.

I tug on my hair and go to my closet where I grab my running clothes and shoes. Naked, I tiptoe downstairs, dress, and lace up my shoes.

I need to clear my head. I need to process everything from last night.

I strap my phone to my arm, press shuffle on my running playlist, and take off when I’ve shut the side door to the house. I don’t bother with a warm-up; I get straight into my pace and turn toward Port Dickson Community Park.

Coldplay’s “The Scientist” streams through my earbuds, providing a thoughtful melody for me to run to, maybe a little too thoughtful as the lyrics immediately start to speak to me.

“Nobody said it was easy, it’s such a shame for us to part . . .”

My feet pound against the pavement, my knees absorbing little shock from the vibrations, jolting my body more than usual. I’m stiff, confused, fucking terrified. I slept with another woman, a woman that wasn’t Sadie.

“Take me back to the start . . .” The song hits me square in the fucking heart where it rests heavy with . . . fuck, I don’t know what’s weighing it down. Regret? No, I don’t regret last night. There is no way I could ever regret the connection I shared with Emma or the way she so effortlessly gave me her body. Nor how much I loved taking her body.

So if it’s not regret, then why do I feel like I’m sitting in a choker hold, the ability to breathe becoming less and less with each step forward?

I had sex with another woman. That thought is on replay in my head. I kissed Emma, ran my tongue along every part of her body, buried myself deep within her, fucked her, and came in her while her name slipped off my tongue. And when we passed out, I held on to her, tightly, as if I let go, she would disappear just like Sadie did.

Christ.

I pick up my pace, straining my muscles in the chilly morning air.

Last night was the first night in over a year that I felt . . . at peace. It was even better than the other two nights I’ve slept with Emma in my arms, but for once, there was no doubt. Unease. There weren’t any questions in my mind of what I could have done better, of how I could have saved my relationship, how I could have possibly helped Sadie during the miscarriage. I never once thought about the baby we created, if it was a boy or a girl. The nursery didn’t call my name; it didn’t sit like an anvil of “what ifs” on my chest. And I didn’t have an urge to bolt out of the house I bought for Sadie, to flee from the giant reminder of what I lost. Instead, I spent my night tangled next to an exquisite woman who graced me with her beautiful heart and showered me with her irresistible cuteness in those goddamn pajamas.

Fuck, I like those things. I like her. I like her a lot and I think that’s what terrifies me. For the first time in so long, I’m not pining for the girl I always thought I’d marry. The woman of my past.

I pause and run my hands through my hair.

Emma. I want to be with her. I want to hold her, make dinner with her, listen to fucking New Direction while she giggles in my arms. I want to wear matching lobster oven mitts and high five over shitty soup. I want her for her quirks, her smile, her beautiful brain, and her loving and caring heart.

“Shit,” I mutter, turning back toward the house.

“Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles plays on my phone, acting almost as an epiphany as I sprint-run back to the house with one thought on my mind: Emma.

Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter. Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here . . .

Here comes the sun . . .

***

I slam the side door shut, tear off my phone strap and toss it on the counter along with my earbuds, and head toward the stairs when I see Emma’s light on in her bedroom. She’s not a morning person, why is she up?

I open the door to her bedroom, startling her in place. She’s wearing her pajama top and thong, and that’s it. Her hair is a mess like always in the morning, which makes me smile until I see her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I start toward her, but she puts up her hand.

“Please just leave me alone, Tucker.”

“To hell I will.” Not allowing her any space, I come up in front of her, grip her cheeks, and wipe away the tears on her face. “What’s wrong, Emma?”

She shakes her head and presses her hands on my sweat-soaked shirt. “I don’t need your pity, Tucker.”

“Pity? What the fuck are you talking about?”

She takes a look at me, actually takes me all in and bites on her bottom lip for a second. “You . . . you went for a run?”

“Yeah. I run every morning. What the hell is going on?” Her face flushes and I slowly start to connect the dots. Surely she wouldn’t think . . .

“Did you think I just got up and left?”

She looks away, clearly embarrassed. “Maybe.”

