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Dear Rose 2: Winter's Dare

Mechele Armstrong

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Rose Winter helped one relationship get together but now she has her work cut out for her. This time, it's personal. Tucker and Ally have been Devyn, Rose's alter ego's, friends since college. And they've had a torch burning f...
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Rose Winter helped one relationship get together but now she has her work cut out for her. This time, it's personal.

Tucker and Ally have been Devyn, Rose's alter ego's, friends since college. And they've had a torch burning for each other all along. Now, the flame's in danger of sputtering out. Their friends with benefits relationship doesn't work for Ally anymore. She wants more, but knows commitment-phobic Tucker can't man up.

At least until not until Devyn dares him to make it work. And Tucker dares Devyn to help him.

With a plan that includes strip poker, a hot tub, a night never to be forgotten, it looks like Rose, that is Devyn's, sure to book another win. But can Ally and Tucker take the final plunge and make friends-with-bennies into forever?

Tucker let out a long exaggerated snore that would have shaken the timbers of Ally’s apartment if she’d had any timbers. She doubted drywall and plastic counted. She resisted the urge to poke his flat stomach. It would make him stop snoring. But it would also wake him up and a woken-up-before-his-time-to-get-up Tucker wasn’t a pleasant Tucker.

Not to mention he’d want sex.

She clapped her thighs together, putting pressure on that so-needy part of her that sold her out most days. She tingled there. Deliciously.



So why exactly was she not waking up the man taking up most of her double bed? She crinkled her nose, looking at the guy spread-eagle in front of her.

He was big. Monstrous big as Devyn liked to say. He was too rough looking to be beautiful. He had a square-cut chin with a scar in the center of it. His brown hair was a little shaggy. He didn’t like haircuts but never let it get to rocker length, much to her relief. One hard-as-a-rock leg poked from the covers on the side of the blanket. He had a broad chest with muscles that rippled when he walked. Construction definitely did his body good, though he was supervising most days instead of working in the trenches.

A philosophy major turned carpenter. Who would have thought? He could wax poetic about the lightness of being, all the while pounding in a nail.

Or pounding in you.

She reached over and poked him in the stomach, breaking the seesaw of his snore in midsaw.

He jerked awake, much like a baby in startle reflex. “Hey!” He took the leg that was out of the covers and yanked it back in, frowning all the time. His features had pulled up into an almost glare. “What was that for?”

“You were snoring.” She slid the sheet over her small yet perky boobs and batted her lashes innocently at him.

“Yeah, I’m not buying the innocent look, Al. It so doesn’t become you. What do ya want?” He stretched from the top of his head down to his toes, flexing each muscle in turn.

“Oh please.” She ignored the burning in her belly. The roasting of her loins. His show didn’t get her motor revving, despite what her traitorous body seemed to think.

“What?” He turned toward her, resting up on his elbow. His blue eyes glittered in the low light. They were so clear, like a sunny day sky with no clouds.

“That doesn’t impress me.” She kept her voice light and casual. It was a conversation they’d had many times before.

“What are you talking about?” He continued to stare at her.

“You flexing. You do it to impress women. I’ll never forget you trying to pick up those girls at the party. You knocked a picture off the wall, all because you were flexing your arms.” She shook her head. The frame and glass had broken into pieces. She’d had to help him pick up the glass. She would have thought the two bimbos he’d been trying to bedazzle would have helped, but no, it had fallen to her.

“Now who would I be trying to impress here?” He arched a brow at her. “’Cause I know it won’t impress you.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” She tried to look as nonchalant as she could. Okay, she might be into brains not brawn, but that didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate a good body. And Tucker had been endowed with one of the best. Lying there in her bed, yeah, he looked scrumptious.

His eyes darkened as he looked at her. They became bedroom eyes. She’d heard them mentioned but hadn’t understood what the romance novels talked about until she met Tucker. He rolled over so quickly, she let out a gasp. He pinned her to the bed with that big body she’d just been admiring.

“Tucker.” She thumped his chest. He was more solid than melons at the grocery store. There was no satisfying hollow thump. Instead there was a solid-sounding whack. “I have to go soon.”

He lifted his head, his eyes melting her. “We can finish soon.” He lowered his mouth and nipped at her lips with his ever-so-gentle teeth.

