Page 33 of Reckless With You

But then, he’d pierced me with two fingers, and I called out his name.

I called it out, but I couldn’t hear it.

Had I screamed?

Or only moaned?

I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him. His breath was on my neck, then my breasts, then between my legs as he lapped at me again, sucking and biting and playing with my clit. I came for him, and then he was inside me, one quick thrust that sent shockwaves of heat through my body. My nipples ached, more than they ever had before.

I wanted more, wanted him to fuck me hard into the bed until I screamed his name over and over again.

Tucker. Tucker. Tucker.

I opened my eyes, my hands between my legs, my panties long gone, my sheets a tangle on the edge of the bed. I froze.

“Dear God.”

I slid my hand out from between my legs.

My clit was a hard nub, my lower lips swollen with need. But I refused to come right then.

I would not give myself an orgasm to a dream of Tucker Reinhard.

He was my brother’s best friend. Yes, he had seen me virtually naked, and I had practically seen him naked. But I would not be having orgasmic dreams about him, thank you very much.

I found my panties tangled with my sheets and wiped my fingers, trying not to feel too embarrassed at how wet he’d gotten me just in my dreams.

It probably wasn’t even Tucker.

He was simply the last guy I’d thought of before bed because I was thinking about dinner—not about having sex with him.

I was not going to have sex with Tucker. Ever.

Everything was fine. I wasn’t losing my mind. And I did not want him.

It was only a weird dream. I was probably having sex with an Avenger or one of the Chrises while they were in my head.

I had a thing for Marvel, way more than DC. But then again, so did most of my friends. That was what happened when Marvel made the best movies.

And if I kept thinking about Marvel and Chris Evans versus Chris Hemsworth, I wouldn’t actually stress the fuck out when it came to having a weird-ass dream about Tucker Reinhard.

Because I would not be having that dream again, thank you very much.

And I hadn’t gotten myself off.

The fact that my nipples ached and my core kept pulsing as if I were right on the edge, seemed to mock me.

Of course, I was almost ready to come just at the thought of him.

Fuck that. It wasn’t him. It was all a dream. All me. I had been the one having that dream, I did that.

Not Tucker. Oh, he might say he screwed with women, and he probably did with his dates, but none of them had stuck.

Maybe he was lousy in bed.

His lack of women had to be proof of him being totally lousy. Right?

I quickly jumped in the shower, turning the water to cold, and cursed his name as well as my own as I quickly washed my hair and body.