Molly:

I’m glad this place has an open bar because, honestly, the only way I think I can get through tonight is if I’m half in the bag. I’m really clueless as to what I’m supposed to do with this man who seems to be snapping in and out of two different realities. My mind is telling me to take him to the emergency room right now, but my heart is telling me that it’s ok.

That it’s just Tucker.

Or whoever.

It doesn’t matter. It’s the man I love.

The man who opened the car door for me and made small talk with my agent the whole ride like they were old college buddies. The man whose hand hasn’t left the small of my back since we walked in the building except to shake hands with everyone he’s met.

I can’t forget about the fact that I’m willingly violating myself in public, mine and Tucker’s dirty little secret. Being in a constant state of arousal really messes with your head. It’s delicious and fun, but given the fact that I’m already a nervous wreck, it’s just another layer of emotions that I’m struggling to process.

“Tequila and club soda with a lime, please,” I tell the bartender. My beverage of choice for nights when I need to shut off my smart brain and let Molly the Mess come out to play. Molly the Mess doesn’t care that she’s got a stranger on her arm who doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be wearing cufflinks or sleeping in a cave somewhere in the mountains. Molly the Mess is totally down with that.

“Nervous for your speech?” Tucker asks, giving me the side-eye as I suck down my cocktail, grimacing all the way.

“Sure,” I say with a shrug.

He’s nursing his beer, the same one he’s been drinking since we walked in the door.

“You ready for another one, old man?” I ask him. “Or you gonna stand around sipping your backwash for the rest of the night?”

“Molly, we’re not at a wedding reception. We’re not at a bachelor party, and we’re definitely not in Tijuana, so maybe you need to take it easy on the tequila?” he suggests. “You can get as blacked out as you want when we get home. You know I don’t mind, but these people might not be as impressed.”

“I know, it’s just…”

“You’re worried about me,” he says. “You’re confused and upset. I get it, I really do. But this isn’t the place or time. Sometimes you just have to slap a smile on your face and suck it up. It’s just one of the realities of life.”

It’s not like him to say something like that. The Tucker I know lives life on his own terms. He isn’t afraid to be himself. He doesn’t care about conventions or society. He’s a Vagrant.

“Ms. Hill,” the elderly gentleman in the tuxedo says to me. I do what Tucker says and turn my frown into something more resemblant of a smile, more like a stretched out line across my face. “It’s so good to finally meet you. I’m Harold Kellerman, the president of the SPJ. Thank you so much for making the trip to join us this evening.”

“It’s my honor, sir,” I tell him, extending my hand.

“Is this your husband?” he asks.

“Boyfriend,” Tucker says, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Harold.”

“My word, son, you look strangely familiar,” he says. “Have you spent a lot of time in Washington State?”

“No, sir, I haven’t.”

“Well, thank you for coming. Dinner should be starting here shortly. I have you two sitting with my wife and I, and Josh and Laura at the front table. Why don’t you come join us?”

I look sadly at my empty glass and Tucker just puts his arm around my waist and escorts me across the room.

Dinner is good, really good. I can tell I’m a little tipsy by the way I maul the bread basket, and realize Tucker is probably right. Being Hot Mess Molly isn’t really something that needs to happen here. I don’t even indulge in the wine that’s being passed around the table.

I feel like the conversation around me is going over my head, and it’s not because I have some liquor in me. Tucker and these men are going on about hunting, fishing, stock portfolios and modern architecture, and even though I’m super impressed that he can hold his own in this kind of situation, I’m also kind of confused.

You know the phrase “You can dress them up but you can’t take them out?” Tucker is the opposite. You dress him up and he turns into the kind of person who goes out. He’s worldly and intelligent.

It’s a relief—I’m glad he’s not uncomfortable here. I worried this whole last month that he would feel out of place and I didn’t want to have to put him through that. But it’s also baffling.

When it’s time for me to receive my award, I give a little slideshow about the project I did, showing photos of the veterans who I spent months getting to know and love, trying to raise awareness about their foundation in this group of people who obviously have money. My last slide is a picture from my current project, the Vagrant project, and it’s hard for me to keep a straight face as I explain what I’m working on.

I know in my heart that I’m blatantly lying to all these people. This story is a classic example of people you can dress up but you can’t take out. On the surface, their philosophy looks great—men and women living the American dream in the mountains of Colorado.

In the back of my mind, I just hear Moss’s voice: “I beat the shit out of Luna because she was acting like a mouthy bitch.” I can’t glorify that. It turns my stomach thinking I’m wasting anyone’s time on this nonsense. And that I used my advance to free that asshole from jail.