“Tucker. I. Have. To. Go.” Each word got weaker with each brush of his lips against hers. His tongue crept out to play, sliding against hers and making delicious circles. She’d known this was going to happen when she woke him up. That he’d probably wake up wanting a quickie. Must have meant she wanted it too. What did it signify she could predict what he was going to do, and even when she decided she didn’t want it, she did it anyway? She had no idea.

He shifted against her, pressing his body against hers. Clicking into place like some lockset that just worked with each other. He let out a muffled curse and shifted back up again. “We’d save time if you’d just sleep in the nude. Like me.” He pulled up her nightgown and managed to get it over her head without strangling her. “And we’d definitely save time if you went commando.” A flick of his fingers and her bikini underwear slipped down her legs and over her feet.

And she was naked.

And so was he.

He rubbed all that skin over the entirety of her body. Nipped at her throat with lips that knew exactly how to kiss her. To make her pant. To make her beg.

He moved slowly against her. Touching her in all the right ways. Kissing her senseless. He palmed a breast before lowering his head to lap at a nipple.

She arched her back. He knew what that did to her. She was wet and wanting. He’d made her that way.

Dammit, this wasn’t a quickie.

And he knew that too.

Tucker did everything on his time schedule. Lovemaking was no different. He’d known he wasn’t going to make it quick.

Sex.

Not lovemaking. All they ever had was sex, sex, sex.

He shifted down on the bed and pressed her knees apart with his firm hand despite her trying to keep them together. After a second, he grabbed the other knee. “Ally.”

“I have to work, you know. I’m going to be late.” Never mind she set her own hours. She had to be an example, didn’t she? “Tucker.”

“Open for me, Ally.” He continued pushing against her legs. And those gentle hands, which could operate any machinery and lift any amount of wood, slowly pried her legs apart. He let out deep sigh, looking at the regions that only her gynecologist and lovers saw. “So beautiful.” He blew a breath between her legs, the air catching the hair and rippling down into her pussy.

His lips would be warm and willing. His tongue was like ambrosia from the gods, delivering pleasure ungodly.

She could imagine everything. He’d done it before. “Tucker.” Another token protest. Because Tucker always got what he wanted. And when he wanted to give her pleasure, that was even better. She tried to bring her knees back up, and he forced them apart again.

“Ally.” He reached over to the nightstand drawer. The one that kept all her toys. The one that wasn’t locked right now because they’d played last night before bed. Even though no one should be going through her house and there were no little kids to snoop, she still kept a lock on it. With one hand, still keeping her thighs apart, the other one searched until it seemed to find what it wanted. He straightened up. “Give me your hands.”

Now this was going too far. She had to work. Hadn’t she told him that? Or was it only in her head? “Tucker, I don’t have time for this.”

“You don’t have time to not do it either.” He jingled the handcuffs. “I’m going to kiss you there. I’m going to handcuff you. We can do this the hard way or…” He shifted his hips against her, letting her feel his erection. “…or the hard way.”

A shiver rolled across her. “Jerk.”

“So be it. But I’m still going to.” He grabbed her hand and put it inside the cuff. Another shift of his weight and he grabbed the other one.

She weakly resisted for a moment until he forced her hand into the ring of metal. A click told them both she was locked down.

He took the rope in the center of the cuffs and tied it to her wooden headboard. “Now that’s better.” He seemed to stare into her soul with his glittering eyes. “Just the way I like you.” He rubbed his hand against her pussy. Took it to his nose and sniffed her. “Wet. Wanton. Tied.” His finger went down to delve into her again. “So wet.”

Yeah, so she liked it. Anyone who knew Tucker would be amazed at the man in the bedroom. He took no prisoners and was the aggressor. He liked to tie her up. Presumably, he had with many of his past lovers.

Or maybe she was special?

She quickly dismissed that thought. They were friends with benefits, that was all. She wasn’t special to him. They were best buddies. They bar hopped together. Watched soccer together. They did all the things that couples never did together. They talked about everything.

Well, except one thing.

He dived in with his hand again, rubbing his finger on her clit. She lifted her hips to meet him.

He always got his way. Now was no different. She couldn’t think about leaving, had to have him.

His thumb strummed across her clit like she was his guitar and he was playing a rocking melody. She shifted up and down with each move of his digit.

“That’s my girl.”

Only she wasn’t, was she?

Copyright © Mechele Armstrong

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