I must not be good at hiding my disappointment because Tucker says, "Don't look so sad, babe. It will happen."
Don't look fucking sad? Is he kidding me? He teases and tantalizes, touches and twists my heart each time he runs his hands over me. He may be confident we'll get there and fuck like bunnies. But what if he is wrong? What if he can't let go? I'm horny. I'm angry. I'm turned on. I get that Tucker needs time, but why the fuck does he have to use my body for his desire while he doesn't even know if we'll become a we?
Trying to be light about the heady situation surrounding us, I say, "No other guy teases like you. I swear to God, they would have given in by now."
Tucker tilts my chin up after he's finished buttoning my shirt. "I'm not every like every other guy, Emma."
I step past him and go to the coffee pot where I busy myself, my back turned toward him. Of course he's not like every other guy; that's an easy assessment just looking at him. He has a type of sex appeal that draws you in, drowns you, and leaves you wanting . . . begging.
I'm scooping the coffee grounds into the filter when Tucker wraps his arms around me and presses his head against mine. "Don't be salty."
I feel his erection press against me and I can't help it when the words fly out of my mouth. "How can you say that when clearly you have a boner right now? How can I not be salty when you have pushed me way past sexually frustrated? Pretty sure my vagina is a nasty shade of blue by now, Tucker."
He chuckles into my ear. CHUCKLES!
"You're sexually frustrated?" His hands start to snake under my pajama shirt where he plays with the waistband of my pants, his fingers grazing the elastic of my underwear. Once again, my body heats up, my palms go to the counter as I try to hold myself up, my chin dropping to my chest.
His finger dips what feels like a millimeter inside my underwear where he plays with me, caressing my pubic bone but never getting anywhere close where I need him to be.
He slowly pushes his thick cock against me. Oh God. His voice trails over my neck as he says, "You're not the only one sexually frustrated, Emma. I want to fuck you more than you know, but not yet."
"Why not?" I practically cry in frustration.
His hands flee from my pants and he quickly turns me around and pins me against the counter. He moves his hips against mine, his arousal causing my mouth to water. "Because when we fuck, we're going to do it in my bed, where I can spend hours tasting every inch of your body, where I can hear you moan my name with every climax, and where I can watch this beautiful face come apart when I'm buried nine inches deep inside of you."
Gulp.
Nine inches.
Oh God.
He leans forward and kisses me ever so lightly on the lips before turning me back around, swatting me on the ass and saying, "Fuck, Emma. I want you." He walks toward the stairs and then looks back over his shoulder, and I have to honestly say, I have just been smoldered with the Mr. Darcy look. "Five minutes. Need five minutes. Then you'll make us some coffee while I cook us some new eggs." And just like that, he takes off to this room, leaving me confused, horny, and wanting more and more.
***
Because when we fuck, we're going to do it in my bed, where I can spend hours tasting every inch of your body.
My brain will NOT stop repeating Tucker's words over and over in my head, in that deep, sleepy voice of his, even when Sadie jabbers on about a psychology experiment she's conducting with one of her classmates.
Did he talk to her like that? Did he tell her he wanted to fuck her? Or did he say make love? When they were in bed, did he want to taste every inch of her? Did he make her fall apart like he said he wanted to do to me?
Did they measure his nine inches together?
As my friend talks to me, I can't help but think of all the questions popping up in my head, comparing what I have with Tucker to what Sadie and he had. Of course there really is no comparison. They had love, they had a true, deep-rooted bond. I have . . . infatuation? Curiosity? Loneliness? Lust?
No, don't downplay what you have with Tucker. It's definitely not loneliness, although, it isn't anything near what he had with Sadie either. They had years. Years.
"I could not stop laughing. It was so funny. I wish you could have seen it." Sadie chuckles, pulling me out of my thoughts. Awkwardly I laugh with her because it seems like the thing to do even though I wasn't paying attention.
I'm such a bad friend. Here I am, daydreaming about Tucker as Sadie sits right in front of me, catching me up on her life. Oh Emma, you're such an awful person.