Tucker's Claim. Sarah McCarty
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holding his gaze, absorbing the passion that was hers, just for the asking. A miracle…
“I dare thee to resist,” she whispered as his lips skimmed across her cheek.
His chuckle vibrated against her ear. Within her, his cock flexed, stretching her a delicious bit. Her body quivered. Her muscles contracted.
He whispered back in a low rumble, taking her earlobe between his teeth and biting gently. “Maybe I should just bring you up to my level.”
She suspected she was already there.
“Thee could try.”
“Pushing me, moonbeam?”
Was she? The next bite to her ear was a little harder, adding an erotic sting to the hot pleasure whipping through her.
“Oh, yes.”
Humid air seeped between them as he levered himself up onto his elbows. She resented its touch, her senses wanting only the feel of his skin on hers.
“Why?”
Strands of his hair tickled her breasts. A silken contrast to the hardness that was the man she’d chosen. “Because this is an opening and should not be missed.”
“Can’t say that I’ve ever heard it labeled that way.” His cock caught intimately as he withdrew. She gasped. He paused, holding the tension until it stretched so finely between them, it—she—something had to break.
She dug her nails into his shoulders. “Please.” Oh God, he had to take it—her. Had to put an end to this fire burning so brightly between them. Had to take them to the fiery satisfaction that she could sense waited just beyond her reach. Because if he didn’t, it would be bad. So bad, she’d never stop regretting.
Wrapping her legs around his hips, she pulled herself farther onto his cock, moaning as he stretched her deliciously tight, moaning again as desire whispered a welcoming yes. She groaned with Tucker as that last inch slid home.
“Oh!”
He leaned down, sealing them together knee to chest, so tightly that she could feel the echo of his heartbeat against her own. The trail of kisses he sprinkled down her neck fell like sparks across her skin, igniting a burning yearning for—
“More?”
“Yes.” She needed more.
The tension in Tucker’s arms vibrated down her side as he nipped at her neck. The quilt bunched beneath her hips as she twisted closer. She didn’t care. All she cared about was the slow, tantalizing brush of his mouth over the slope of her breast, the moist touch of his tongue as he cradled her nipple on the rough surface. The gentle pressure as he caught it between his teeth. The searing pleasure as he bit down.
“Mine.”
The claim vibrated against the hard nub, whipping the nerve endings into writhing need.
She made a last grasp at sanity as his cock slid along the ultrasensitive lining of her pussy, tempting the wildness inside her to come forward.
“For tonight,” she gasped.
His response was to thrust deep, stealing her breath, repeating the gesture over and over as he took possession of her senses, her will, with every push of his body into hers, and when his hand slipped between them and found the swollen nub of her clitoris, he took possession of her soul. She shattered, falling into the explosion, embracing the joy, embracing him as he stiffened and swore. His cock flooded her pussy with the warmth of his seed.
She kissed his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat, the depth of his satisfaction. His arms came around her. One hand cupped her head as he rolled them over until she lay on top of him. He brought her mouth down to his, running his tongue along her lips until she parted them for him. His dark eyes caught the moonlight, shining up at her with an almost otherworldly beauty. The shadows weren’t so kind to his face, casting a feral wildness to the harsh planes. Beautiful. Wild. That was her Tucker.
She kissed his lips, squeezing her pussy around his cock as aftershocks rippled through her. His response was immediate and absolute.
“This,” he replied, “is as for as long as we want.”
Chapter 4
Tucker watched Sally Mae from the edge of the woods as she crossed the clearing, her steps a little shorter than normal, her stride not quite so flowing. He’d been hard on her, demanding more, even as she’d given him all, taking him again and again, rising to his touch with soft sighs and eager acceptance. He should have played the gentleman, leaving her alone after the first couple times. She’d been a long time without a man. But he couldn’t. He’d been a wild man, cramming the type of loving he’d normally spread over a month into one night. Taking her in ways he knew damned well Jonah hadn’t. Staking his claim in the most elemental ways he could, expecting her to turn him away, but she hadn’t. She’d given him everything, taken him everywhere, and always with that soft exultant cry that drove him wild. He remembered the first, tight clasp of her pussy around his cock, the resistance as he pushed through the taut muscle of her ass, her gasp as she’d accepted him fully. Her surrender as her body climaxed around his, time after time, without any inhibition, following his lead, letting him take them where he wanted them to go. Over and over. His cock, which should have been worn-out, stirred.
Sally Mae reached the porch and stopped. Though he’d told her not to look back, she did. Not only that, but with lifted chin, she waved. Fool woman. Resignation, pride and the surge of possessiveness that was more than just a simple emotion welled again. Which was ridiculous because, sure as shit, a woman like Sally Mae wasn’t for him. He didn’t know why she had come to him tonight, but there was no way it would happen again. Hell, he had to pay three times the normal price for most whores to assuage their guilt at lying down with an Indian. It wouldn’t be long before the same sense of shame claimed Sally Mae.
Sally entered the house. The door closed. There was no subsequent flare of light. Which was just as well because, if there had been, Tucker would have stood there longer, looking more like a lovesick fool than he already did, lusting after a woman he could never have.
“That’s a fool’s game, you know.”
Tucker sighed and turned to face Tracker. His infatuation with Sally Mae was getting out of control if his senses were so dull that he didn’t hear another approach. If it had been anyone but Tracker who had come up on him outside a white woman’s house, Tucker’d be dead by now. White men were very rigid on the penalty for a red man lusting after one of their women. While he’d like to think it was doubtful that anyone but Tracker could sneak up on him—Tracker and his twin brother, Shadow, were practically ghosts—truth was, he wasn’t sure. Sally Mae was the type of woman to play havoc with a man’s concentration.
“I know.”
The shadows seemed to shift and Tracker stepped into the pale glimmer of dawn. Dressed in his customary black, Tucker couldn’t make out much more of Tracker than his tall, broadshouldered silhouette and the gleam of light off his silver hatband. But he didn’t need to see to know what Tracker looked like. He knew the man’s face as well as he knew his own. When the Mexicans had ridden out that day so many years ago, only eight residents were still breathing. Eight boys. The weight of the bullet around Tucker’s neck seemed to increase the way it always did when he thought back to those days. They’d banded together, to survive. Learned to become meaner and deadlier than anything that tried to take them down, to the point they’d earned the name of Hell’s Eight. If they hadn’t drawn the attention of the Texas Rangers no telling how they would have ended up. They’d been buck wild, taking their revenge with lethal efficiency, but they had been given the choice to become Rangers and they’d taken it, earning a touch of respectability and gaining a broader purpose. Hell, there were even some who’d probably say the Hell’s Eight were downright civilized these days. He smiled. Comparatively.
“After a walk on the wild side, the widow’s going to wander back to respectability, and then where are you