In Ruins (23 page)

Present Day

It's only when I reach the door to his guest room that I admit to myself what I'm really here for. I'm not thinking with my heart. I've packed it securely away, along with my brain, which shut down and went dormant a good hour or so ago. My decisions are being made by a part of me that has been woefully neglected since the night I submitted to a heated and heartbreaking round of hate sex—well, hate from his end, anyway—all those weeks ago.

But his hate has fizzled, and now, he claims, we might be friends. It certainly felt like it tonight. And friends can hook up, can't they? We certainly did, when we were meant to be just that.

It's been so long since I've been touched, and only ever by him, and with this new version of friendship still so undefined, I wonder if we could possibly have the casual physical relationship we failed so epically at before. If only just this once. I cling to my hope that his desire for me didn't die with his love. That he can see past the resentment I know must still consume him, just enough to succumb to the attraction that has simmered between us since we were old enough to recognize it.

So what if he never really loved me? At least not in the way I'd understood. This—
this
is undeniable.

I curl my fingers into a fist, shaking with drink and nerves. And desire. But I think twice before knocking and drop my hand. Instead, I push the door open and creep into his room. I close it hastily behind me, forgetting to be quiet, and the soft bang sounds utterly explosive in the silence of the slumbering house.

But Tucker isn't asleep. The screen of his phone casts a spotlight on his face, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched in a familiar look of fury, before it's eclipsed by his shock at my sudden interruption.

And then my gaze follows a little lower to where his hand emerges from beneath the bedspread, and I realize why his expression felt so familiar. Not fury after all, but raging lust.

It echoes between my legs and I rub my thighs together unconsciously. I bite my lip as he silences his phone, cutting off the moans of whoever he was watching so intently.

“Carl?” Tuck's husky voice resonates through my veins, scorching my blood.

“Hi.”
God,
I seem to have completely forgotten how to be sexy.

Tucker scoots back and props himself up against the headboard. My gaze is transfixed onto his hand—the one that was just on the part of him I can't seem to stop thinking about—as it rakes his bed-mussed hair.

“What I said,” he starts, “about Cap and Rory—”

“No, Tuck. I don't want to talk about that.” Why would he bring that up
now
?

“But—”

“It doesn't matter. I get it, okay? I should have always gotten it.”

“Carl—”

“
No
. Don't, Tuck. Please,” I plead with him. “It doesn't matter now. Nothing does. Not the past. Only now, today. If we can be friends, then let's do that. Otherwise—”

“I do want that, Carl.”

I stare at him and swallow anxiously, ignoring the sting of the wound he just so carelessly reopened. It's one thing to lose the thing you cherished above all else, but to discover you never had it at all? That it never even
existed
? That's a profoundly different burden to bear.

But I force those thoughts away. They serve no purpose, certainly not now, when all I want is to seduce him. But I'm realizing belatedly that in this new, unfamiliar dynamic of ours, I have no idea how to go about doing that.

I shift my weight between my bare feet, nervously running my teeth over my bottom lip as I wonder how to let him know what I'm really here for. But I can't help fearing his rejection, and I'm not sure I can bring myself to risk the humiliation it would bring.

Or maybe it's more than that. Maybe I don't want to risk finding out I was wrong—that his attraction to me expired along with our relationship after all.

He glances down at where he impressively tents the sheets. Of course, I know very well the extent of that impressiveness. But Tucker doesn't embarrass easily, if ever, and he smirks.

“Sorry about that,
friend
. I wasn't expecting company.”

“Don't stop on my account.” I mean to sound suggestive, but instead I come across as shy, almost submissive.

Tuck's nostrils flare, and I wonder if I'm actually turning him on. More.

I take two tentative steps toward the bed. My steps are slow and tremulous, but not out of reluctance or uncertainty.

“Don't tempt me, Carl,” he warns. “I've been suffering this thing since you took your sweater off before dinner.” He gestures to his arousal as his voice drops to a gravelly timbre that vibrates up my legs and settles in my lower belly.

