He wanted to go to bed and sleep until noon tomorrow. He wanted to forget. It was the closest he could come to . . . not being here, to running away from it all . . . without running away.
As his bike rumbled into the driveway, he glanced down at Tessa’s house, sitting quietly in the dark, all the lights out.
Goodnight, hot stuff.
Good
bye
, hot stuff.
T
essa lay tossing and turning—she couldn’t sleep; she couldn’t even relax. She’d been home for two hours and it was officially late now, but she was wide awake. And distressed.
Or was that . . . sexually frustrated?
Both, she supposed.
She wore the “Hot Stuff” pajamas with the little red peppers on the pants, but couldn’t help remembering how sexy she’d felt in her lacy red bra and the matching undies Lucky would now never see. She’d truly been bold tonight, and it had worked—until her grand plan had all come crashing down around her.
She hated the way she’d left things with Lucky, that she’d left him just standing there; she hated that she’d let Mike boss her around, even if he’d had good intentions. Now, she couldn’t get her big, brawny neighbor off her mind—partly because of all the making out they’d done and the sex they didn’t have, but also because of everything else, too.
Like all the secrets surrounding him—those she knew and those she didn’t. And because seeing him with Mike tonight, and even with his buddy Duke, had opened up all kinds of new uncertainties. From the moment she’d met him, he’d seemed like a walking contradiction—the scary, tattooed guy who helped her lure Mr. Knightley back with a bowl of milk. And the more she learned about him, the more that held true. Was he the dangerous biker with secrets? Or the dad who wanted to give his son a great second home he would love? Was he the big, burly guy who could clearly snap someone in two like a twig? Or was he the man who’d touched her so tenderly and refused to defend himself against his brother’s fist?
She let out a sigh.
You’ll never know now.
After all, he’d forgiven her for being nosy and forcing him to come clean about having a child. But that, added to the trouble she’d unwittingly brought his way tonight, would surely be too much. She could easily envision Lucky continuing to do what he’d done earlier this week: keeping his distance from her, avoiding her when she was working in his house. And then, when the job was over, they’d just go back to being neighbors, the kind who casually waved when coming or going.
Just then, a loud knocking pierced her thoughts and made her flinch—then bolt upright in bed. What the hell was that?
When it came again, it registered that someone was beating on her door. She had company so seldom that it had thrown her off. Plus it was the middle of the night.
As she flipped on a light and tromped out into her living room, she thought of ax murderers, but decided they probably wouldn’t knock. Although now seemed like a good time to have had a peephole, and she thought briefly of Rachel and Amy’s worries about her cabin being so far from town. The only thing that made her yank the door open was the logical thought creeping slowly into her brain—that there was only one person who lived anywhere near her: Lucky.
Still, even when she found him waiting on the other side, she had no idea what to expect now. She only knew that his dark eyes looked so wild at the moment that it made her draw back slightly.
“I tried to stay away, tried to go home and go to sleep,” he said.
And then—
oh
. She understood. He . . . he still wanted her.
“Why?” she breathed, stunned. Because after tonight on the hood of that car, how could he not know she wanted him, too?
He let out a breath, shook his head, swallowed visibly, and appeared wholly uncertain. “I’m not sure if . . . I’m good for you.”
She simply blinked and asked the same question again. “Why?”
Pressing his lips together, he hesitated. “It’s complicated. But . . . I couldn’t stay away.”
Tessa bit her lip, then pulled in her breath as her heart began to beat harder, warmth expanding through her chest. “Thank God,” she said. “I can’t sleep, either.”
A small, deep sound of passion escaped Lucky’s throat just before he lifted both hands to her face and kissed her with the same heat that had been building inside her for the past few hours, too. It nearly stole the breath from her lungs, left her weak, nearly collapsing into his arms.
“Are you okay?” he whispered as she slumped against his chest, pressing her palms there.
She lifted her gaze to his and felt the full measure of how large and tall and broad he was. “I just . . . want you,” she whispered.
He let out a low moan, then lowered his hands to her ass through her pajama bottoms, lifted her until her legs wrapped naturally around his hips, and pressed his erection exactly where she needed to feel it. Then he took a few long steps with her in his grasp and fell with her onto her couch, pinning her there with his hard body.