I can’t stop the chuckle that pops out of me. Outraged from the humor I find in the situation, she shoves my chest and says, “It’s not funny. What am I supposed to think? I woke up and you were gone. I came downstairs to see if you were making eggs and you weren’t here. I assumed you regretted everything and tried to get the hell out of here.” She points to the open suitcase on the bed and adds, “I was going to start packing to make it less awkward.”

“Yeah, and where were you going to go with that little suitcase of yours?” I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into my body.

Trying to save face, she lifts her chin and says, “Logan’s. He would have taken me in.”

That doesn’t sit well with me. “To hell you would go there.”

She sighs heavily. “He doesn’t—”

“He sure as fuck does. He’s just waiting to make his move. He needs to know you’re off limits.”

“You don’t own me.”

I laugh and tip her chin. “That’s cute, Emma.” I lean forward and kiss along her jaw until I reach her ear. “Pretty sure last night I owned every last inch of you.”

She tilts her head to the side and lets out a long breath. “That means nothing.” Nothing? I don’t think so.

I bite on her earlobe and palm her ass at the same time. “It means everything, baby. Now come take a shower with me.”

Not giving her a chance to protest, I link her hand with mine and bring her into the bathroom. I tear my shirt off over my head and lean into the shower where I turn it on, letting the water heat up. When I turn back to Emma, she seems nervous by the way she’s fidgeting her hands in front of her.

“What’s wrong?”

She shrugs and fidgets with the waistband of my briefs that are peeking past my running pants. “The lights are on. You’re going to see all of me.”

“So? My tongue was all over your body last night, are you really going to be shy now?”

“It was dark, you couldn’t see any, you know, weird lumps and whatnot.” Does the girl not know how fucking gorgeous she is?

“Babe, I can guarantee there are no weird lumps. Now stop being ridiculous and take a shower with me.” She still looks uncertain, shy, which is so odd to me given what we did last night. “Emma, it’s me. There is nothing you should be shy about.”

“I know, but it is you, Tucker. I never in a million years would have thought you and I would have shared a night like last night.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Are you having second thoughts about last night?” My gut churns from the thought of her regretting everything we did. Call me a dick, but it never crossed my mind that Emma would feel remorse about what we did. Seeing her with tears in her eyes, thinking I had left her, actually gives me confidence. She wants us. How could she think I didn’t want her to stay? That . . . that I can’t leave her. Nor want her to go . . .

She shakes her head, easing the twisting in my stomach. “No, I don’t have any regrets.”

I cup her face and press a light kiss against her lips. “Good, because neither do I. In fact, I want a repeat.” My hands go to her shirt where I start to unbutton it. She assists me as well, starting from the bottom and once we have them all undone, I shove the fabric off her shoulders and watch it float to the floor before I take her all in.

I run my hand over my jaw, standing there in her red thong that does nothing to cover her up. Her breasts are marked from my scruff, beard burn trails over her body from where my mouth was last night, and lucky for me, her nipples are already puckered, ready to be sucked into my mouth.

“You’re gorgeous, Emma. Why you’re nervous I have no clue. You’re so fucking sexy.” Just from the sight of her, I’m hard and I want to prove it to her. I take her hand and place it on my erection. Her eyes go wide as they find mine. “See what you do to me, baby? You make me so fucking hard, just standing there. So don’t you ever for one moment feel self-conscious around me. Okay?”

She nods and then a wicked gleam flashes in her eyes. Hand still on my cock, she lightly squeezes. Oh fuck, it feels like my eyes roll in the back of my head just from the small touch. She literally has no idea what she does to me.

“Careful what you start, Emma, if you don’t plan on finishing it,” I breathe out.

Stepping away, she drops her thong to the ground and then slips her hand past the shower curtain to test the water. Clearly pleased with the temperature, she slips in but not before she says, “Joining me?”

Hell yeah.

I strip down in two seconds and slip past the shower curtain where I’m greeted by a very wet Emma. Her head moves slowly under the shower as water runs down her body. I follow the rivulets tumble past her breasts, to her flat stomach and all the way down her legs.

Hell . . .

“Are you trying to torture me?”

