Lost (Captive Heart #1) Read online

  “I could kill that woman,” Tucker mutters. “Not to upset you on a holiday, but, why did you break off the engagement?”

  I take a deep breath. I’m going to have to tell him sometime or another.

  “Clark was a great guy. An amazing boyfriend and fiancé. He really was everything a girl could ask for.”

  Tucker harrumphs jealously in my ear.

  “And I should have wanted to be with him. He was gracious and handsome, he always shook my father’s hand and kissed my mother on the cheek. He got me all the right presents and took me dancing and cared for me when I was sick. It should have been perfect … but. It wasn’t. I would wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and look over at him and think about how …”

  I stop myself.

  “Think about what, Char?” Tucker wraps his arms around my waist and I feel so safe and so … right.

  “I would think about how he wasn’t you.”

  I let the words hang in the air.

  “I love you.”

  Tucker’s words take me by such surprise that I drop the spatula I’ve been holding to the floor. The metal clanging reverberates off the wall. It takes me a second or two to turn around and face him.

  But when I do, the look in his eyes nearly makes me faint. His brown orbs confront me with such love, such affection, that I have to take a minute to catch my breath.

  “You do?”

  Tucker cups my cheeks. “I do. I am in love with you. I probably always have been, somewhere deep down. I was too cocky, too driven and focused on one thing, to see it. But being here with you, even in the mess that we’re in, it’s the best I’ve ever felt in my life. You know that game you play on Thanksgiving, where everyone goes around the table saying what they’re thankful for?”

  “That’s not really a game, Tucker.”

  “Well, whatever. Anyway, I’m thankful for you. You found me when no one else was even looking. You took this lost shell of a man and fixed me. You returned me to how I used to be, only a better version of the old me. I only have you to thank. And I’m so fucking thankful for that.”

  I think I’m crying. I can feel the fat tears plop onto my shirt but the rest of me is in a numb bliss.

  “You love me?”

  “I love you, Charlotte Ann Morsey.”

  “I love you too, Tucker. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to say that.”

  31

  Charlotte

  Tucker is gorgeous. This isn’t an opinion, it’s a fact.

  He’s always been the cutest boy on the playground, the hottest teenager in high school. The most handsome man when he matured.

  All of those brown curls and rugged leanness. That twinkle in his brown eyes, those long, flirty lashes. He’s dangerous but not off-limits. Funny, but still has a hint of dirty in him.

  And now he’s mine.

  But the beard, the beard has got to go.

  “I kind of like it. I’ve never had it this long, and I think you secretly like it when I rub it up against your thighs and—”

  “Okay, no. I want to be able to see your face. And right now, all I see is this mass of swirling brown curls. And I’ve never been a beard girl.”

  Sure, I appreciate a carefully constructed amount of scruff. But truly, I’ve never been turned on by a long beard like I know some women are. I like to be able to touch all of that smooth, olive skin. And I really love being able to see Tuck’s jaw move when he does that slow, teasing smile of his.

  My knees buckle just thinking about it.

  “Fine,” he grumbles,” Let’s just get this over with. I better get something for doing this.”

  I smooth a layer of shaving cream, thanks to the ever-handy canteen, onto his face. But right before I go to pick up the razor, he grabs my wrist.

  “Wait a minute. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. If I’m letting you do this, I get something in return.”

  I place the razor down on the table next to me. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

  Tucker pretends to think for a minute. Suddenly, I have a feeling he’s had whatever he’s about to say up his sleeve for a while.

  “I want to see you shaved.”

  My face must go completely pink as I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. “Tucker. I already did that this morning.

  While he’s trying to get me to be more, um … vocal in the bedroom, and out of it, I still feel shy saying things like that out loud.

  “Oh I know you did, baby. Believe me, I was trying to sneak a peek all morning. No, if I let you shave my beard, I want to see you on full display.”

  He lets a beat of silence go by.

  “While you get off for me.”

  I think my face must go crimson. “Wha … what do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. I want you to touch yourself, make yourself come, while I watch.”

  “Tucker!”

  He runs his hands up and down my now-limp arms. “Come on, Char … it will be so hot. And you can watch me too.”

  I sigh. “Wouldn’t it just be … better for us if we, you know, did it with each other?”

  “It’s always fucking hot, no matter what I’m doing to you or with you. But you’ll see, this is a different kind of hot. And I want to see that pretty pink pussy spread out, bare for me.”

  God, I think my blood pressure just shot off the charts. There is no way my face is anywhere close to a normal skin color.

  But my panties are damp, and I find my fingers itching to reach downwards. Just with his words, he’s turned me on and turned me on to the idea.

  “Okay,” I say quietly before picking up the razor once more. “But first, this has got to go.”

  We don’t talk while I shave his face, but with each stroke of the razor, with each stripe of shaving cream that comes off, our arousals become more pungent. Our desire fills the air.

  Who knew that shaving someone could be such an intimate act? But it really is. Tucker is trusting me, giving himself to me to care for. I have to make sure the blade never cuts him, that I wipe his face with care each time I take a column of hair away.

  It’s also exciting me, with every stroke of the razor, I reveal a piece of Tucker’s strong jaw. I see the spots I want to nibble, the place on his neck I can kiss to make his hips buck.

  By the time I finish, Tucker’s eyes are molten and the inside of my panties match his expression.

  “Lie back on the floor.”

  We’re in the recreation room, not in our cabin, and I feel exposed even in my clothing, even though I know we’re so alone out here.

  I set down the shaving supplies as he takes the towel and wipes his skin. His expression says not to toy with his demands, and so I stand from the bench and lower myself to the cold tile.

  Once I’m lying down, looking up at him, he speaks. “Take off your clothes. Slowly though, I want to see every movement.”

