Ginny slipped into the greenhouse early the next morning, breathing deep and once again soaking the sensation in to her very soul.
There were few signs of Devjeet and Janae preparing for the season, but it was still too early to start any seedlings. And they’d obviously left the place in tip-top condition the previous fall.
Even with a lot of work to do it felt good to be in that familiar place. Ginny wandered slowly, remembering previous years, planning what she would grow once the seeds arrived.
She did some research for her idea of branching out into natural cleansers and cosmetics.
She was at the far end of the greenhouse, peering at the snow-covered ground outside the plexiglass wall when a small sound echoed. She spun in time for Tucker to catch her around the hips and lift her, pressing his lips to hers and taking her mouth in a hungry kiss.
It had been far too long. She jammed her fingers into his hair, his cowboy hat flying as she gave back as good as she got. Tongues tangling, breath growing erratic. She tucked her legs around the back of his body, and the heat between them continued to rise.
He twisted and aimed for the nearest bench, dropping to his knees with her butt landing on the low surface. His breathing heavy, one hand slipped under her shirt as he hungrily retook her lips and palmed her breast at the same time.
Not what she’d expected. Not at all, but also very welcome as she caught fistfuls of his shirt and jerked it free from his jeans until she could put her hands on his bare skin. She pressed her fingers over the rigid planes of his muscles, dragged her fingernails back and drew a gasp from his lips.
He shoved her bra aside, lifted the front of her shirt, and leaned back just far enough to stare at her semi-naked in the low lights. “Dammit, Ginny. This wasn’t what I planned.”
“It’s perfect. Don’t stop,” she ordered.
His serious expression turned smoky hot as he reached for the button on her jeans, popped it open, dropped her zipper, and pressed her back on the bench far enough to haul the fabric to her ankles.
Then he rose over her like some earthborn God, looking down on her partly naked form. “Hard and fast, yes?”
“Hell, yes,” she agreed.
But if she’d bet he would simply free his cock and drive her into the bench, she’d have lost. What he did was dip his head between her knees then rise up so that her ankles were tangled in her jeans on his back and his head was right there over her sex.
He grinned. “My favourite breakfast.”
Ginny laughed and then moaned, because he dove in as if he were starving, his mouth on her sex doing terribly wonderful things. She was trapped. The fabric around her ankles kept her locked in position so there was nothing she could do, no way to retreat from the rapid strokes of his tongue and his fingers sliding between her folds, dragging forward a release far quicker than she thought possible.
“Oh. My. God.” Ginny involuntarily tightened her fingers in his hair, and for all she knew she tore out chunks of it, but she was coming so hard, her legs squeezed around his head, back arched, and stars floated in front of her eyes.
Then he was up, leaning back so the jeans peeled off one of her legs. A moment later he was covered, and covering her, the thick width of his cock pressing her open as her body continued to tighten.
Tucker placed his hands on the bench on either side of her head. Her feet were draped over his shoulders, and she was obscenely, wonderfully open. He met her gaze and pushed all the way in. Withdrew and did it again. Faster this time, harder.
It felt so damn good. Ginny closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes.”
“Look at me.” The order came out harsh and deep. “Look at us.”
Ginny met his gaze again, fingers digging into his torso as he increased his pace, thrusting in until they were on fire, and she was once again exploding. A rocket about to be consumed by the dazzling show of lights and whirligigs and whatever the hell else happened when a firecracker went off, because her brain was trickling out of her ears and she could barely breathe with the pleasure of it all.
Tucker made a tortured noise, hips frozen against her, the heat and rhythm of his response pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
It took a while to come down.
They ended up with Tucker sitting on the bench and Ginny in his lap, and neither of them completely dressed or in their right minds. Which was just fine, truth be told.
She laid her head against his shoulder, stroking lazy fingers over his chin. “Good morning.”
He made a small sound of amusement. “Morning.”
Too damn funny. “Come on. That deserves a good, doesn’t it?”
His lips twitched. “The men are going to think I’m out of my gourd if I go around saying that it’s a fucking fantastic morning, which would be even more accurate.”
Ginny laughed. But she had to agree he was probably right.
Tucker hadn’t meant to fuck her brains out. It seemed that, when it came to Ginny, his plans had a way of getting adjusted last minute by very impulsive ideas.
His lack of control was disconcerting. Still, he could hardly object to how they’d spent the past moments.
Only he’d been spending a lot of time thinking about his own decisions. Prompting Caleb and his uncle to plan wisely had been the kick in the backside he needed as well.
While Ginny had a valid point about the two of them and their timing, it was also bullshit. He could deal with fallout and questions regarding ranch hands assuming he got the job because of his relationships.
The only thing stopping him from throwing the keep-it-quiet plan to the wind was that he didn’t want anything to blow back on her. That was his biggest concern. People could be assholes, and he couldn’t be around to protect her from all random snide comments.
The one thing he had decided was the announcement that they were a couple was not going to come out of the clear blue sky. Which made it all the easier to begin his own step-by-step plans. If Operation Prove It was the connection he and Ginny had to find their footing in this new reality, he had his own prove it situation when it came to her.
How did he protect a strong woman? How did he support and listen and still take away any burdens she didn’t need to bear?
Most importantly, how did he keep him and Ginny from becoming his parents, with neither of them ever truly happy because of agreeing to half-baked compromises?
All of that rattled in his brain as he sat there, sexual endorphins still rushing his system. The weight of her in his lap was perfect, and heat wrapped around them in a mix of tenderness and lingering sexual satisfaction.
She dragged her fingers along his jaw. “We should get dressed. Or I should turn up the heat in the greenhouse so we don’t catch cold.”
“Sounds intriguing,” he teased. “Do you really turn the heat up enough in here that you garden naked?”
Ginny laughed as she slid off of his lap and put her bits and pieces back in order. “What do you mean, do I turn up the heat? You’re dangerous, Mister Hottie. Good thing we don’t have any seedlings up yet, or we would’ve steamed the bunch of them.”
“Mr. Hottie is not an approved nickname,” he said dryly. He glanced around as he did up his zipper and tucked his shirt in. “Steamy hot sex notwithstanding, it still feels wintery in here.”
“We don’t need to turn the temperature up until closer to when we need to put stuff in the ground, and that’s not for a while still.” Ginny linked her fingers with his as they strolled back toward the main door. “Did you need something? Other than a booty call?”