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.