And he keeps rubbing it as he jacks his fingers inside me. And I keep coming. I let my head fall back and my eyelids fall closed and I give myself over to the pleasure that spirals up and through my body until I’m one shuddering mass of sensation.
When I drop back to Earth, I find myself lying against his chest, gasping for air. I’ve never come this hard in my life, and the guy hasn’t even been inside me yet. My heart is pounding insanely fast, and my sluggish mind is having a hard time keeping up.
He’s just a guy. A normal guy, I remind myself. One dick and two balls. This is nothing special.
“I haven’t had sex in a while,” I mumble as my breathing starts to normalize. “I’ve been super stressed. My body really needed a release.”
Three long fingers flex inside me. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, darlin’.”
There’s smug amusement in his voice, but the guy just fingered me to orgasm (which never happens to me), so I guess I can’t blame him. He drags the pads of his fingers along my sensitive nerve endings as he withdraws, pulling another involuntary shudder out of me.
Between us, his hand rises and the wetness shines on his fingers even in the dark cab of his truck. I’m not prepared for the shock of arousal that hits me when he sucks them clean.
I gulp.
One swift jerk of a lever and his seat falls completely flat. Tucker lies down and beckons for me again. “C’mere and fuck my face. I need more of that.”
Oh. My. God. Who is this guy?
Maybe I shouldn’t hike my skirt up around my waist and crawl forward, but I do. It’s like he’s cast a spell on me and I’m helpless to disobey him.
“You’re gonna want to brace yourself,” he rasps, “because I’m going to make you come again.”
“You’re so fucking cocky.”
“No. I’m sure. And so are you. Now gimme that sweet pussy and ride my tongue.”
Oh, sweet baby Jesus. Sex with Tucker is dirtier and hotter than I thought it would be. He doesn’t look like he’d be this way, but isn’t it always the quiet ones?
I like it, almost too much.
His hot breath warms my skin as I lower myself over his face.
“Fuck yeah,” is the last thing he says before his mouth latches on to me.
He doesn’t just use his tongue. He uses his lips, his teeth to scrape across my hypersensitive clit. One hand is clamped around my hip while he uses the other to finger me. And his tongue? He licks me in long, sweeping strokes until I’m muffling sobs against my wrist. Then he parts me with two fingers and holds me open while his tongue stabs hard inside me.
He’s right—I do need to brace myself. I grip the sides of the seat and then I’m gone. He brings me right to the edge of the cliff and throws me over.
While I’m still shuddering from my second orgasm of the night, Tucker lifts me off his face and down to his lap where somehow his dick is free of his jeans. I reach between us and grab him.
“Wait,” he barks, but it’s too late.
I suck in my lower lip as the broad head slowly penetrates me. Greedily, I push down, wanting to fill myself up. His hands find my hips, and I breathe out a sigh of anticipatory satisfaction only to yelp with dismay when he pushes me off.
“Condom,” he says grimly.
I glance down between us in surprise. I never make that mistake. Never. My hand flies to my mouth. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking…”
He fumbles in his jeans, finds his wallet and tosses it to me. “No big deal. It was just the tip.”
A sly wink draws a startled laugh out of me. I bite open the foil and then position the rubber over the head of his shaft.
“I’m clean,” I feel compelled to tell him. “I get tested after…” I trail off, feeling like talking about past hookups is bad form when I’m naked and about to impale myself on someone else’s dick. “Well, after. And I’m on the pill.”
“It’s all good on my end,” he says. His eyelids flutter shut for a beat as I roll the condom down the thick, hot column of flesh. A low moan escapes his mouth, and then he brushes my hand aside to take hold of himself.
“Ready?” he asks, positioning the head at my entrance.
I don’t know if I nod or whimper or beg, but whatever sound comes out of my mouth must sound like assent, because he shoves upward with one swift motion until he’s seated to the hilt.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hisses through gritted teeth.
“And you’re damn big,” I croak, wriggling around on top of him.
He grabs my hips to hold me still and shallowly pumps into me. “Don’t move.”
