Perfect Timing. Джулия Кеннер
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She didn’t want those feelings with Tucker. The sense of being lost, of losing herself. Of having to take whatever was given even if she didn’t want it at all.
But she was. She was standing there taking it even though inside her head she was screaming for him to stop. She felt a tear trickle down her cheek, and she knew that she’d lost the battle. She’d foolishly believed that Tucker was different. That even though she’d come in here with Tina’s plan of being in control, that she could surrender to him and still not lose herself.
She’d been wrong, and now everything between them would be tainted.
Tucker. Dear Lord, not this. Not when a fantasy had been laid at her feet. This was her fantasy, and she was determined to take it back.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.
And as she repeated that mantra in her head, her heart pounded in her chest, fear fighting courage, until she had to force the word out in a single breath even as her hands cupped the side of his head. “Stop.”
He looked up, his eyes soft but surprised. The surprise faded quickly to alarm, and he was on his feet, his finger brushing away a tear. “My darling,” he said. “Forgive me. I was too bold. I thought—”
She pressed a finger to his lip. “Shut up,” she said, then kissed him hard. She fumbled for his belt and loosened his pants. “The bed,” she demanded, determined to take control. To take back this moment, and not let anything about Tucker be tainted with the revulsion she felt for her stepfather.
He hesitated, but when he looked into her eyes, something seemed to shift. He pressed a kiss to her lips, then scooped her up, carrying her bridelike to the bed and laying her there.
She refused to stay down, though. She climbed to her knees and then, with a soft hand on his chest, she laid him back, then straddled him. Leaning forward, she captured him with a kiss, her hands stroking his chest as she went to work on the buttons of his shirt.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, a testament to her nerves. But she wanted this. Wanted to take this man on her terms and prove that she could do it. And so she pushed onward, stroking his shoulders as she eased off his shirt, delighting in the way his muscles tightened as she ran a finger down the smattering of hair leading to his navel.
She eased his fly open, then tugged his pants down, noticing with delight how he lifted his hips to help. He was rock hard, and that fact both thrilled her and urged her on.
“Sylvia,” he whispered.
“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “No talking,” she said, then replaced her finger with her lips.
With one hand, she took his and pressed it between her thighs, easing him back and forth until he took up the motion, his fingers sliding in and out and making her even hotter and wetter than she’d been before.
He drove her to the edge like that, and she moaned against his mouth, her hands tight against his chest until she couldn’t stand it any longer. With a sharp sigh, she slid onto him, impaling herself on the length of him. She arched back and moaned. His throaty groan matching hers, and his hands reached for her, cupping and stroking her breasts even as his hips rose and fell in a rhythmic motion that matched hers.
They fell into a pattern full of wild and desperate need, more and more until, at last, the world exploded around her and she sagged against him, totally spent.
He was, she realized, still hard. He started to ease her over, but she shook her head, spooning up tight against him. “Later,” she whispered, even as fatigue took over.
She thought he might argue, might fight her for this moment of control. But he didn’t. Instead, he pressed tight against her, his hands softly stroking her back. She felt safe in his arms. Safe and right and free of her demons.
And with that thought, she drifted to sleep, secure in Tucker’s arms.
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