Sarah McCarty - Tucker's Claim

Immediately, she felt guilty. All men were capable of change. The prompting came from within and there was every chance this last brush with a knife had opened Lyle’s heart. If Jonah was here it wouldn’t be so hard to believe that. She likely wouldn’t have slipped in the first place. Jonah had believed very strongly in God’s power to induce change.

Unlike her. She glanced at her reflection again, noting the high color in her cheeks. The almost wicked anticipation in her eyes. The utterly proper braids above. She reached up and changed her mind halfway to her destination. She couldn’t walk out the door with her hair down. It was too brazen, too bold. It would leave her feeling naked.

Sally knew there was a wildness in her that could match the wildness in Tucker, but knowing it and experiencing it were two different things. To complicate matters, she had a tendency to be shy. If she got mad, that fell by the wayside, but she didn’t intend to be mad tonight. Raking her teeth across her lips to give them a bit more fullness and color, she turned away from the mirror. She would have to do as she was. Jonah had always enjoyed taking her hair down for her. Maybe Tucker would enjoy it, too. Smoothing her skirts, she headed down the stairs and into the sweetness of the night.

Tucker was waiting for her right where she expected. As soon as she stepped into the shadows of the trees, his hand reached out and snagged her arm, pulling her into him.

“You’re late,” he growled as his other hand cupped her head, tilting her head back. Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers, swallowing her gasp of surprise as his tongue plunged past her lips, all the wildness she’d ever sensed in him pouring over her in a shocking bath of fire.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, digging her nails into his nape, she let his passion sweep her up. Pulling him to her, opening her mouth wider, she begged for more as he made a rumbling noise in his chest. A growl? Had he really growled? She shivered with the possibility as he lifted her and walked her back until her shoulder blades came up against a tree. His chest came down against hers, holding her prisoner as his mouth continued to ravish hers.

She’d never been wanted like this. Never had a man come at her like he’d starve if he didn’t have all she had to give as fast as he could get it. It was surprisingly erotic. His thigh pushed between her legs as her knee came up and met the barrier of the fabric of her skirt. She strained forward. He was so close, so close…

That low rumble surrounded her again. His big hands left her back and reached down. His lips bit at hers. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Any less and I’d be naked,” she moaned as he worked his knee higher so it just grazed her center. Three yanks on the yards of fabric and he had her right leg free. She wrapped it around his calf, which was as high as she could reach. Another rumble, this one bit off in the middle by frustration. “What the hell’s wrong with naked?”

There was no way that he could do anything with her skirts like this, but she could feel how hungry he was, how fevered with need. Because of her. Power and wonder joined desire. “Someone would see.”

“Who cares?”

“Thee would.” She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did.

Fabric ripped and his hands closed over her thigh. Heat seared through her skin. “Yes, I would.” He squeezed. “Only I get to see you like this.”

“Thee can’t see anything.”

This time the rumble was anticipation. “Yet.”

Yet. Such a powerful word. She shuddered. Bark rasped against her back as he shifted his grip. As if she weighed nothing, he lifted her higher, snuggled her tighter. The muscles of his thighs flexed against hers. He was so different from her. Pure muscle and temptation.

He bent his head. There was no evading his mouth. No wanting to. She loved the way he kissed. The way he tasted. She wanted to taste him more intimately. To feel all that muscle flex at her command. She pressed against his shoulder in a silent request.

He shook his head, his hair tickling the sides of her neck. His hat brim shadowed her face as his denial grated into her mouth. “No.”

“Yes.” She pressed harder. “Let me go.”

For a second she didn’t think Tucker heard, but then his chest heaved against hers and he stepped back, his hands settling on the tree beside her head. Still keeping her within the circle of his arms. His mouth was set in a straight line. Beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes slitted. A shiver of awareness swept over her skin. This wasn’t the man she knew. This was the man outlaws feared and women desired. He looked like he’d kill to have her back in his arms. Oh, she liked that.

His mouth twisted. “I’m sorry.”

Licking her lips, she caught the lingering salt of his kiss. “For what?”

His hands drew up into fists, scraping across the rough bark. “I usually save the rough stuff for a little later in the game.”

It took her a minute to understand his meaning. He thought she was afraid? The harsh line of his jaw drew her touch. His skin was smooth without the constant roughness of impending beard that her husband had had. Did Indians not have facial hair? “I like that thee want me like this.”

His teeth closed over the tip of her finger. “Good, because I feel like I’m about to go off like a firecracker.”

She slid down the tree, the bark pulling at her hair, smiling when his hand automatically came between her head and the tree, protecting her even as his breath came in a hard sigh. “Then maybe we should do something to ease the worst of thy hunger.”

She held her breath as she reached for the button fly of his pants. Jonah hadn’t liked her to take charge. Tucker merely took a step back, giving her a bit more room. “Sally Mae…”

There was enough light to see the bulge of his erection pressing hard against his pants. She leaned forward. His fingers twined beneath her braids. To pull her away or hold her close? “What?”

“You’re living dangerously.”

Her smile deepened as she brushed her lips across the broad tip where it rested above his hipbone. His breath hissed in as she opened her mouth and encompassed as much of the broad head as she could through the thick cotton of his pants. “Thee have been telling me that for months.”

“You might want to listen.”

“Not tonight.”

This time when she pushed, he took that step she needed, his eyes shining like silver fire in the new moonlight as she knelt in front of him and unbuttoned his pants. His skin was hot and damp, enabling the slide of her hand down beneath the material. She held his gaze, not bothering to hide how he made her feel. Tonight was about pleasure. “I like knowing I can affect thee like this.”

His laugh rumbled softly around them. “Good, because there isn’t a chance in he—hades after this that I’ll be able to pretend that you don’t.”

She liked that he modified his language for her. She liked even more that, when she slid his underwear down, his cock fell into her hands. Big, surprisingly thick. She curled her fingers under the head, sliding her hand down, her grip widening as his cock thickened until she got to the base. Hair tickled her fingers. He didn’t move as she cupped his balls, rolling his testicles gently between her fingers as she slid her hand back up. Once again as she worked her hand down, her fingers were forced open. She paused, studying his cock—the dark color of the flared head, the sheer size, taking in the enormity of what she was doing.

She was going to sleep with a man other than her husband, going to take him into her body. And once she did, there’d be no going back. She’d no longer just be Jonah’s widow, her future defined by her past. She’d be Sally Mae Schermerhorn. A woman whose future stretched…endlessly…in front of her. She closed her eyes. She felt as though she were perched on the edge of a cliff. One way was disaster. One way was safety. She just didn’t know which way to go. Forward or back. Life or death.