This was where tonight had been leading—hell, this was where months of suppressed longing and awareness had been leading. She’d known it would be like this between them ever since that night in Denver.

Of course, he wasn’t the one out of control this time—she was. He was breathing hard, and his body was definitely hard against hers, but there was a control to the way he held her head, to the slant of his kisses, the stroke of his tongue. She was the desperate one, reveling in his mouth, greedily eating up the kisses he meted out, twisting her fingers in his hair, making frustrated little noises at the back of her throat, too damn out of her mind to care what she sounded like.

“Tucker,” she whispered urgently as his mouth left hers again, the tingle between her legs becoming an actual physical pain. “Please, I…I…”

She didn’t even know what she wanted, but he shushed her, whispering her name as his lips played around her ear, sucking in her lobe, dropping kisses down the side of her neck, tracing his tongue to the hollow of her throat, lapping at it until she was seeing stars and begging him to kiss her again.

He took his time, though, getting back to her mouth. His tongue thoroughly exploring her throat—licking and sucking, his teeth scraping and nipping, causing her to mewl and extend her neck as a zap of electricity traveled straight from the sting of his teeth to her clitoris. She gasped and bucked against him at the impact, and he nipped her again.

Damn it, she wanted his lips back on hers, but she didn’t want this potent stimulus to stop, either—something he obviously knew, as he nipped her again. He was in total control here, and she was drowning in sensation. All she could do was hold on and follow.

And it was just kissing.

She welcomed his mouth back with a ferocity she didn’t know she was capable of, and by the time he pulled away from her, twenty minutes had passed, and it felt like seconds. Della blinked, totally dazed, her head fuzzy as she tried to compute what had happened and why on earth he was stopping. She was breathing erratically—so was he—and her body was a giant pulsing throb. She thanked God his hands had slid to her hips, anchoring her against the door, because her legs felt like they were stuffed with cotton candy.

His gaze trekked over her face and neck, wandering over her hair, pausing at her cheeks, which were so hot they must be bright red, and lingering on her mouth. Whatever he saw there, he obviously liked, as his lips, wet and gleaming under the light, spread into a wide, slow grin. “Now that’s what I call a good-night kiss.”