Their gazes met hotly, and she could feel his breath on her lips as he asked, “Are you sure you’re ready for what’s coming, hot stuff?”
Come to me—come to me entirely now.
Charlotte Brontë,
Jane Eyre
T
essa didn’t even have to think. “Oh
yeah
,” she practically purred. In fact, she was reasonably certain she’d never been more ready for anything in her life.
She peered up into Lucky’s eyes, ran her fingertips over his stubbled cheeks. She’d seen plenty of expressions on Lucky’s face—she’d seen him angry, she’d seen him hurt, she’d seen him distant and withdrawn. She’d seen him cocky, confident, teasing, and kind. But the expression he wore right now was the one she liked the best—he looked like he was going to devour her.
A second later, his kiss engulfed her once more, deep and with intent, like a man who knew what he wanted and was going to take it. He didn’t hesitate to thrust his tongue into her mouth and she liked the small sense it gave of being invaded by him.
His erection remained right where she wanted it, pressing between her legs—which she’d instantly, willingly parted for him. As they kissed some more, she skimmed her palms over his strong, wide shoulders, combed her fingers through his long, silky hair. Moonlight through the window combined with the soft glow of the lamp from the bedroom to allow her to study him, and to watch the way he touched her; cupping her jaw in one hand, he let the other glide down over her neck, then pressed it flat against her chest to slide it ever-so-slowly between her aching breasts.
That’s when he glanced to her chest, then back up, giving her a wolfish grin. “You’re wearing my favorite shirt.”
She bit her lip, met his heated gaze with her own. While she’d fantasized about Lucky seeing her—exploring her—in her racy red lingerie, now she was glad it was happening like this. Because this was
her
, the real her. The girl who wore “Hot Stuff” pajamas far more often than sexy bras. And cotton panties more frequently than lace ones. And even if he’d liked the way she’d looked earlier, he didn’t seem the least bit disappointed in her late-night appearance
now
. Oh God—it hit her just then that she didn’t even have on makeup. But then she calmed down, remembering once more:
He doesn’t care about that.
The realization made her reach up to kiss him again, luxuriating in the feel of his hands on her skin. He’d eased them under her top, over her ribs, and she longed for them to rise higher, higher.
“Could we go in your bedroom?” he murmured deeply.
She was unable to summon words amid her overwhelming desire. “Uh-huh.”
He leaned in to lower a warm kiss to her neck, whispering, “Couch is too small. I wanna be able to take my time.”
Oh my.
The words fluttered through her like the best promise anyone had ever made. “Okay,” she breathed.
And instead of getting up off her, he said, “Wrap your arms and legs around me, babe,” and when she did, he easily hoisted her up until he was on his feet, saying, “Down the hall?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She was simply too excited to speak, and glad at least one of them was able to communicate sensibly.
Lucky found the way and soon lowered her gently to her bed—the covers already drawn back from before. Despite being dim, the lamp on the bedside table allowed her to see him better than in the living room as he gazed down on her, then kicked off his shoes and lifted one knee to the sheet alongside her. Now that she was past being intimidated by his appearance, she thought him truly beautiful—a beautiful man with olive skin, sculpted cheekbones and jaw, and muscles that felt strong and capable when they encircled her.
Feeling aggressive, she reached up, placed her palm on the rippled muscles of his stomach through his T-shirt. Then she closed her fingers around the fabric and pushed upward. “Take this off.”
His warm sigh said he liked the request—just before he smoothly removed the black tee over his head and tossed it aside.
She gasped, not only at the sight of his chiseled chest and stomach—but at other things, too. A small scar near his rib cage. A larger, more angry one that slashed down his side. And yet another tattoo he’d been carrying around hidden beneath his shirt, and curving over his heart:
Anna.
He’d had his little sister’s name engraved on his skin.
“What?” he whispered at her reaction—but then followed her eyes and said, somberly, “Oh.”
She just nodded.
“Keep her close to my heart that way,” he said soft, low, then bent over her, stretched out alongside her, and kissed her some more.
