There was silence now, and for a moment he wondered whether he’d imagined the noise. Perhaps it had just been the scrape of an overhanging branch against the house? Still, he stood and stared at the door, listening for any signs of distress.

He wanted to knock, to go in and see with his own eyes that she was okay. But he was very aware of the stuff that had gone down between them. Of their recent history. He’d crossed a line—they both had—and now they were in this strange kind of limbo.

Realizing suddenly the inappropriateness of standing in the hallway outside her door like some fucking pervert, Tucker turned and took two steps away.

And then that noise came again.

He froze as it reached right through the door. A moan, followed by another, then another, then a whimper. And not the kind of distressed whimper that came from fear. But the low, chilled whimper that came from a completely different source. Tucker shut his eyes as a full-throated gasp from behind the door wrapped tight around his gut and snaked around his thighs, anchoring him to the spot. He knew these sounds.

Della was pleasuring herself.

Probably lying on her bed, probably naked, probably using whatever the hell she’d bought at Frieda’s today. He swallowed against the images in his head as a series of low pants tickled his ears, and he fought the ridiculous urge to turn back. To knock on her door and stride inside her room and lend a hand. Caress her nipples, kiss her mouth, whisper filthy things in her ear as she climaxed.

Christ.

His dick was hard as stone, and he had to curl his palms into fists to stop himself from obeying the thick, hot pound of his blood. It was a struggle for supremacy between his big head and his little one.

The big head won, and it was not impressed with the situation.

Jesus. Dude. Get the fuck away from her door. Taking another two steps away, he was almost at the archway when the sound of his name stopped him in his tracks.

“Tucker. Oh Tucker, yes, yes.”

He sucked in a breath. Oh Della, no, no. Please no.

He shut his eyes, no hope now of denying himself this experience, especially with the fibrillation of his heart and the handicap of his giant, painful boner making movement prohibitive. He wasn’t sure which one was going to kill him first or if a massive lightning bolt was going to come through the roof, but he knew he was going to die and go to hell for standing in Della’s hallway, listening to her climax.

Her final gurgly moan sounded, and it took Tucker long moments before he was able to coordinate enough brain cells to do what he should have done a minute ago.

Get the fuck out of the hallway.