So much more.
“Please,” I beg.
“Please what?” He bends over to whisper into my ear. “Tell me what you want.”
“Harder.”
“Are you sure?”
Thedesperate whimper comes out involuntarily. “Yes. Please, Tucker. I need it.”
“I can do that, Yellow Crayon.”
His fingers dig into my hips to an almost painful level, and the wild thrusts I expected come out to play. He pounds into me harder and harder, and I almost sigh in relief as the tingling sensation I desperately seek washes over me.
“Yes!”
He pulls out and gives a strangled moan that sounds almost like he’s in pain. But then the sticky heat hits my thighs, and I know he finished.
“That snuck up on me,” he says, using the fabric of his pants to wipe my skin. “You clenched me so fucking hard.”
Neither of us took off our clothes. He yanked his pants down just enough to free him, and my panties were shoved to the side. It’s dirty and sexy.
His confession makes me smile while I stay bent over to catch my breath.
“I feel like I should apologize or something.”
He adjusts my panties and helps me stand upright before saying, “Never apologize for coming,” into my ear.
He kisses my temple, and it feels weird now that we weren’t naked. Almost like it didn’t happen. Like it was all in my imagination.
It’s also strange not seeing him as he took me. As he came. AsIcame.
I want to ask why he hates being looked at during sex, especially because he doesn’t do anything to hide himself in public. So it can’t be because of his scar. But I doubt he’ll tell me if I do ask.
He keeps everything so secretive. Like sharing too much makes him vulnerable, and I desperately want him to let me in. Just a little. All the tidbits he’s given me have been yanked like teeth, and they barely scratch the surface.
“Please forgive me,” Tucker says.
“For what?”
“I don’t cuddle.”
I don’t understand what he’s saying until he leaves the room. His footsteps fade as he disappears further into the darkness toward his room, and I realize it. He came, took what he wanted—whatwewanted—and left.
My heart sinks as I stand beside the bed, alone. That’s all I’ll ever get of him. The only way he’ll give himself to me. Screw me and leave me.
Then again, isn’t that basically the theme of my life? The few people I’ve truly cared about always left. If only he knew how desperately I crave being loved. Even though I understand exactly how he feels with not wanting to let people in, either.
But he’s my exception. I’d let him in if I knew he’d do the same.
I fight the tears as I crawl back into bed, hugging the pillow to my chest as I try to force myself to sleep.
Is this what’ll happen now that I’ve let him in? Will this be the nightly routine? Coming in after midnight, screwing me, and leaving me to comfort myself in the darkness of the night?
Maybe I don’t want the darkness in him. He’s right when he says I’m the light. I want to be the sunshine even if the darkness entices me.
I fear I’ve just opened Pandora’s box, and now I’m in trouble.
