Page 23 of Lonesome Man
Because, yeah, if things were different—I knew now that I would stay here.
I’d stay right here with Tucker Smith.
It was late when Tucker finally came in from his workshop. I could hear him moving around downstairs. I’d showered and was already in bed.
After our conversation, I’d left him to finish his work and come back in to finish mine. I’d feel even worse that I was doing my own thing on his time, his dime, but he seemed to want space and I needed to keep my mind occupied.
The bedroom door opened and closed carefully before he crossed the room and shut himself in the bathroom. The shower came on next. God, the urge to get up and join him churned inside me so strongly, I almost shoved back the covers and went to him. But I didn’t want to push him.
He wasn’t in there long though. His tread was light as he moved around the bed, then the mattress dipped when he climbed in. I was facing him, and it was dark, but moonlight streamed in through the window. The patter of light rain, or maybe snow, hit the glass gently. It felt so warm and cozy in his big bed—but he was too far away.
He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
What the hell should I say? Should I say anything at all?
While I did mental gymnastics, Tucker finally turned to me in the darkness, then reached for me under the covers. A shaky breath of relief left me as he pulled me to him. I slid my hands over his broad shoulders. He was naked, his skin hot.
“Need you, darlin’,” he said roughly, then he was covering me, rolling me to my back and kissing me.
I wrapped my arms around him, running my hands over his back, over all that muscled, smooth skin. “I’m here,” I said against his lips. “Whatever you need, it’s yours.”
He groaned, his knee slipping between mine as he slid his hand under the T-shirt I was wearing, lifting it, tugging it off and tossing it aside. His hungry kisses moved over my jaw, my throat, then down over my breasts. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, massaging the other one and making me gasp.
“You’re so perfect,” he said, his hot breath brushing my damp nipple and lifting goose bumps all over me. He dragged his hand down my belly, then tucked his fingers under the waistband of my underwear. “Need a taste of this pussy, darlin’. I’m fucking starved for it.”
Darlin’, not Ruth, not Libby. I didn’t know who he was making love to, but that’s what it felt like, like a man making love to his woman. I shouldn’t think like that, I needed to stop thinking like that, but my emotions were churning just under the surface. I was still shaken from our earlier conversation. God, I was broken, and so fucking sad at what I’d destroyed, what I’d lost because of my own stupid fears. Tucker would never have stopped me from pursuing my dreams. He would never have tried to control or emotionally manipulate me like my father had my mother, like my father still did. Tucker was nothing like him, something I already knew, of course, but I couldn’t deny that was the real reason I’d stopped talking to him. I’d seen a strong woman broken—drained until she was only a shell of herself—for love. Because she believed she was in love. That had altered my chemistry, it had burrowed deep and made it impossible for me to believe in love or to trust easily.
Tucker would have never done that to me. If I’d given him a chance, he would have loved me for who I was, supported me, been there for me. If only I’d shared my fears with him.
He tugged at the front of my panties, and I lifted my hips so he could drag them down my legs. He tossed them aside, before dragging his nose across the soft skin of my lower belly with a groan, then spread my thighs wide and buried his face against my pussy.
My hand flew to the back of his head, threading through his hair. There was agony in his desperate, needy groans. The sounds sent shivers across my skin as he opened his mouth over me, sliding his tongue ravenously across my slick, sensitive flesh. He was tasting and teasing—god, devouring me—showing me just how starved he really was to feel close to someone else.
He took his time, alternating between sucking on my clit and flicking his tongue over it, until I couldn’t hold back any longer. I arched against the mattress, fisting his hair tighter and lifting my hips. “Oh fuck…I’m gonna come. Oh fuck.” My thighs trembled, and I cried out, rocking against his mouth, biting back my sob. How would I ever be with anyone else after Tucker? I didn’t want anyone else.
As soon as I collapsed back, he wiped his mouth on the sheet and rose over me. Taking his cock in hand, he pressed the head against me and, without pause, slid deep, all the way to the hilt.
“Oh shit.” I spread wider for him, my hand sliding down his back to grip his firm ass so I could rock up, so I could take him as deep as I could.
He pressed his forehead to mine, his gaze finding and holding me captive as he took me, slow and deep. There was nowhere to hide as he thrust into me, and with every deep glide, he forced a gasp from my lips, and every time he withdrew, I trembled harder. Nothing and no one had ever felt like this.
“What are you doing to me?” he said roughly. “Fuck, Ruth, what the fuck have you done?”
I slammed my eyes closed, hiding the only way I could. I didn’t want to hear that name, to be reminded of my lie. I was Libby. I was his Libby. His mouth covered mine again then, and he kissed me, as deep and as slow as he was making love to me. All I could do was wrap myself around him and hold on as he slowly yet surely took me with him to the very edge of sanity.
“Fuck,” he bit out and shifted his hips.
He slid inside me and stayed there, his thrusts becoming shallow now, so he hit me deep each time. My mouth fell open and my heart slammed wildly in my chest. I dragged my nails down his back, then dug them into his ass as he moved faster, straining against him, gasping for breath.
“Give it to me, baby,” he gasped out. “I want to feel you. I need to feel you.”
I fell. In every way I could—over the edge, coming for him so hard that I shuddered and cried out—and even more in love with this man than I thought possible.
He groaned, pulsing heavily inside me, his big body shuddering, shaking on top of me.
Then finally, he kissed me again, soft and sweet. “Thank you, darlin’,” he said shakily in the darkness. “Thank you.”
I held the side of his face, swiping my thumb over his beard and that smooth patch of skin above it that I loved so much. “You don’t need to thank me for anything,” I said and smiled up at him, hoping in the darkness he couldn’t see how close I was to crying.
