“Well, I personally wouldn’t mention loving or leaving, but hey, you do you.”

Tucker shook his head. “No way am I having that conversation.” He’d rather have every old biddy and their dog catch him with his pants down and pass judgment on his junk.

Maybe he could bribe Eadie Doyle into silence. He seemed to remember she was a huge fan of Annie’s coconut cream pie.

Drew regarded him with pity for a long moment, then shrugged. “Your funeral.” Then he grinned around the mouth of his beer bottle, because that joke really never did get old.

…

Three nights later, Della decided it was time to move on. She’d been enjoying this journey very much so far, but she was ready to kick it up another notch. She’d been ready for a while but had let herself be too easily distracted by Tucker giving her multiple orgasms until her brains leaked out her ears and she was incapable of anything more than breathing.

Tonight, she was ready for more. Ready for it to be about him more than her. She wanted to explore him. To go down on him.

Curiously, she was okay with them not having done it yet. They’d decided to take it slow and not rush, and she had to admire Tucker’s commitment to giving her myriad sexual experiences she could learn from and treasure that didn’t involve actual penetration. She never knew how good a prolonged tease could be, but she did now, thanks to Tucker.

But still…that worked out very well for her—not so much for him. And she wanted to right that wrong tonight.

The fact she wanted to touch him, to explore that hardness between his legs, was a revelation. After the way Todd had used fellatio to brutalize her, she hadn’t thought she’d ever want to be in the same room as a naked penis, never mind touch one.

She certainly hadn’t thought she’d want one in her mouth ever again.

The idea of voluntarily giving a blow job was unthinkable three years ago. But being with Tucker like this night after night, so intimately, knowing he was as aroused as she was and ignoring it in favor of her and her pleasure, was a revelation.

Probably precisely because he hadn’t gone there, Della was staggeringly curious. Winona’s books were full of women who went down on their partners. Who loved it.

So she knew it could be great.

And she at least wanted to try. Because, this time, it was her choice. Not an act of violence or assault or submission. Not performed through self-hatred and sick, twisted beliefs about the sanctity of a woman’s body. But an act of passion, of desire.

She supposed tonight could end in disaster. She could be hit with a flashback that could be embarrassing in the middle of it all, but if it was going to happen with anyone, she’d rather it be with Tucker. He might not know the details of her abuse, but he was cognizant of it and wouldn’t push her past her point of comfort or think she was weird if she was suddenly overwhelmed or, worse, freaked out.