Tacker (Arizona Vengeance #5)(60)

“Y-e-e-s-s,” I manage to stutter, then take a deep breath. I lift my head, looking at him over my shoulder. God, his face is savage and beautiful in its pleasure. He’s watching his cock tunneling into me, but as if he senses my gaze, his attention drifts right to my face. “H-a-a-a-r-der.”

“Goddamn it, Nora,” he growls, and his expression grows so fierce in its determination that I can feel another orgasm starting to brew.

Tacker fucks me as if his life depends on it. I put both hands on the wall, arch my back down, and tip my ass up to make it as easy as possible.

Squeezing my eyes tight, I listen to Tacker’s breathing. It’s shallow, coming in half measures, and I know it means he’s close. This is our third time tonight, and his impending orgasm is clear.

Mine needs help as I’ve had two since he started riding me a bit ago. My fingers slip between my legs, urging my body to sync with Tacker’s. I want to go over the edge with him again.

But then my hand starts sliding slightly on the wall. My legs—which had been braced apart and dug down into the air mattress—are now involuntarily closing. Tacker grunts in annoyance of something, misses a stroke, and then mutters, “What the hell?”

It takes me a minute to realize we’re sinking.

Right down into the middle of the mattress while the edges start to puff around us.

“Fuck,” Tacker growls as he realizes our predicament. We somehow popped the mattress, and he’s lost all leverage.

Next thing I know, he’s on his feet and hauling me up. Almost tripping over, he swings me around, steps onto the floor, and pushes me against the wall. Tacker doesn’t miss a beat—pulls my hips back, kicks my legs apart, and drives back into me.

“God, yes,” I cry out as my nails score into his wall.

“Don’t need a fucking mattress,” he mutters, putting his hand between my legs. It only takes a few plucks of his fingers against my clit for my third orgasm to tear through me. Not as powerful as the first two, but still with enough punch I call his name again.

“Yes,” he praises as he slams into me—once, twice, a third time—and his entire body jerks against me in release.

Tacker’s arms come around me, and he straightens my body. Chin on my shoulder, he holds me through his orgasm.

Rough, fast, and… perfect.

I look over at the poor mattress. Tacker lifts his head, and I can feel him taking stock of the current sleeping situation.

“Guess I really need to get on buying an actual bed, huh?”

I laugh, leaning my head against his chest. “Although my legs are like jelly right now and I’d love nothing more than to collapse onto a sound mattress, what we just did was well worth it in my opinion.”

“Totally worth it,” he says. “But I have an idea.”

Tacker pulls away and I feel him slide out, leaving me feeling empty. He takes my hand, leads me out of the room and across the hall to his small bathroom. It’s surprisingly neat—for a man—but small and shabby because this apartment complex has seen better days.

Without any embarrassment, Tacker handles the condom, then runs a washcloth under cool water. I’m stunned when he turns, giving me a gentle wipe between my legs before cleaning himself off, followed by a soft kiss.

Then he has my hand again, leading me into the living room. I hadn’t gotten a good look before, but now I realize it’s sparsely furnished with just a recliner and a floor lamp. There’s a fleece blanket draped over the back of the chair, and I bet Tacker actually sleeps in it sometimes.

In a fluid move, he grabs the blanket, snakes an arm around my waist, and pulls me down into the chair on top of him. I shift to my side, cuddling into him, and he drapes the blanket over us after extending the recliner fully.

Tacker’s arms come around me. “If you’re going to stay the night, this is now the best I can offer you.”

“I’ll probably head back to my place,” I say regretfully, even though it would be horribly uncomfortable to sleep all night in this contraption with Tacker. “I’ve got an early morning appointment.”

I feel his lips come to the top of my head. “First thing tomorrow, I’m buying a bed. Promise.”

That’s indication enough that Tacker fully intends to have me stay over in the future. I’m down with that, which makes me extend a like offer. “And you can stay at the ranch when convenient, too.”

“Definitely,” he murmurs, giving me a squeeze.

We lay in silence a bit more, and I start to feel a little drowsy. Maybe sleeping like this is doable.

“Do you mind if I talk to you about MJ?” Tacker says into the silence surrounding us.

It jolts me, and my head bounces off his chest so I can look at him. It’s the last thing in the world I expected him to say, but I guess counselor-mode never truly leaves me. I’m not put out in the slightest.

“Of course not,” I assure him, shifting again so I can give him my full attention. “What’s up?”

“I’m feeling guilty,” he says, and that’s not surprising. Being intimate with another woman is bound to cause that.

“Am I the first since…?” My words trail off, but he gets me.

“Yes. And I hate that I’m feeling guilty because what we just did… it was beyond amazing. I don’t want you to think my feelings of guilt trivializes what we just shared.”