I can't help but giggle, glancing back at him. "Maybe we should lie on the floor.”
"Next time," he promises, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that makes me gasp. His fingers find my clit, circling with just the right pressure.
The dual sensation has me spiraling toward release again. Tucker's breathing becomes more ragged, his rhythm faltering as he nears his own climax. Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by a completely irrational desire.
"Pull out," I gasp. "I want to feel you finish… on me."
He stills for a fraction of a second, then groans. "Fuck, Sloane. You want me to mark you? Want me to come all over this perfect ass?"
"Yes," I plead, not entirely understanding my own request but desperate for it, nonetheless. "Please. I want to feel it."
He withdraws quickly, and I watch over my shoulder as he removes the condom with one hand while the other keeps working between my legs. I come again with a muffled cry against the pillow, my body shuddering with release. Momentslater, I feel the hot splash of his orgasm across my lower back, his hand still gripping my hip with that deep intensity.
I come again to the idea of it, the white, sticky, potent mess of it, so obscene, so perfect, exactly what I asked for. I’m whimpering into the mattress as Tucker repeats my name on ragged exhalations.
For several heartbeats, we stay frozen in that position, both catching our breath. Then he leans down, pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades, just above where his jizz cools on my skin.
"God, you're incredible," he murmurs, his voice rough.
He steps away briefly, returning with what feels like a T-shirt to gently clean my back. The tender gesture makes my throat tighten unexpectedly. When he's done, his fingers drift to my inner thigh, carefully tracing the edge of what must already be a darkening bruise from his teeth.
"Too much?" he asks, his voice soft as he gently massages the marked skin.
I shake my head, surprised by how much I like the idea of carrying this evidence of him on my body tomorrow. "No. I like it."
His eyes meet mine, understanding passing between us before he guides me back onto the bed, pulling me against his chest as we lay on our sides.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my hip as our breathing slows. The silence is comfortable, intimate in a way that transcends the physical connection we just shared.
"That was..." I trail off, unsure how to articulate what just happened.
"Yeah," he agrees, seeming to understand.
I feel a strange melancholy settling over me as my mind drifts to my request. Why had I been so fixated on feeling his semen on my skin? The thought makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment and something more profound, more painful.
Tucker seems to sense my mood shift. "What's going on in that head of yours?" he asks, his breath warm against my ear.
I consider deflecting, offering something light and meaningless. But in the darkness, with this man I'll never see again, honesty feels safer.
“My marriage,” I say quietly. "It ended badly."
His hand stills on my hip, then resumes its gentle movement. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It needed to end." I turn in his arms to face him, searching his expression in the dim light. His eyes are serious, all traces of the playboy momentarily gone.
"This is just a one-night thing," I reiterate, needing to establish boundaries before I lose myself entirely in whatever this is.
His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "Doesn't have to be just one night. We're both in Pittsburgh, right?"
The thought is tempting—continuing this, having more nights like this. But reality intrudes. I'm putting my life back together, still figuring out who I am without Josh. And Tucker... Tucker is exactly the kind of man I should be avoiding.
"Let's not complicate it," I say, offering a smile to soften the rejection. "Tonight was perfect."
Something flickers in his eyes—disappointment, maybe—before he nods. "Whatever you want, Sloane."
The conversation drifts to lighter topics. He tells me about growing up in a house full of brothers, about summers spent learning to kayak, about his love of fast cars. I share stories about my grandmother, about college classes I enjoyed before dropping out. I don’t tell him I’ve always dreamed of my own house full of kids.
Growing up as an only child of an only child, I didn’t have cousins. I never had what Tucker describes, but I’ve always wanted it more than anything. A huge family to yell, tease, and celebrate. A baby on my hip, slung on my back, asleep at my breast.