“Can’t stop.” The friction feels so good. If I thought his fingers and tongue were magic, his dick is supernatural. I can feel him everywhere.
I dig my knees into the leather seat and rest my hands on his chest. The muscles flex beneath my palms, and I rake my gaze over his ridged abdomen, the light hair on his chest, and the thin line that leads directly down to heaven.
He’s as delicious to look at as he feels. I wonder how he tastes, but that will have to come later. Right now, I need him to fuck me until my anxiety about Harvard, money, and my home life is driven out completely. I want to be wrecked and he’s the perfect man for the job.
I slam down on him. A feral look crosses his face and then a large palm clamps against my ass. He powers upward, finding the leverage from somewhere, and even though I’m on top, he’s clearly in control, which is exactly what I want.
His teeth are clenched and I feel the bite of his fingers on my ass, pushing me downward with each thrust forward. I squeeze my thighs tight around him and give myself over to his care, allowing him to power me into oblivion.
“Come for me,” he mumbles. “Take what you need.”
Inside of me, his cock pulses, and then his fingers find my clit, stroking and teasing it until I go off like a rocket, shaking so hard I can barely stay on top of him.
Tucker rises part way to clasp me to his chest, pounding into me so hard that I have to raise trembling hands to the truck’s roof to prevent my head from slamming through it.
He drives into me, over and over, until suddenly he’s the shaky, mindless mess who has a hard time maintaining any control. He collapses back against the seat, taking me with him.
I allow myself a few selfish moments to catch my breath, luxuriating against the big chest beneath me. Tremors give way to contentment. A part of me wants to stretch this moment out endlessly, curled up in this guy’s lap while his hand runs soothingly up and down my spine.
“You sure you don’t want to crash at my place?” he asks.
For a second, I nearly say yes. Yes, to going back to his place. Yes, to another round of sex. Yes, to breakfast in the morning, skipping work, and spending the entire day in bed with him. The need surprises and scares me.
I take a deep breath and gather up the pieces of my composure that he fucked into tiny bits. “No. I need to get home.”
Just sex.
Right. It’s just sex. John Tucker is good in bed. So good that he should be getting a trophy. But it’s not better than I’ve had before. It only feels that way because of the stress I’m under. Or even if it was the best I’ve had, that doesn’t mean anything other than he’s one more data point in the athletes make good lovers theory. Stamina. World-class fingers and tongue. A dick that could serve as the model for the large versions at a sex shop.
I root around for my shirt and jacket. I throw them on, not even caring that they’re likely on backwards. I need to get out of this truck and into my car.
“I’m ready,” I announce. “My car is only a couple blocks from here.”
His handsome features soften. “You look a little shocky.”
I twist in agitation, but his expression shows nothing but concern. “I’m good,” I assure him.
Tucker sits up and removes the condom, tying it off and then dumping it into a nest of napkins. He fingers his keys for a moment and then starts the truck. “Where to?”
I let out a breath of relief. “Over on Forest. Big Victorian.”
“Got it.”
We drive the short distance in silence. At the first glimpse of my car, the urge to flee is hard to resist. I have the door open before he comes to a complete stop.
“See you around,” I say lightly.
“I’m walking you to your car.”
He lifts his hips to pull his jeans up, alerting me to the fact that he’s still half-naked. I try not to stare as he tucks his semi-hard dick away. He could go another round, easy.
My body pleads for more contact, which I ignore by climbing out of the truck. When Tucker joins me, his T-shirt is back on and his jeans are riding on his trim hips, the zipper undone. He still has his boots on.
A gurgle of hysteria shoots into my throat. He fucked me that good and he didn’t even take his boots off?
“I’ll follow you home,” he says.
“I told you, I live in Boston.”
He shrugs. “So? Roads are shit and I want to make sure you get home okay.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve made this run dozens of times before.”
“Then text me when you get home.”
“No phone numbers,” I remind him, feeling weirdly panicked.
“It’s either the text or I follow you.” Finality rings in his voice.