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Chapter Thirteen

TUCKER

I finished rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher then wiped down the counters, the smell of grilled chicken from our dinner lingering in the air. The week had consumed us in the kind of routine that blurred days together: Bryson working on a big project, me finishing the app I’d been working on and picking up the slack with Chloe, and both of us falling asleep in clothes we hadn’t intended to wear to bed.

Giggles drifted down from upstairs, and my heart swelled with love. Chloe sounded so happy. Despite the loss of her parents and being left with two men who could barely stand each other—and who hadn’t known the first thing about raising a baby—she was happy. But then again, so was I. I hadn’t given it much thought before, but it was true. I was happy and it was all because of the man and little girl upstairs.

Chloe had given my life new meaning, a purpose greater than anything I’d ever experienced before. And as I’d gotten to know Bryson, peeling back the layers to see who he really was, I discovered a man who’d needed love just as much as I did, with an unlimited amount of love to give in return. He was sensitive and kind, gentle and sweet. Was it any wonder I was starting to fall for him?

I couldn’t wait to get him alone. To curl up next to him and trace the shape of his lips, to know him beyond the efficient, dedicated man who’d rearranged his entire life to help me raise my niece. I craved the version of him who wasn’t planning everything out in advance, who let himself just be—the version only I got to see.”

A quick detour to the fridge for a bottle of water, and I was ready to dive into the evening with the same enthusiasm Chloe usually reserved for smashing sweet potatoes onto her highchair. I bound up the stairs, following the sound of Bryson’s voice as I went to join them.

I found him sitting on the bathroom floor, sleeves rolled up and head bent in intense concentration as he carefully washed Chloe’s hair. Our little dynamo was having none of it. She splashed and shrieked with a maniacal glee, sloshing water onto Bryson’s shirt. His laughter filled the tiny space.

I leaned against the doorway and watched the pair of them for a minute, soaking up the way Chloe managed to light up every room she was in. Then, Bryson spoke to her in the same serious tone he’d use with a client: “After your bath, you have to get your jammies on and drink your bottle, and if you go right to sleep, I’ll buy you a new toy.” Chloe responded with a giggle, clearly unimpressed by his bribery attempt.

I crossed my arms and broke my silence. “Are you trying to bribe my niece into going to sleep?”

He jumped slightly, his eyes wide and startled as he looked over his shoulder. “I didn’t hear you,” he stammered, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “I just thought—if she went to bed on time—we’d have more...”

Moving in, I knelt beside him, my leg pressing against his. I reached out to brush an errant lock of hair off his forehead then leaned in close to his ear. His breath hitched as I whispered, “I need to be alone with you. Is that what you want to?”

His flush deepened. “Y—yes,” he stammered.

I chuckled. “Then maybe we should up the ante. I’d be willing to buy her a pony.”

Bryson’s surprised laugh made my heart skip a beat and I leaned back with a grin. “You know, this would go a whole lot faster if we worked together.”

“Always so smart,” I said, placing just a ghost of a kiss on the corner of his mouth before I grabbed a washcloth and poured some soap on it. I worked it into a lather and started rubbing it over Chloe’s back in tiny circles. When I looked over at Bryson, he was grinning.

“What?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing in particular. I’m just happy.”

I smiled back at him. There would probably never be a time when I didn’t miss my brother or feel the weight of his loss, but with Bryson and Cloe in my life, I was learning there was still room in my heart for happiness too.

Chloe fell asleep with uncharacteristic ease. We tiptoed down the stairs and flopped onto the couch with a shared sigh of relief. I pulled a blanket over us and shifted my weight against Bryson, burying my nose in his hair. He reached for the remote, turning the tv on low and nestled closer.

“Now what?” His voice was warm, breathy.

“You get a kiss.”

He grinned, a light sparking in his eyes that threatened to combust right there on the couch. “What a coincidence,” he said. “That’s just what I wanted.” He relaxed into me, our bodies aligning like they were meant to fit, and I took a deep breath of him—soap and shampoo, mixed with the faint trace of pineapple and coconuts.

“I’ve got a long list of things you can get,” I replied, brushing my lips across his.

He kissed me back, slow and tantalizingly sweet. “What else would be on that list?” he asked, a gentle insistence behind the teasing.

I toyed with the waistband of his shirt, feeling his smooth skin beneath my fingertips. “Guess.”

His hand slid up my leg, sending a shiver of anticipation straight through me. He was clever, observant—never missing anything for long—and this was no exception. Bryson was the most perceptive man I’d ever met. Maybe that’s why it felt like he saw straight through me when he lifted his head, his gaze intent and his words playful. “Is one of them in this room?”

I didn’t answer, not with words. I shifted beneath him again, lowering my lips to the side of his neck, leaving a line of kisses in my wake. He rewarded me with a soft, contented hum and a delicate shiver. I felt his breath hitch and his pulse quicken. “This was a better plan than the one where we fell asleep watching TV.”

