Page 34 of Three Bossy Boyfriends (Honeysuckle Harbor #3)

Fuck. See? This is exactly what I was worried about. He does see me. He gets me. Sure, maybe it’s ten years later, but he understands me.

Why did I wave that red cape in front of this bull? I knew I was at risk for him doing something to make me like him, and want him, even more.

I’m such an idiot.

I push his pants down. “Shut up.”

“Whatever you say.” He starts to toe his boots off, but I stop him.

“No need for that.” I reach into his boxers and take his huge, hard cock in hand.

His breath hisses out, and he braces a hand on the wall as his eyes slide shut. “Jesus Christ, woman.”

I grin as I stroke him. “There, now you’re on board.”

“Oh, I’ve been on board.”

Suddenly I find myself up against the wall. His big hands are under my ass, and he’s pinning me against the wall like I weigh nothing.

God , I love his muscles.

“You’re too short,” he informs me. “This is our only option unless you’re taking me up to your bedroom. And for some reason, I’m guessing I don’t get to see your cute little duvet or all the cool things on your dresser.”

“Seriously, Tucker, shut up.”

He laughs. Then he presses forward, the hot length of his cock right against my clit. “Reach into my right front pocket and get the condom.”

I do, ripping it open, then reaching between us. His hands are full, after all.

I push his boxers out of the way and roll it on.

His jaw is tight when I look up.

“You ready?” he asks.

I’m so ready. I’m wet and hot and sparring with him, even about our past, combined with this sweet, protective, knowing, but also demanding side of him just does something to me. I wrap my arms around his neck and tighten my thighs around his waist. “Ready.”

“Because I’d be happy to?—”

“Tucker, fuck me. Now.”

He doesn’t give me even one more second to think, or talk, or even breathe. He tilts his hips forward, sliding into me, thick and hot and hard.

So, I was the one who demanded that. I was also the one who felt how big he is with my hand. The fact that he stretches me fast and almost painfully at first should not be a surprise.

I gasp. “Tucker!”

“Goddammit, Finley,” he rasps. “You feel so fucking good.”

He shifts his hips slightly and the burning stretch eases. In its place is a nice, achy stretch that feels good but at the same time demands more .

“Yes. God,” is all I can manage.

He pulls his hips back and thrusts forward again.

Oh, there we go . My body has already adjusted, and now that deep ache is even more needy. “Tucker, more,” I moan.

His fingers tighten on my ass, and he thrusts again, faster this time, somehow hitting even deeper. “You’re taking me so good, Badass. You okay?”

“Just because I’m not babbling about you being some kind of god or something doesn’t mean I’m not okay.”

He grins down at me. “Good thing the rest of me is big, because my ego’s never gonna get too big with you around, is it?”

I squeeze his cock with my inner muscles. “Yeah, good thing.”

Then he uses that big part of him to fuck me into the wall.

And it’s so, so good.

The hard surface behind my back, his big hands holding my ass, his solid chest in front of me all give me a sense of support and foundation, and I just let go. I relax. I stop holding back. I stop being afraid.

And Tucker fucks me hard and deep as I do actually babble something about, “Oh, my God, so good, yes, there, more, Tucker, yes, so fucking good ,” until I’m squeezing my eyes shut, gripping his shoulders, and coming hard.

He’s right behind me, gritting my name out through a clenched jaw, squeezing my ass hard, his whole body stiffening as his orgasm hits and he pumps into me one last time.

He rests his head on the wall next to my ear, his hot breath sawing in and out against my neck. He holds me tight.

I rest my head against his shoulder, breathing him in, letting the ripples of pleasure chase each other up and down my body.

For about two minutes.

Then I think Damn, I really like this guy—maybe we can go on a real date and I immediately push him back, slide to the floor, and bend over to grab his shirt.

“Bathroom is right there,” I tell him, pointing at the door to the powder room just to his left.

He lifts a thick brow, but he doesn’t say anything.

He was expecting this.

Because he knows me. He sees me. He understands me.

Fuck.

He returns a few minutes later, and I’ve got my skirt and shirt on again.

“So,” he says, stopping right in front of me.

“So,” I echo, staring at the middle of his chest.

He lifts a finger to my chin and tips my face up.

“So,” he says again. “Enjoy that you got your way, and it was quick and fast against the wall.”

I swallow. “I did,” I say, trying for nonchalance. “Thanks.”

He gives me a half-smile. “Because next time , I’m spreading you out and taking it slow.”

I frown. “No next time.”

“Yes. Next time.”

“But…” I swallow again. “I hate you.”

He gives me a full grin then. He leans in and kisses me before he steps back. “I hate you too, Badass.”

Then he turns and leaves.

And I’m left standing there alone in my house, feeling things for Tucker Hastings that I hate .

Kind-of.

A little.

Not very much at all.