Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“Your choice, June Bug.” Tucker tosses the sharpie onto the board with a casual shrug. “I’d never force you to do something you don’t wanna do, but I’m a man of barter. It’s one of the oldest and best ways to survive out in the world.”
“Isn’t there like a whole thing about not negotiating with terrorist, though?”
“Wait, am I the terrorist in this situation?” He lightly laughs again, chiseling away all the walls I’ve learned to keep up in order to maintain total control of my life. “What type of shit is that?”
It’s my turn to snicker and in doing so his fingers flex warmly against my nape all over again. “Simply calling a Monet a Monet.”
Tuck momentarily tucks his bottom lip out of sight as if hearing the artistic reference turns him on.
Ugh.
I’m gonna need him to be less perfect for me.
Or at the very least give me some bad shit to add to his list of undesirable qualities.
So far, I’ve only come up with one.
Flight risk.
And even that wouldn’t be so bad if he was willing to take me along for the ride.
“The last time I had a date on a Friday night was probably,” the search for the answer increases in difficulty due to his fingers resuming their rubbing, “five years ago – at the end of this month – on my 21st birthday.”
“Hold the train,” he angles his body even closer to mine, “you were born in June?”
“That’s where I got my name.” Buckets of bashfulness attempt to pour all over me. “That’s how we all got our names. Not the month we were born in, but something related to our name. Like my mom was wearing a violet blouse when she went into labor with her. And Dad was trimming the ivy vines when Mom went into labor with her. And as for Dakota-”
“She was born in North or South Dakota?”
“Actually, no. Dad’s sister had just come back from a vacation in North Dakota and was handing my mom a souvenir coffee mug when she went into labor and dropped it. I think the guilt of breaking the thing overwhelmed her.”
“Fuck,” Tucker unexpectedly swoons, volume slightly dropping, “I love it.”
“Our names?”
“The stories behind them.”
My smile gets somewhat brighter.
“The fact that you’re finally sharing something with me.”
Instinct has me dropping my jaw to argue, yet the urge disappears when he leans in a little closer.
Caresses my body a little softer.
“Tell me something else, June,” his words somehow get simultaneously gruffer and airier. “When was the last time you let someone get this close to you?”
Stutters are the only sound I can seem to summon.
Tucker’s free hand suddenly slides over to cup the side of my face.
To give his thumb the ability to tease my bottom lip at the same time he whispers his next question, “The last time you let someone put their mouth here?”
My breath hitches without my consent.
He gently drags the digit downward to the side of my neck. “Or here?” I should object to the trail it’s continuing to take. I should huff and puff over the line of questioning, not be torn between watching its descent and drowning in his buckets of blue. “Or anywhere on your beautiful body, baby?”
Audible mush trickles past my parted lips and the tiniest smirk is the last thing I see before I’m shutting my eyes to brace for the inevitable.
Unfortunately for me, the tiniest brush of his lips is ceased by an all too familiar interruption.
Buzzes of my cell have me cutting my gaze over to see who needs me now.
Whose life is more important than mine.
Because I always come last.
I have to.
For work.
For my sisters.
Seeing the picture of me and Dakota lighting up the screen has me reaching out for it when the action is unpredictably stopped by the hand that was on its way to stroke what I was silently praying was my nipple when the vibrations interrupted.
I meet Tucker’s stare on a quiet, “I need to get that.”
“You don’t.”
“It could be an emergency.”
“It’s not.”
“Okay, but…it could be.”
“Then she’ll call back.”
“Why would she call back when I’m gonna answer now?”
“Because you’re not.”
“I-”
Speaking is no longer an option and for the first time – in a long time – I’m thankful for it. Tucker’s soft lips press firmly against mine, wordlessly declaring that I’m allowed to have a moment for myself, that I should have a moment for myself, and his nonverbal declaration to protect me and provide for me something I can’t seem to provide for myself has me whimpering in additional gratitude. Our tongues don’t waste a second to collide, and the instant they do, the rest of my body is rushing to follow suit.
One minute I can hardly believe we’re sitting close together and the next I’m in his lap.
Thighs spread.
Legs straddling him.