He was right—the bed was better. The bed somehow silently meant,
We can go all night long if we want to
, just as he’d suggested back at Gravediggers.
His kisses reignited all the fire inside her until finally his mouth trailed over her jaw, down onto her neck. Sighing languidly, she bent her head to make it more accessible—her neck was one of her most sensitive areas. He lay on top of her now and slowly smoothed his warm palms down over her breasts and on to her waist. Oh God, just to have that momentary touch—there—delivered more pleasure than he could possibly know.
Oh Lucky
,
please. Please
,
more.
He must have read her mind, or maybe her reaction, since he continued kissing her neck even as he began to roll the bottom of her tank upward over her torso, each motion painstakingly slow. And then his kisses ceased and he raised slightly, peering down, studying his movements, her body. She bit her lip and watched, too, but also lingered over his brown eyes with those long, black lashes and all the secrets that hid behind them.
But the secrets didn’t matter right now. Whatever they were, in this moment she didn’t care. All she cared about was being with him, connecting with him, letting him make her feel good.
When he rolled the fabric up over her breasts, a low groan escaped his throat and Tessa felt it between her legs. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and a hot spark rippled down her spine.
Then he bent to drag his tongue gently over one beaded nipple, making her shudder and expel a ragged breath. He met her gaze only for a second—before sinking his mouth fully over the peak, beginning to kiss and suckle her, using his hand to mold and caress her other breast, somehow both firm and gentle at once. Oh God, it had been so long since a man had touched her there, kissed her there—she shut her eyes and stroked Lucky’s shoulders and simply basked in the wondrous sensations.
Eventually, he kissed his way down her stomach, actually making the muscles there contract, and he peered up at her as he used his teeth to slowly pull the red drawstring below her navel.
Rising to his knees, he said, “Lift up,” and she elevated her bottom from the bed long enough for him to tug her pajama pants to her thighs, though he left her panties on. Then he hoisted her feet playfully high as he drew the hot pepper pants the rest of the way off, letting them drop behind him.
They both noticed her tattoo at the same time, on the one ankle still balanced in his palm, near his face. At moments, she practically forgot about it, but when he said in a low, utterly sexy rasp, “Aw,
babe—
what’s this?” she was so, so glad she’d gotten it. He studied it closely then, adding, “It’s perfect.” And she no longer cared if it sagged when she was fifty; she didn’t care if every other person in her life hated it when they finally saw it—this moment, and the look in Lucky’s eyes, made it completely worth it.
“You like it?” she asked shyly. He’d just said he did, but maybe she wanted to hear it again.
“I
love
it.” Then he cast a small grin. “And I’m surprised as hell by it.”
And then he kissed it, her ankle, the ink there. Just a
tiny
kiss, but the sensation skittered all the way up her thigh. And then the light little kisses began to move—he kissed his way from her ankle to the inside of her knee.
She drew in her breath when he continued, his kisses moving still closer to her very center—each kiss made her wetter and wetter, made her ache madly. She found herself spreading her legs farther for him without thought or hesitation.
When he swept his hand over her feminine mound through her panties, as if gently petting it, she murmured a shaky “Ohhh.” Then, just like the kisses that had traveled the length of her leg, he dropped one sweet, gentle kiss overtop of the blue flowered panties she wore.
After which he rose back to his knees, the fingers of both hands curling into the elastic at her hips. “I want these off, too.”
She didn’t answer, just lifted, just let him draw the fabric down.
After that, things began to run together for Tessa in a heady, ecstatic sort of blur. Lucky’s mouth was between her legs, licking her, pleasuring her, and she was biting her lip, moaning deeply—and coming. That quick.
She’d needed this for so long that it took only seconds for his slow, deep ministrations to push her over the edge of orgasm and she found herself crying out, digging her fingers into the sheets on either side of her, lifting herself to his mouth as the pleasure rushed through her, as brisk and wild as the rush of Whisper Falls.
When the climax had passed and the only remaining sound was her heavy breathing, she opened her eyes to find Lucky peering up at her. Oh God, was it bad to think he looked deliciously naughty between her legs? Especially while giving her that hungry little grin?