She pops her eyes open and smiles. When she looks down, she sees my cock straining for her touch. She glances up at me, almost like she’s asking for permission, before she steps out of the water and reaches for my erection. She strokes me, lightly, curving her hand up and over the tip. I watch her small hand work me, loving how she has a rhythm, a reason for everything she’s doing. When her other hand cups my balls, I groan louder than expected as pleasure shoots up my spine.

“Babe, slow down.”

She doesn’t listen. No, her strokes become tighter, harder, longer.

“Fuck, Emma . . .” My breathing becomes labored, my legs start to shake, and with every squeeze of my balls, I can feel my impending orgasm.

“I want to see you come,” she says. “I want to see how I make you feel.”

I had other plans for us in this shower, but I can’t deny her request, not when she looks at me with those passion-filled eyes.

Shit. I’ll have to revert to plan B.

I place one hand against the tiled wall to steady myself and lace the other through her hair as I say, “Then make me come.”

Pleased, her grip grows tighter, making me pop up on my toes with each stroke. I grind my teeth together, loving the pull she has on me, the way I feel in her hands. Fuck, she’s so damn good at this. When she rolls my balls in the palm of her hand and squeezes the tip of my dick, my legs almost give out on me as everything turns black. I climb so high that when I fall over the edge with one final stroke, I come so hard in her hand that I feel like I’m about to fall to the tiled floor.

A roar rips from me, her hand a vise on my balls, my hips pumping feverously as I expel every last ounce inside me. The water washes away my cum, but when I open my eyes to look at Emma, I can see she’s completely and utterly satisfied. Magnificent.

Leisurely, she moves her hand over my dick as the other presses against my beating heart. “One touch from you, Tucker, and I’ll be coming on your hand. That was so hot. I need you to take care of the ache you’ve put between my legs.” No way in hell I could deny that request. Not from this girl.

Catching my breath, I watch her wiggle next to me, searching release. “How wet are you?”

“So wet. So ready. Fuck me, Tucker.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “This coming from the girl who not a short while ago was afraid to be naked with me in the daylight.”

She shrugs and runs her finger over my jaw, her nail trailing along the scruff. “You make me feel beautiful.”

I cup her face and look her in the eyes. “You are beautiful, Emma.”

With that, I push her under the water and then against the wall. The shower sprays off my back as I raise both of her hands above her head and clasp them against the wall with one of mine. She smiles brightly, knowing what’s coming next.

“Spread your legs.” She does as she’s told so I finger the outside of her pussy. “You want relief, right here?”

She nods. “Yes.” Her voice is but a whisper. “I need it, Tucker.”

“Tell me, Emma,” I move my mouth over her cheeks, down her jaw, to her neck, and then nip at her nipples, “Is your clit hard for me?”

I clamp down on one of her nipples just as she says, “God, yes.”

Knowing I don’t have all morning, I move my hand down to her pussy where she groans from the contact and start rubbing her clit with my thumb as I insert two fingers inside her. She gasps from the insertion, pauses momentarily, but then relaxes and lets me work my hand as I play with her nipples in my mouth.

Her hips rotate against my hand and as the hot water pelts me, and I take in the moment when her pussy clenches around my fingers and she pants my name while her orgasm eclipses her stunning face. I love how vocal she is. It’s sexy as hell.

She starts to fall from the clouds as she goes limp against the wall. I scoop her up and bring her under the water to warm up her body. She rests her head against my chest and hugs my waist as the shower splashes around us. It’s a personal and intimate moment, one I’ve never experienced. It’s us. Emma and Tucker. Honestly? I want to soak it all in because this right here, this makes me happy. My beautiful, incredible Emma makes me happy.

***

“Why are you smiling?”

I point to my chest. “I’m not smiling, you’re smiling.”

Emma sits on the counter, her wet hair tied up in a bun, an oversized shirt covering her otherwise naked body, and a cup of coffee in her hands. She’s smiling like a fool as she watches me make the eggs she requested when we were drying off from our shower. Unlike her, I need to get to work so fucking Julius doesn’t go off on one of his egotistical rants.

