Page 124 of An Engagement for Erica

She wasn’t even sure why. Maybe because desire always got in the way before and had her going for her release or he was the one taking control.

Erica had control now and she was going to do what she wanted for him.

She moved her head up and down a few times, her lips not applying much pressure, her tongue doing most of the work.

“Jesus,” he said. “I’m not sure how long I can take this.”

“Then I’m doing a good job,” she said, her hand wrapping around him while she slid her mouth up and down.

He was moaning, his legs were shaking, and his fists were clenched.

But when she started to stroke him more, her mouth sucking harder, he flipped her quickly and had her on her back and was thrusting into her faster than she could figure out what just happened.

He had his hands under her thighs lifting her up, sending him deeper than before. She was trapped but in a wonderful way.

She lay there and took what he gave her and loved every minute of it.

“How close are you?” he asked.

“Very,” she said.

“Touch yourself.”

“What?” she asked.

“Do it,” he said.

It was the firm way he’d said those two words that had her hand reaching between her legs, her middle finger finding her swollen bud and rubbing it in circles.

It’s not as if he could see her doing it.

But she sure the hell felt it.

Then all she felt was everything tightening in her at once and exploded in an array of lights and sounds in her brain.

Tucker was pounding into her harder and faster than normal. As if he was outrunning some demons in his life.

When he collapsed on her, she let out a gush of air that he’d knocked from her lungs with the landing.

“Sorry,” he said, rolling and putting her on his chest. “Lost a bit of control there.”

“That makes two of us,” she said. “And it’s not a bad thing.”

39

FEEL LOVED

“Tell Harmony she makes some great meatballs,” Tucker said once they were dressed and back in the kitchen.

“She is a good cook. She always did more cooking than I did,” she said. “Mostly because I wasn’t home as much or when I got home it was late and she didn’t want to wait for me to start it then.”

“I’m used to eating late too,” he said.

“But you don’t cook that late, do you?” she asked.

She was squinting her eyes at him and he found it cute. “Not usually,” he said. “I’ll have leftovers from another time or something I picked up. And not fast food.”

“Still not something you cooked, and you pick on me about that.”

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