Of course not. You have needs. And tonight
,
finally
,
this man is fulfilling them.
“I want you,” she murmured breathily. “Please.”
And she hadn’t quite planned on saying either of those things, but wasn’t sorry she had when Lucky rose up and started undoing his jeans. She sat up and began to help, a little rushed now and no longer shy. A moment later, they were both pushing the denim and underwear to his thighs and Tessa let out a gasp at the sight of him. It was always such a surprise to see that part of a man—maybe in between lovers she forgot how big and hard they got, how utterly different their bodies were from hers. But like the rest of Lucky, this part was beautiful, and she automatically reached out to skim her fingers down his length, as silky to the touch as it was smooth and rigid.
She peered up at him, and as much as she didn’t necessarily want to cover up the work of masculine art that was his penis, she asked, “Do you have a condom?”
He gazed down at her touching him and appeared almost unable to speak—until finally he said, “Um, yeah,” his voice now scratchy. He took his jeans completely off and dug in the back pocket until he extracted a small foil square from a well-worn leather wallet.
He sat on the bed near her, ripping into it, then said, his voice still surprisingly strained, “Put it on me?” It moved her, made her stomach flinch, that a guy who’d probably had as many sexual encounters in the last few years as she’d had fantasies was so affected by this.
She took the condom from him and balanced it at the tip of his shaft, then slowly rolled downward. Her hands shook, excited and unused to being intimate like this, but she didn’t care—she wasn’t embarrassed or nervous with Lucky anymore. And when she was done, she followed the raw, blatant urge to wrap her hand around his solid length and gently caress, squeeze him through the thin rubber, listening as he sucked in his breath in response.
Then she lay back on her pillow, so ready she could barely breathe.
Though as Lucky moved back between her parted thighs, coming to hover over her, a matter of practicality bit at her. “I should warn you,” she said, “it’s . . . been awhile for me. So . . . it might be a little difficult at first.”
“I don’t think so,” he said without hesitation. “You’re completely wet.” And as if to prove it, he smoothly slid two fingers into her below, the entrance jolting her body lightly and causing another moan to erupt from her throat. It had been so long since a man had been inside her in any way whatsoever that the sensation struck her powerfully.
Even so, she replied, “But
you’re
so . . .”
“What?” he whispered.
She swallowed. “Big.” And he was. Not scary big, but good big. She instantly remembered Rachel once describing Mike exactly that way—and now she found herself thinking that some things must run in the family.
“I’ll be careful, babe,” he rasped, lowering his body further over hers now. “I promise.” Then he lifted one hand to her cheek. “I’d never wanna hurt you.”
And with that, he pressed into her, the sensation welcome yet undeniably snug—enough that she had to grit her teeth and hold her breath for a few seconds.
Until she realized the short moment of discomfort was over, almost as soon as it had begun, and he was inside her, and . . . oh God, had anything ever felt so wonderful, so right? She peered up into his eyes and said exactly what she was thinking. “You feel
sooo
good.”
He let out a heavy breath. “Aw,
damn
, babe—you, too.” Then he shut his eyes, murmuring, “So warm and tight around my cock.”
Tessa sucked in her breath at the words—and that’s when he began to move in her. Slowly at first, but when she responded, he thrust harder, faster, more rhythmically. Each stroke connected with her deepest inner core, and she remembered that as great as orgasms were, she’d always loved this part, too—the primal movements, the sense of being filled up by a man. And she was loving it with Lucky now. She was loving the way he made every second of it more intimate by looking into her eyes the whole time, raw heat emanating from them.
Lucky was overcome with lust. But it was more than just plain lust. It was all mixed up and entangled with her passion and simple beauty. He drew back at moments—still moving in her, their pelvises still joined but their bodies otherwise apart—to study her: her face, her breasts. He molded those breasts in his hands now, exploring their shape, their weight, teasing the taut pink nipples with his thumbs. Like most guys he knew, he was generally drawn to large breasts, but Tessa’s smaller ones held him entranced. Everything about her body, in fact, was so delicate—yet over time she’d begun to seem like a pretty tough chick to him, and something about the contradiction captivated him all the more.