“And here I was worried you wouldn’t like it.”

He turned his head, capturing my mouth with a kiss that started gentle and grew hungry. The pressure built between us, tangible and sweet, until we finally pulled apart. We lingered there for a moment longer, cocooned in warmth, enjoying the shared quiet as much as the whispered confessions of “I want you” that were on both of our lips. Then we made our way upstairs to my bedroom, stopping at every other step for another kiss, another tentative, stolen touch.

We made it to my room with lips slightly swollen, shirts askew, and all of our thoughts too tangled with desire to make sense of anything else. I guided Bryson to the bed, flicking on a small lamp in the corner and filling the room with soft light. We faced each other, his gaze piercing as I unfastened the buttons on his shirt, my fingers lingering on the hollow of his throat. He fumbled with my zipper, teasing, deliberate, and not at all subtle in his attempt to get it off.

There was a brief moment where we just stood there, pausing to take everything in—the sight of our skin, unencumbered and electric, the sound of each breath, louder than the rest of the world. He ran his hands down my chest, wanting, making my pulse quicken in a way that was almost unbearable. I did the same to him, and his shirt fell away with a quiet rustle, exposing the perfect lines of his lean, toned body.

The bed creaked softly beneath us as I pressed him down onto the sheets, sinking into him, my rigid length not leaving any room for doubt about what I wanted. Our lips found each other again, hot and urgent, and I tasted the eagerness on his tongue. I moved my mouth to his neck, his collarbone, feeling him shudder with every brush of my lips.

I took my time, savoring every inch of him with the kind of attention I hadn’t allowed myself until now. His skin was flushed beneath my tongue, and his small, incoherent noises spurred me on. The more I gave, the more I wanted.

Bryson arched up to meet me as I kissed my way down his chest, letting out a low, needful moan that had my cock leaking in response. His fingers gripped my shoulders, almost pleading, but I was just getting started. I worked my way over his abdomen, loving the way he gasped and squirmed beneath me.

Then, with a long, aching look, I slid further down, and the moment my mouth was on his cock, he let out a strangled cry, like he’d been holding his breath until now. I moved slowly at first, savoring the intoxicating scent of him, the taste of him on my tongue, the sound of his desperation as he begged me for more.

I picked up my pace, wanting to make it so good that he wouldn’t know what hit him. He tangled a hand in my hair and pushed himself deeper, faster, as if he couldn’t stand it anymore. I felt the pressure building in him, felt his whole body go tense and rigid and only then did I pull away.

Bryson stared up at me, shock and frustration evident on his face. “Why did you stop?”

“I have waited a long time for this and I’m not about to rush through it. I plan on taking my time with you,” I answered.

Shaking with need, he pushed me onto my back and straddled my waist, his weight delicious and solid against me. “Fine, but then I want the same. I want to taste you too,” he said, more breath than voice.

My body felt strung tight; a cable ready to snap under the pressure of my desire. I shifted, lining our bodies side by side in a sixty-nine position. I took him in my mouth again, feeling the hard pulse of him on my tongue as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around my cock.

Time, space, any reality outside of that room ceased to exist. The only things that mattered were the weight of him and how perfect he felt against me, the heat of his skin as our bodies slicked together. His lips moved with maddening precision, each stroke teasing out an involuntary moan from me that buzzed against his cock. I couldn’t tell where one of us ended and the other began.

He took his time, every shift of his mouth purposeful and slow, a near-agony of sensation. I pulled back to look at the glisten of precum beading on the tip of his hard cock, then took him deeper, his low, rough sounds making my whole body tense with need.

My fingers kneaded his perfect ass, squeezing and separating the rounded cheeks as I swallowed him deeper into my throat. One wet finger slipped between his cheeks, and he made a low, hungry noise that pushed me right to the edge. I traced his hole, shivering with the kind of pleasure that almost felt like pain.

Bryson bucked his hips against me, his voice cracking as it floated back through the air. “Tucker, oh God—” His approval spurred me on, faster and less careful, each of us chasing the same elusive thing.

The slick, primal sounds of our moans filled the room, every hitch in his breath in sync with my own. The pressure built, consuming us in unrelenting, explicit heat. I could tell how hard he fought to hold on and how hard we both lost that fight in the end. We came in a frantic, heady release, together and shuddering.

We collapsed onto the bed, breathless and sated, bodies entwined and every part of me wishing I could hold him this close forever. He was flushed and beautiful in the dim light, and when I pulled him into a soft, spooning embrace, he melted into it like he’d been there all along.

“Stay with me tonight,” I said, nuzzling the back of his neck, too full of affection to be anything but blunt.

He sighed, more contentment than exhaustion. “Okay,” he agreed easily. He shifted against me, his fingers twining with mine, and I couldn’t imagine being any happier.