I continue forward. “Maybe I want to tempt you.”

One more step and I'll reach the foot of the bed. Tucker crawls toward me, his huge body needing no more than one movement to meet me.

“I can't be held accountable for my choices right now, Princess. You know I've been drinking all night. My judgment is a little slanted.”

“So are your words.” I giggle. “You're slurring a little,” I slur at him.
A fine pair we make
.

“How drunk are you?” he asks cautiously.

“No more than you,” I counter.

He eyes me warily, fists clenching the bedding on either side as if to keep them from grabbing for me.

This is on me now. And I know what I want. “I'm so lonely, Tuck. I know it doesn't mean anything. That we're just friends. But I'm sick of my vibrator and I don't want to go out and have some one-night stand with a stranger that will probably leave me disappointed and worse off than before. I—”

He jumps me. I'm hauled onto the bed and in one quick maneuver I'm pinned beneath him on the mattress, my arms held above my head, clasped at the wrists by one of his strong hands. My legs open of their own accord and his hips settle between them, my nightie riding up to my trembling belly.

“No. Fucking. Strangers,” he growls, and then his mouth is ravaging my own, lips sliding and sucking, his tongue claiming and making its point with an angry possession.

Oh, God, yes.

“No motherfucking one-night stands.” His mouth continues its assault along my jaw and down my throat, and then back up until he bites on my earlobe, more aggressive than he's ever been before—even the last time—but I revel in it. I need it. Because I was right. Love or not, this is real. This always was.

“Okay,” I moan as his boxer-covered erection rubs along the center of me like throbbing steel, the flimsy lace of my underwear doing nothing to mitigate the heat between us, both figurative and literal.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy, Carl. I'm not sure if this is Thanksgiving or fucking Christmas. One minute I'm watching porn, imagining you tied to my headboard, and the next thing I know, you appear in this fucking thing that makes my dick nearly explode on the spot.” He takes the satin of my nightie in his grip. “And I just want to rip it right open like a goddamn present.”

I love the way he talks in bed. “So do it,” I tell him.

He pulls back, eyes seeking confirmation. I nod and he tears the satin down the middle with one long, slow, panty-melting rip.

He slides the two straps down my shoulders and I expect him to dive into my breasts, but he doesn't. Instead he lets his eyes do the caressing, taking in my body like a long-lost love. It's almost romantic and I have to forcibly extinguish the false hope I know better than to believe in.

This is about sex
, I remind myself.
Only sex
. But the message rings loud and clear when, the hunger in Tucker's gaze—no,
starvation
—is punctuated by his low growl of appreciation as my panties go the way of my nightie, discarded onto the bedside in tatters.

“You have no idea how much porn I've been watching lately.”

I expect to see a smirk, but he's completely deadpan.

“And every time, Carl—every
motherfucking
time—no matter how much I tell myself to stop, I find myself closing my eyes and picturing
this
.” His fingers trace lightly from my collarbone down between my breasts, circle around my navel, and then slowly trail lower and lower until they linger between my thighs. “And then only when I give in to thinking about you do I come like a goddamn freight train.”

Tucker kisses me again, but it is decidedly slower, if not softer. He pulls back, his gaze blazing with promise as I await his lead. I'm so turned on I couldn't hide it if I wanted to. The evidence lingers on his fingers as he uses them to tease me.

“On your hands and knees,” he orders. “I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to take a deep breath tomorrow without feeling me.”

No threat of romance there. Well, good. This is how this needs to go. The last time we hooked up, hate sex made sense for us at the time, and this needs to as well. None of that slow and passionate lovemaking. That's not us anymore. I'm no longer sure it ever really
was
us.

I comply with his demand immediately, wild for the pleasure I know he's good for, and he inhales a sharp breath of satisfaction. He loves me like this. Eager and obedient. He loves it because it's so at odds with who I am outside the bedroom, and he knows it's because of how much I want him, how good he makes me feel.

