But this Tucker knows precisely what he wants and how to get it. The night we met, he seduced me with such effortlessness, I hardly saw it coming. One minute we were flirting at a college sports bar, the next we were naked in his truck while he whispered dirty words to me.
My fingers slide through his hair and grip the back of his neck as I return his kiss, deeper, pulling him closer. He pushes the opening of my dress apart to slip his hand between my legs, dipping his fingers below my skimpy panties. The first brush of his touch against my warm, needy flesh makes me entirely forget about where we are or the rough trunk of the tree at my back. I part my legs farther and encourage him to keep going, rocking against his palm.
“I love you,” he whispers, pressing two fingers inside me. “You’re so gorgeous.”
I don’t really hear him. I’m too entranced by what he does to my body. Biting my lip and hanging onto him to stay on my feet. I’m so sensitive that it doesn’t take long before my muscles clench and my legs being to shake. I muffle my moans into his shoulder, shuddering through an orgasm that leaves me feeling light-headed.
Eyes shut, I’m still breathing heavy when I hear a snap above us.
My eyelids flick open just a heartbeat before something heavy cracks me on the top of the head. I experience a split second of searing pain before everything goes black.
28
Tucker
Day 4
“Hey. Hey, Sabrina.” Cradling her head in my lap, I gently rub her cheek, stroke her forehead.
She’s motionless for so long, I consider carrying her back to the house, but I’m afraid to move her.
“Wake up, darlin’. Come on.”
Finally, her eyelids flutter. Then her lips part. With a painful groan, she stirs in my lap and peers up at me. It takes a moment for her eyes to focus.
“There you are,” I say, letting out a sigh of relief.
“What happened?” She reaches up and feels the top of her head. Instantly flinches, hissing.
“You, uhh…” I clear my throat. Now that I know she hasn’t slipped into a coma, I’m having trouble choking back a laugh. “A coconut fell on your head.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Seriously?” Moaning, she covers her face with her hands. “For fuck’s sake.”
“You okay? Fingers and toes?”
She gives them a wiggle, looking down to confirm they’re all moving.
“Yep, good.”
“Let’s try getting you up.” I give her my hand and steady her as we stand, but she immediately goes a little sideways.
“Whoa. Yeah, no.” Grabbing her head, she leans on me, her legs wobbling. “Everything’s spinning.”
“I got you.”
I scoop her up in my arms and proceed down the dark, sandy path. Back at the house, I carry her upstairs to the master suite, where I help her change out of her dress and put her in bed.
“Let me check the binder for a phone number to a doctor,” I say. “We should get you checked out.”
“I’m okay,” she insists, albeit weakly.
“You could have a concussion.”
“I don’t think so. And even if I do, they’re not going to do anything for it other than monitor me every hour and ask me what day it is. We can do that here.”
“Fine. But if I get even the slightest sense you’re concussed, we’re finding a doctor.”
“Fine. Could you grab me some ibuprofen from my bag? I want to get ahead of the migraine that’s in store for me.”
I duck into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a glass of water and some painkillers for what is going to be a hell of a bump on her head tomorrow.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Sabrina mumbles afterward, tucked in tight and head elevated on two pillows.
“I would never.”
“I know you,” she says miserably. “I don’t want to hear a sound.”
“I swear.”
Sabrina drifts off while I’m getting undressed to take a shower. With the bathroom door closed, I cover my mouth and let out a muffled laugh under the sound of the running water. Because that shit was hilarious. Not that my wife got hurt, but come on. A coconut falls on her head and knocks her the fuck out? I release another wave of laughter against my forearm. Jesus. For anyone else, the odds would be astronomical. But for us? Just par for the course on this trip.
The next morning, Sabrina is awake early. I’m waiting with water and more painkillers when her eyes peel open.
“Close the shades,” she grumbles, turning away from the windows. “My head’s killing me.”
The room darkens as I slide them shut. “What day is it?”
“Wednesday, I think?” She waits for me to confirm or deny.
I just shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know myself.”
We both grin.
“What’s our daughter’s name?”
“James. Jamie for short. Your mom’s name is Gail. My favorite professor at Harvard was Professor Kingston. My favorite color is green.” She sits up and holds out her hand for the pills. “Pretty sure I’m not concussed.”