It’s claiming.
“Tucker,” I breathe out, my voice sounds like a warning.
My hand lifts before I can think about it, fisting the fabric of his shirt for something solid to hold onto. He leans in, close enough that his breath brushes my cheek. I can’t tell if the apartment is too hot or if I’m just too close to him. His mouth hovers near my ear, not touching, but close enough that every breath against my skin sends chills up my spine.
“I know why you did it,” he says against my skin. “You ran because it felt real. For a second, you forgot about the cameras and the plan. You forgot what this was supposed to be.”
“I—I didn’t forget.”
“Liar.”
Heat crawls up my neck and I hate that he can read me like this.
I hate that he’s right.
“I ran because I didn’t know what to do with it,” I admit.
“With what?”
“With…” I swallow. “With you.”
My confession hands between us, trembling like glass.
Tucker goes still before he exhales—a slow and controlled breath. “You don’t have to know what to do with me,” he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead is pressed against mine. “Just stop pretending you don’t feel this thing between us outside of the show.”
“But that’s not what this is.”
“Really?” he challenges, pressing his body into mine and my lips part on a shaky inhale. My body feels like it can melt right in front of him from just the contact. The ache between my legs throbs without even trying. “Because this doesn’t feel fake and I don’t see anyone staring at us here.” His thumb strokes the side of my waist, and I swear my body answers him before my mind can. “Nothing about you feels fake,” he breathes against my lips.
He’s right.
My god, he’s fucking right.
My breath catches and the sound is enough to tilt his control into something darker. His eyes flash and his mouth drops closer. Close enough that his lips graze the corner of my mouth with a whisper of contact. A test that jolts my whole body like he struck a match inside of me.
“You’re fucking killing me,” he snaps.
I gasp, and it’s over. Tucker makes a low sound in his throat before his mouth is on mine. It’s not gentle or soft. It’s controlled only by how badly he’s trying not to consume me whole. His hand tightens at my waist, pulling me flush against him and every inch of air between us disappears.
I kiss him back without restraint—without permission.
My fingers twist in his shirt harder, pulling him into me as if there’s any space left. He deepens the kiss like he feels me choosing him and can’t stop himself from taking more. He kisses like he’s been waiting. Like every joke, every smirk, and every teasing comment was just him trying to survive wanting me.
My knees feel weak, but Tucker catches me. Wrapping an arm around my waist before spinning me and slamming myback against the door. My hands fly to his hair, tangling them in there as his tongue swipes against my bottom lip. I open for him, allowing him in completely. The kiss turns hungrier as if he can’t decide if he wants to ruin me or keep me safe. Maybe both.
I should be panicking.
I should be pulling away.
Instead, I lift my chin, chasing his mouth again like he’s the air I need to breathe. My hips rock forward, pressing into him as I moan into his mouth. His hand moves from my waist, slipping to the back of my neck as fingers tangle in my hair. He groans softly against my lips, and the vibration goes straight through me.
“Fuck,” he says, pulling away just a fraction. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
My chest is rising and falling too fast. “Do you want to stop?”
He shakes his head. “Not a fucking chance, Scottie.” His mouth hovers mine again. “I want to keep going until you forget every single voice that ever told you that you have to be perfect to deserve what you want.”
I blink, unable to process what he’s saying.