He folds his body over me, skin scorching skin, his hand fisting my hair and pulling my head back so his lips can worship my throat. I close my eyes to the sensation of his hot, wet mouth. He is a master with it. His hands wrap around to reclaim what's always been his, and a soft moan falls from my lips.

His hand slams over my mouth and I gasp, and then his voice is right in my ear, warning me to keep quiet, reminding me where we are. But I'm not in a guest bedroom in the Caplans' house. I'm in an alternate universe, removed from place and time, nowhere and everywhere, with someone I have no right to be with, the only man it feels right to be with.

Tucker tugs on my hair. “Can you keep quiet for me, baby?” He uses his fingers to make his request nearly impossible, and my voice hums against his hand, still covering my mouth.

“
Tsk, tsk, tsk
, Carl.” He pulls his fingers away as punishment and I groan my grievance.

He chuckles softly before tentatively renewing his ministrations. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep my pleasure on mute.

Again he brings me close to the edge, and just as I'm about to tumble over, he slows right back down, and I let out a small growl, but Tucker doesn't seem to care. He's too busy enjoying his little game.

Another terse whimper as I close in on blissful oblivion and another cruel denial.

“Damn it, Tucker!” But it comes out a muffled mumble under his massive palm and I nip at it to accentuate my frustration, and he laughs again, but removes his hand.

“Don't move,” he orders, and starts kissing his way down my spine, tracing each vertebrae with his tongue. He palms both ass cheeks, administering a gentle slap to one and I flinch. It earns me another slap.

“I said
don't move
,” he says, openly amused, as he squeezes and kneads. “
God
I love your ass. It is singularly the greatest ass in the history of asses.”

I giggle, and he leans down to gently bite the ass he claims to love so much. But the sting vanishes as he redirects his attentions lower, and suddenly his mouth is between my thighs. He doesn't start out slow either, he just goes for it, licking and sucking, taking no prisoners, and it's barely a minute later that I grit my teeth so hard I feel it in my cheeks so my climax doesn't wake the entire household.

My limbs liquefy and I'm still half in outer space when he leans over me to whisper in my ear, “I'm going to fuck you now, Princess.”

A soft whimper of agreement is all I can manage.

Tucker holds my hips in place as he slowly enters me. I hold my breath until he's fully seated inside me, listening to his long, strangled groan of relief.

“
How
, Carl? Huh? How do you feel even better than I fucking remember?” he growls.

I could ask him the same question, if I could form words.

Tucker moves in and out of me in long strokes, making sure I feel him in every way possible. He cages me with his vast body, owning and possessing me on the outside as he does within.

“Oh,
God
, Tuck,” I croon.

“Yes, baby, that's right.
Me
. Not some stranger. Not some fucking one-night stand.” He punctuates his words with powerful thrusts that grow in speed and force until he is utterly ravaging me. “No one could make you feel like this but me. You know that, right?”

I answer with a moan, and his strokes become punishing, utterly untamed.

“Answer me!” he commands.

“Yes. God, yes, Tuck. I know,” I choke out. Of course I know. That is why I'm here, after all.

Tuck groans his satisfaction, and then suddenly he pulls himself from me, and I'm being thrown onto my back. But there isn't a moment to register his movement as he shoves inside, and my legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

And then I'm soaring over the edge, bursting in a rainbow of color and light, only mildly aware of taking him with me as he swallows the sounds of my release with his kiss.

Tucker collapses on top of me, making no move to relieve me of his weight. My arms and legs remain painstakingly wound around him, holding him to me, not yet ready to let him go.

I'll never be ready.

I banish the thought. It's a frightening truth that promises a lifetime of misery, and accepting it has implications I'd rather deny.

Eventually he does roll off of me, and I wait for his direction. If he wants me to leave now, I will. I offered him a casual hookup, and I can't begrudge him for holding me to that.