always been, well, perfectly fine. Mostly underwhelming, nothing that made me think about things like forever love and marriage and babies, but as I kept my hand clutched in Tucker's, I knew I'd probably do something horrible like cry after we were done. I hadn't even seen the man naked yet, and I could already feel the welling of tears in my eyes at the thought of making love to him.
"This is awful," I whispered unthinkingly, and Tucker froze in the middle of the kitchen.
"The cabinets?" he asked. His face was all confusion as he looked from me to the white shaker cabinets lining the small, tidy space.
I laughed. "No, those are great."
And they were. I liked his style. The walls were a little bare, desperately in need of some artwork, but he favored a clean color palette and sturdy lines in his furnishings.
He turned and grabbed my other hand, anchoring me in place so that I had no choice but to face him head-on. "Then what's so awful, Pretty Girl?"
How did he do that? In so many ways, I barely knew this man. The first time I laid eyes on him was less than two weeks earlier, and somehow, he looked straight into me and asked me what I was afraid of in a way that didn't feel threatening or intrusive.
The story of the curse was perched on the tip of my tongue, but I licked my lips and shoved it aside. I'd sound crazy.
I took a deep breath and the words came out in a rush. "I'm nervous about having sex with you because it feels bigger and more important than any sex I've ever had, and I'm afraid I'm going to cry when we do."
For one long, long moment, I was terrified that my honesty was too much.
So much for the girl who tossed her sexual freedom in his face the first day they met, cursing and railing about being able to do whatever she wanted without judgment. If I wanted to freak him out any more, I might as well blurt that I was desperately, and quite inexplicably, in love with him and already imagining what color eyes our children would have.
He stared at me, blinked, blinked again, and then one side of his mouth hooked up in a slow, crooked smile.
"One single glistening tear?" he asked in a rumbling voice.
"Maybe." I punched him in the shoulder, and he laughed. "Asshole."
Tucker gathered me to him again. "How do you know I'm not going to be the one crying?"
I looked up and felt a blush cover my cheeks at the look on his face. Crazy or not, inconsistent or not, this man was looking at me like there was nothing in the world he adored more.
That one look settled everything inside of me that needed to be settled.
"Do you want to show me the bedroom?" I asked, holding his gaze steadily.
He nodded. "Yeah."
Instead of turning us to lead me there, he took a step forward, which forced me backward.
With each step, he made calculated movements to ratchet up the heat.
One. He stripped off his shirt and dropped it on the floor.
At the sight of his bare chest, I whimpered, which pulled a cocky grin across his face.
Two. He tugged at the bottom of my shirt, pulling it from where it was tucked into my shorts. His hands bracketed my waist when it was fluttering to the ground, a place to hold so he could steer me around a table that I couldn't see.
Three. His thumbs pressed against my hip bones underneath the waistband of my shorts, and I sucked in a short breath.
Four. He slipped the button of my shorts out and used the back of his knuckles to brush against the top of my underwear.
I was shaking by the time he took the next step.
Five. Instead of turning into the bedroom, he stopped, pushing me gently so that my back hit the wall.
"I like this," he murmured, drawing a hand down the front of my chest, his thumb and pinky finger brushing the lace of my bra with deliberation.
"Then let's take it off," I suggested, reaching for the closure, ready for fast, rough movements, gripping hands and sucking lips.
He smiled. "Whoa, how about you let me do that?"
I huffed and dropped my hands. But instead of reaching for me, he undid his belt, pulling it from his pants and letting it drop with a noisy clank on his floor. I shivered at the sound, and his