“I’m not smiling,” she lies as she tries to hide her smirk behind her coffee cup, her Monday coffee cup.

I set the spatula down on the stove, fuck spoon rests, and saunter over to her. I situate myself between her legs and place my hands on her thighs.

“You’re smiling and I can guess two reasons why.” I hold up my fingers as I count them off. “Sex in the shower and me eating you out on the sink.” I couldn’t help it; I needed to taste her one more time before I left her.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a cocky son of a bitch?” She puts her coffee cup on the counter and runs her hands over my shoulders.

“Thick dicks are usually cocky, babe,” I tease, garnering an eye-roll from her and a chuckle from me.

“Oh my God, I hate you.”

“Nah, you don’t hate me. You like my dick way too much.”

“Eh.” She shrugs and then says, “Now your tongue, that I can keep around.”

“Hey,” my brows knit together, “you’re going to give my dick a complex.”

She pats my crotch gently. “He’ll just have to prove himself tonight. Show me he’s the better muscle.” She rubs her hands together. “Tongue versus dick, I wonder who’s going to win.”

I laugh and rub her thighs. “Sounds like you’re the winner in the end.”

She gives me an adorable smile. “Yeah, pretty much.”

I shake my head and kiss her quickly on the forehead before going back to the eggs. “You’re sex-crazed.”

“This coming from the man who just had to lick me one more time before he went to work.”

I glance over my shoulder at her and say, “Wanted to make sure you tasted the same, see if you were as good as I remembered.”

“And the verdict?”

“You tasted better.” I wink and grab two plates for our eggs. I dish out our breakfast and bring the plates to our little card table in the dining room. Emma follows behind me with silverware and our coffee. We work seamlessly together and it feels so . . . natural. I’ve never experienced this either.

She takes her first bite of the eggs and moans with her eyes closed. I watch her mouth chew and swallow which only causes me to have to readjust myself in my chair. When she takes another bite and moans, I clear my throat and say, “All right, no more egg moaning.”

“Egg moaning?” She looks genuinely confused.

I point my fork at her. “When you eat, keep your happy-stomach moans to yourself. You’re making me hard.”

“You’re getting hard watching me eat eggs?”

“No,” I adjust again. “I’m getting hard hearing you moan, which just so happens to be the same sound you make when I rub my nose along your inner thigh. So cut it out.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and studies me for a second, trying to tell if I’m serious. I am, I am so fucking serious. No egg moaning. “Fine,” she answers. “If I can’t moan while eating eggs, you can’t wear those clothes.”

“What?” I look down at my white Henley and work jeans. “What’s wrong with my work clothes?”

“There’s nothing wrong with them, they’re just . . . too tight. They make your chest look massive and heaven forbid I don’t see your abs poking through, trying to say hello. Every time you move, some kind of muscle bulges. Have you ever heard of the size up? Honestly,” she huffs.

I look down at my shirt; it’s not too tight. It fits perfectly. “It’s an extra large, that’s what I wear. It fits fine.”

She motions to my biceps. “Those pythons are trying to reach out and bite me.”

A rip of laughter pops out of me from her terminology. “Pythons?”

“You know what I mean. It’s just not fair. So if I can’t egg moan, you can’t wear those shirts.”

“Okay,” I answer, agreeing easily.

“Okay.” She nods, happy with herself. As she scoops up more eggs, I reach behind me and pull my shirt over my head where I toss it on the back of my chair. When I turn back around to face her, her mouth is open, eggs still on the fork, staring at my chest. “What are you doing?”

I look down at my bare chest and then back up at her. “You said you didn’t want me to wear that shirt around you, so I took care of the problem.”

She drops the fork of eggs on her plate and leans back in her chair while crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t play fair, Jameson.”

I wink at her. “Never said I did, baby.”

She mumbles something under her breath and then cocks an eyebrow at me. “Fine.” Before I can respond, she grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head, dropping the garment to the floor and revealing her delicious naked body. With a wicked and smarmy smile, she picks up her fork and starts eating her eggs again . . . while moaning.

Tou-fucking-ché. With emphasis on the fucking . . .