I can’t even look at Ransom now, let alone explain. However, I can damn near feel his stare burning straight through me.
“List?” he drawls. “What kinda list is this?”
“Her Fuck-It List,” my (soon to be deceased) husband explains. “Men she’s allowed to sleep with if the chance presents itself.”
“Huh,” Ransom snorts. “Interesting. And I’m on this list?”
Gathering what little bit of liquid courage I have left in my system, I look up at him and nod once. “Yes.”
“And you have a free pass with me, without any repercussion from your husband, if we agree to sleep together?”
I swallow, my tongue suddenly feeling too thick in my mouth. “Yes.”
Ransom sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Getting as close to me as he can without leaving his seat. All traces of humor are wiped clean from his gorgeous face, and I’m left only to take in that dangerously intense stare.
“So, Heidi . . . if you had the chance, would you sleep with me?”
Even with Tucker’s arm around me, his fingers lightly stroking the skin of my shoulder, I am lost to the stranger in front of me. And like the golden-tongued sorcerer that he is, he conjures a single word from my body and casts it from my lips.
“Yes.”
Chapter Five
Let’s play a little game.”
Ransom Reed, sex-on-fire rock star, leans back in his seat once again, regarding me with an almost cocky air. I should be pissed off at both him and my husband, but I’m not. And judging by the wicked gleam in his eyes and his recent suggestion, he’s not bothered in the least.
Fuck. What have I gotten myself into?
I don’t even have a right to be angry. This was my fantasy. This is what I wanted.
And I do. I think that’s what messes with me the most.
Heidi DuCane, PR powerhouse and devoted wife, wants another man.
“And what game is that?” Tucker asks, a hint of excitement in his voice. A jolt of fear and exhalation fills my belly, making me feel a bit queasy. Shit, I wish I’d finished my dinner.
“Think of it like Truth or Dare, but with an edge. You don’t get to choose whether you do a dare or tell a truth, but you can always opt out. Anyone who works with me needs to be able to keep up. And if you can’t roll with this”—he waves a hand along his taut torso, a gesture that makes it seem like he’s offering himself to me . . . to us—“then I can’t trust you to represent me in a way that’s honest to who I am and what my music is about. So you’re either in, or you’re out. And if you’re out, there’s the door.”
Tucker nods before looking down to meet my timid gaze. “Yeah. I think I can deal with that. How about you, Bunny? Sound good to you?”
I look back at the gorgeous, smiling man beside me, and wonder where the fuck my husband went. This isn’t Tucker. He isn’t spontaneous or risky. He doesn’t play juvenile games or drink in excess or smoke pot. He’s safe and responsible. The peanut butter to my jelly. The yin to my yang. He’s my constant. And this . . . this is about as erratic as one can get.
For a second I wonder what his motivations could be. Do I really know Tuck? Sure, we’ve been together since I was in undergrad, nearly ten years ago. But do I know him? Does the sudden change in his once mild demeanor stem from a fantasy of his own? A fantasy with another man?
Seeing the confusion in my eyes, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “This is all for you, babe.”
I’m still staring at him, mouth agape, when Tucker turns to Ransom and nods. “Yeah. We’re game.”
It starts off innocently enough, and soon I feel my nerves unwind and actually start to enjoy all the silly little questions. That is, until things take a turn down a slippery slope. One that I knew was coming, yet was too caught up to hit the brakes.
“What’s your favorite position?”
“Me on top.”
“Why?”
“I’m a dominant bitch. In every way. Plus the friction it creates . . . down there . . . Oh God.”
“I dare you to kiss your husband.”
I lean in to press my lips against Tucker, who eagerly accepts.
“No,” Ransom says, shaking his head. “Really kiss him. Fuck his mouth with your tongue.”
His brash words rattle me, and I pause to blink a few times before I turn back to Tucker, who is looking at me expectantly. Shit, why am I even nervous? This is my husband. My husband. The man I’ve loved for as long as I can remember. The man who knows me inside and out, and adores me anyway. He’s seen me at my worst, at my best, and everything in between. Kissing him is easy.
Seeing the resolve in my eyes, Tucker moves in closer, yet doesn’t bring his lips to mine. Instead, his hands slide from the top of my shoulders down to my waist. With a swift movement, he pulls my body to him, until we’re chest to chest. Seeing the awkwardness of this position, I rise up on my knees and steady myself by placing my hands on his shoulders. Warm, strong hands slide up my back, urging me closer, closer . . .
Our lips collide, moving slowly at first, just tasting. I open my mouth just a fraction to welcome him inside, and he accepts the invitation, parting me wider to stroke his tongue against mine. What begins as soft and sensual quickly erupts into something wild and hungry. Tucker devours my mouth, drinking in my desire as he eases me back onto the couch. Our lips still moving together, our tongues still exploring, I feel his fingers roam my chest and ribs before sliding up to my breasts. He palms them gently, applying pressure at my nipples through the thin fabric. I moan into his mouth, which only spurs him on. I feel the silken straps of my jumpsuit slip down over the tops of my shoulders and cool air hits the top of my chest.
I should stop this right now. It’s indecent and inappropriate and everything that we’re not. But I can’t stop now. I can’t even attempt to push him off me when his lips move down my jaw to my neck. He sucks my throat gently, raking his teeth over the sensitive, thin skin. I shiver under his body and pull him down closer. There’s something about being loved by Tucker that softens me. His touch makes me feel so tender, so absolutely feminine. I want to be soft and pliant for him. Hell, if I’m really being honest, I want to be weak for him. Almost submissive. I want him to dominate me until I can only mewl and moan at his feet.
When I feel Tucker’s mouth meet the swell of my breasts, I gasp for breath. The sound is so raw and erotic against the quiet of the room, and it startles me, bringing me back to my senses.
We’re not alone.
Feeling me stiffen, Tucker lifts his head and looks down at me, still panting with need. I gently push him back and shift into a sitting position, fixing my disheveled clothing.
“That was . . . hot. As. Fuck,” Ransom declares, his own voice husky and thick. Forcing myself to look up at him, I can see why. He looks so . . . aroused. His face is flush, his chest moves up and down with his labored breathing, and a thin sheen of sweat covers his forehead. Which is just a fraction of what Tucker is dealing with. His arousal is a little more . . . obvious.
“Thanks,” is all I can manage to say. Why am I thanking him? I don’t know. With my head still spinning from the kiss and my skin still burning with Tucker’s touch, I don’t know much of anything right now. But as I look over at my husband, I know that something has changed between us, sparking this undeniable need that we both thought had been lost years ago. It’s been so long since he’s kissed me with that level of fervor. I felt wanted by him—desired. And while I knew I was safe in his arms, everything about his touch was verging on madness.