And looking up, I almost gasped. The grey edifice was classic Tribeca with the huge, cast-iron windows and a grey and green striped awning over the front door. Even the doorman was fancy, a burly man in a snazzy bellhop outfit, jaunty cap perched on his head.
“Can I help you?” he said, businesslike. Guess the jaunty cap was just a prop, there was nothing friendly about him. In fact, he was kind of like a bulldog brought in to shoo away randoms, his expression suspicious and impassive at once.
And I mumbled before lifting my chin and looking him straight in the eye. No need to act awkward, be the timid little girl. After all, Tucker was a delivery guy and there had to be some explanation for these majestic digs. No way he could afford this on a delivery man’s salary even with generous tips.
So I piped up confidently, “Tucker McGrath please,” and the doorman nodded. With a sweep of his hand, he pointed me towards the elevators.
“I’ll let Mr. McGrath know you’re here,” his voice trailed as the door closed. I took a deep breath. Okay, I was going to see Tucker again, and the big man was about to show me his home, show me where he lived. My cheeks colored, my breath going fast in anticipation. It was exciting to be seeing a man ever since the disaster of my divorce, maybe even a little early, but who knows? It’s better to get back in the saddle right away, not lie on the ground and cry when you could be having a ball with a gorgeous male.
And finally I was at Tucker’s floor. I stepped up to the big, mahogany door and pressed the doorbell, a melodic chime ringing out before the massive slab opened. Tucker was there and god, he was so gorgeous that I lost my breath immediately, his massive shoulders almost as wide as the doorframe, those sculpted arms, the thick thighs.
Before I could even say hello, he’d pulled me into the foyer for a deep kiss, thrusting his tongue between my lips as the door slammed shut behind us. I was lost in his arms already, mewling, writhing, pressing my breasts against that hard chest before we finally came up for air.
“Hey baby girl,” he murmured against me, lips soft on my mouth. “You look nice.”
And I flushed because I’d taken special pains for our dinner together. He’d said it was going to be pizza and beer but I still wanted to look attractive, make it special. So I’d rummaged through my stuff before reappearing with a pair of designer jeans, the denim flattering as it lifted and shaped my butt, the pockets on the ass highlighting my juicy curves. And I’d paired it with a white cashmere sweater, the cable so fine and soft that it was like rubbing your cheek against velvet.
Except the cashmere was doing me no favors right now. My nips poked out through the wool like rocks, totally apparent, pointing straight at the big man like heat-guided missiles seeking their destination.
“Is that for me?” he growled, eyebrows raised. “Or are you just happy to see me?” he said lasciviously, eyeing my hard nips.
And I giggled then, slapping a small hand against a hard bicep.
“Oh you!” I flirted. “That’s for the girl to say, not the guy.” And in this case it was true because there was a tent at Tucker’s crotch already, I could make out the curve of his penis, the bulge enormous and appetizing.
But Tucker was a modern man.
“Hey, we don’t have to have defined gender roles,” he rumbled with a wink. “No need to hold back baby girl, if you want to be the aggressor I’m all for it.”
And I looked at him through my lashes.
“Really?” I purred, thrusting my chest out further. “Is that what you want?”
And Tucker’s eyes lit up, his hand tracing the shape of my breasts, weighing them in his palms, savoring their heft, their firm shape.
“It’s not that I want it, baby girl,” he rumbled, “It’s if you want it, then I’m all game.”
Biting my lip, I flushed again. I was an untested virgin and yet there was so much that I wanted to do, so many dirty fantasies to act out and oh fuck, but playing with Tucker, experimenting with our bodies was at the top of the list. But as I eyed his big form hungrily, my stomach rumbled, audience be damned. It was loud enough that you could practically hear it across the room, the “grrah!” of stomach juices churning.
And the big man just laughed.
“Fuck little girl, I gotta feed you, don’t I?” he growled low in his throat. “Fuck I love that about you, how those curves need sustenance to keep going, need food to maintain their bounce. By the way, did you eat something on the way over, honey? I tasted something on your lips, something sweet.”
And I licked my lips self-consciously, my pink tongue flickering, causing the big man to stare, mesmerized.