The applause is nice, but I don’t feel like I deserve it.

Tucker looks so proud and impressed. He kisses my cheek when I rejoin him, grabbing my hand and squeezing it under the table.

The rest of the ceremony is fairly short, and the whole time Tucker is tracing his fingers up and down my leg, toying with the slit in my dress, teasing the shit out of me.

“You better be careful there,” I whisper in his ear. “You better not start something you don’t plan on finishing.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” he laughs, his hand grazing my inner thigh. “Why do you think I want you sober? I want to make sure you don’t pass out on me. You have a long night ahead of you.”

“We gotta go,” I blurt out to everyone at the table.

My agent, Josh, raises his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry; it’s just, we have a long drive ahead tomorrow. Tucker has work Monday morning. You guys stay and enjoy; we’ll take a taxi,” I say. “Dinner was lovely, it was great meeting you all, and I really appreciate the award. It means a lot to me that my work has had an impact on people.”

“Well, we are all looking forward to your story about the Vagrants, Molly,” Harold says.

I offer the most polite smile I can muster up. “It was nice meeting you, Tucker. I hope you’re serious about joining us at hunting camp this year.”

“I will definitely try.”

By the time we make it to the hallway of the auditorium, Tucker’s hand has inched its way from the small of my back down to my ass, and he squeezes it possessively.

“You did a great job, Molly,” he says. “I’m surprised at how well you can hold yourself together knowing what’s going on under that skirt.”

“It wasn’t easy,” I purr, “but it was totally worth it. I like getting you all riled up.”

“I know you do,” he teases, kissing my forehead. “You’re a bad girl, and I love it.”

I’m so worked up right now—his hands on my body, the smell of his musky aftershave, the pressure inside of me—it’s taking everything in me not to just beg him to take me right here. Everywhere we turn though, there are people standing around talking, people who want to pull me aside and tell me how much they loved my story. It’s hard to focus on work with Tucker’s big beautiful dick on my mind.

“You want to go into the bathroom?” I suggest. “I don’t want to have to wait until we get home.”

“You’re out of control, Molly,” he says, cocky, assured, almost condescending. “And no. I’ve been dying to hear you beg for it since we got into town. You like seeing me all riled up? I like seeing you desperate, needy, completely out of your mind and ready to explode, begging for my dick.

“We’ll call the taxi ride foreplay,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “For me at least. For you, it’s probably not going to be very fun. Now hand over the panties.” We are standing outside the building, and although it’s dark, it’s not so dark that no one would be able to make out what I was doing if they walked by. I use his shoulder for stability and slide the thong down my leg and over my high heels. “Perfect,” he says, slipping it into his jacket pocket. “I should’ve confiscated those a long time ago.”

The entire ride back to the cabin is epic torture. Pure hell. Every time he breathes in my ear, every time his fingers slide up the inside of my thigh, just barely grazing my aching and ready pussy, the way he places my hand over his throbbing cock, teasing me, playing with me, showing me exactly who’s in charge here, I feel like I need to scream.

I’m beginning to wonder if the taxi driver wouldn’t care if I just whipped it out right here and took Tucker in my mouth, got him so worked up that he had to fuck me as soon as we got back to the house.

He slips a finger inside me without warning, gliding it in and out with ease, flicking my g-spot ever so lightly.

“What did you think about dinner?” he asks, point-blank, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I can’t believe how tender those steaks were.”

“Good,” I whisper, trying to keep myself together.

“What was that bar called that everyone said we had to check out before we leave town? The old church they turned into a brewery?” He twists another finger inside my dripping hole and I clench my thighs together tightly, but he doesn’t stop.

“I don’t remember, Tucker,” I say, frustrated, a catch in my voice.

“Primrose,” the taxi driver says. I shoot Tucker a look of death, and even though I know his suit jacket is covering my lap and I’m not putting on a show for this guy, I feel so exposed. “You guys want me to drop you there?”

“Well…” Tucker says, slowly trailing off, as he presses the pad of his thumb right into my clit.

“No,” I say hoarsely. I dig my fingers into Tucker’s thigh.

“You sure?” Tucker asks, almost mockingly.

“Positive,” I gasp.

By the time we get back to the cabin in the woods, I don’t know if I want to kiss him or kill him. I certainly don’t want to have to look the taxi driver in the eye while I pay him.

I grab Tucker by the hand and take off sprinting for the house.

“What’s the rush?” he teases. “Is there a fire or something?”

“We have two options here,” I say, fumbling with the key to the front door. “Either you finish what you started or I’ll spend the rest of this romantic evening with the showerhead.”

He tosses me over his shoulder wordlessly, his hand running up the back of my thigh, under my skirt, grabbing at my ass as he heaves me up the steps and into the master bedroom.

He tosses me on the bed, and I don’t dare move. I’m so turned on from his tormenting on the ride over here, I’m sure I left a puddle in the cab.

“I love seeing you like this,” he says, slowly loosening his tie. I reach to help him, but he pushes me back down on the bed with his palm. He grabs my wrists in his hand and pins them over my head, wrapping the tie around them in a neat knot. I try to tug my wrists apart, just to see what I’m working with here, but the man knows what he’s doing, and it drives me wild being bound, helpless, and subject to whatever he has to offer.

He pulls down my strapless dress, kissing my shoulders, trailing his lips to my aching breasts, my nipples hardening quickly under his tongue.

“Do you know how badly I want to fuck you right now?” he asks.

“Mmm,” I groan as he pulls my dress the rest of the way off my body, trailing his mouth down my stomach, nibbling softly on my hips as I grind my waist into him, seeking whatever stimulation I can possibly get.

“You’re so fucking sexy when you’re all wound up like this, Molly,” he growls. “When you’re naked and begging and you’ll do anything to get fucked.”

He moves his mouth to the top of my thighs, his beard tickling my legs in the best possible way as I squirm beneath him.

His mouth makes contact with my wet slit, gliding his tongue over me, his hands parting my thighs further and further. It doesn’t take long before I’m writhing, mewling, my toes curling, as I feel the orgasm rip through my body, guided by his expert tongue.

I feel him tugging at the plug firmly lodged inside of me, working it in and out slowly as he brings me to that mindset where I am just a mess in his hands. The pleasure of my orgasm, mixed with the intense sensation that I’m still learning to love, makes me quiver and twitch, and I know exactly what’s coming next.

“I think you’re ready,” he says firmly. “What do you think?”

I nod, staring into his eyes, trusting him fully, knowing that he never pushes me further than he knows I can handle. He helps me roll over onto all fours, my wrists still tightly bound in his tie, caressing my body tenderly, kissing down my spine as he eases the plug from my tight little hole.

“You tell me if you need me to slow down or stop,” he says. “I’m going to be gentle, I promise.”

I’ve seen his dick, I’ve felt it inside me countless times, I know he knows how to be gentle, but the thought of his girth inside my tightest place, knowing he will be my first, makes me a little anxious. The lube is cold as he drizzles it down my ass, but every sensation is heightened in my current state of arousal and submission.

I feel the head of his cock gently circle my ring, feel him inch in ever so slightly, and his moan nearly drives me over the edge. I relax and let him ever so gently work his way in, his fingers strumming my clit, my back arching as I give in to this sensation of fullness like I’ve never felt before.

“Good girl,” he growls, slowly inching his way in and out of me. “You feel so amazing.”

“Don’t stop,” I whimper. I’m shocked at how much I’m loving this. I’m seconds away from exploding again. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Oh fuck, Molly,” he moans. “I want to feel you cum so bad. I want to feel you cum with my dick in your ass.” He swirls my clit, pressing harder, and I feel the lightning force rip through me. My eyes roll back in my head and I bite my lip as I shudder and scream, my insides contracting around him, my pussy gushing. “That’s so good, Molly. I’m gonna lose it if you keep squeezing me like that.”

He hugs me tight to his body, his entire length inside me. His body goes rigid and he pulls his dick from inside me, leaving me feeling hollow. He shoots his hot load across my back.

“That was incredible,” he sighs, pressing his lips to mine. I feel like a puddle, my brain completely fried from the sensory overload of pleasure, pain, teasing, and receiving. It’s the best feeling I could ever ask for.

“Come here,” he whispers, rolling me over, cradling me in his arms as he unbinds my hands, his chest hugged close to mine as he stares into my eyes. In this instant, I don’t care about anything but him and I. I don’t care that I only know him halfway, because all I need to know is beaming from his beautiful bearded face. “I love you so much,” he says. “You’re so beautiful, Molly.”

No matter who he is or where he goes, he’ll always be a part of me. I will always have him, whoever he is, this man who drives me wild and loves me so sweetly. He picks me up and carries me to the bathroom, professing his love to me as he draws a hot shower, and we stand there underneath the water, just two people who finally found some meaning in a life of running wild. It’s like looking at him for the first time with new eyes.

No matter who he is, he is inside me for good. If only he would let me in, too. If only he would let us sort through his past so we can start planning our future.