  His voice is like lava pouring over my flesh and inciting a riot in my system. I start with my shirt, arching up off the floor and pulling it from my body. With no bra underneath, my nipples pebble when they meet the cool air.

  I’m glad my shirt is off, not only because my skin is burning up, but because I don’t have to tear my eyes from Tucker’s again. His dark chocolate orbs flash as I inch down the waistband of my sweatpants and I can see him stroking his long erection through his own.

  “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he chokes out.

  I’m completely naked, my heated skin clashing with icy tiles and sending my body into overdrive. I’m on-edge, anxious and so aroused it’s almost painful. But I wait, my arms tamped down on the floor, for Tucker to give me my next instructions.

  “Spread your legs.”

  I shaved this morning, my mound is smooth and bare for him. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the shame that usually rears its ugly head right about now is crying out for control. But the erotic connection between us, my pulsing need for release, it’s so much stronger.


  So I pull my thighs apart, spreading my legs out wide so he can look at me.

  “Char, holy fuck. You’re so fucking wet.”

  Tucker slides his hand into his sweatpants to stroke himself in earnest now.

  And it’s me speaking up. “If you get to watch me touch myself, I want to watch you.”

  I think Tucker almost breaks a tooth he’s clenching his jaw so hard. Slowly, he slides his sweatpants down. First, revealing the mouthwatering V-muscles of his hips and then his cock springs free, standing tall and proud and engorged.

  He doesn’t pull them all the way down though. He lets the material bunch at his knees, and his shirt just brushes the top of his shaft. In a way, it’s almost sexier than seeing him naked. He’s impatient, he doesn’t want to take the time to undress for fear of missing what I’ll do to myself.

  And it’s also dirty. Like he’s viewing something he shouldn’t be, like he’s interrupting my private time with myself.

  It’s so hot that my hand starts to shake.

  “Rub your clit for me. Look into my eyes, watch my hand jerk my cock, and masturbate for me.”

  Tucker’s words are like tiny lightning bolts zinging down my spine. They pool low in my core, spurring me to action. I press my pointer and middle finger of my left hand together and reach down for my clit. I’ve only ever done this alone, in my bed. Sometimes with my fingers, but usually with my vibrator.

  I gather the wetness seeping out of my slit and moisten my fingers, dragging them up to my clit and rubbing in slow circles. My nipples strain for Tucker to touch them, and all I can do is keep my eyes pinned on the way he’s handling his cock. Rough, long strokes, and the beads of liquid that form at the head. I imagine licking them, holding them on my tongue.

  I’m squirming now from the pressure I’m putting on my clit.

  “Imagine your fingers are my fingers. What would I do next?”

  I silently start to move my soaked digits down to my opening, but Tucker’s “no” fills the air.

  “Tell me what I would do next.” Veins are popping out on his neck as he fights for control. The way his hand is rapidly moving tells me that thin string is about to snap.

  I don’t even blush this time. “You would push a finger inside of me.”

  “Ah God, yes. That’s right, baby. Now show me.”

  He moves his hand up his cock, only jerking the sensitive rim of his head over and over again. I move my hand down, wetting my pointer finger before I slide it into myself.

  I’m warm and tight, and so close to the edge that I feel the usual sensations tingling in my core. My entire lower half is like a hot zone, press the trigger and I’ll go off like a bomb.

  We watch each other as we pleasure ourselves, our harsh breathing filling the recreation room.

  “You’re close now, aren’t you baby?” Tucker growls and I nod.

  “Come for me, Charlotte.”

  I reach my other hand down and rub my clit as I slide my finger in and out. It only takes two small circles and I’m gasping and writhing with my release, watching Tucker as he pumps violently to his climax.

  The sight of him coming undone, how his abs contract and shiver as the orgasm rolls down his spine, it’s breathtaking. He spurts into his fist, both of us continuing on these endless releases as we take in the other.

  Even though he never even touched me, I come harder than I ever have before. Because he’s staring at me, his eyes are boring into me, concentrated so hard on the way I’m still working myself that I cry out in pleasure.

  Both of our hands slow, but our ragged breaths still echo off the walls. Tucker just stares at me in amazement, and I’m sure I mirror his expression.

  This is what love is. It’s hard, insane, dirty and completely frustrating. But it’s also incredible, wonderful, awe-inducing and completely freeing.

  It’s no wonder I’ve never been able to love anyone else. Tucker was all there ever was for me.

  I was lost without him. And with him, only him, I’m found.

  32

  Tucker

  Why did I never love someone before this? Is this what everyone raves about?

  Because fuck … I should have done this a long time ago.

  Being in love with Char, and telling her that. Shit, it’s the most grown up I’ve ever felt. It’s like she’s mine now, I have to protect her. And she has to take care of me too. We’re this unit, forged and bonded to take on the world no matter what comes our way. She listens to me, and I hold her when she’s sad. We understand each other’s fears and doubts, each other’s goals and dreams.

  And I get to touch her and kiss her and suck her whenever I damn well please. Not that that’s the best part, but let’s be honest, that’s one of the best parts. I get to bury myself inside of her whenever we feel like it, which over the past month has been three or four times a day. It’s like we can’t get enough of each other, like our normal state of being is to be connected to the other.

  I get to lie next to her each night on top of our mound of mattresses and under every possible blanket or sweatshirt we can find.

  It’s frigid now, the first snow came last week. Eight inches just in time for Christmas. Char was ecstatic that we would be having a white Christmas, but I knew that it meant trouble for us. It was harder to navigate the camp, much less leave our cabin.

  It also meant animals might try to come into the camp if they needed warmth or shelter. I remember the summer when four of the cabins were under repair because coyotes had gotten in during the winter.

  But Char seemed happy, and we hadn’t tried to dwell on what brought us here or what we were going to do next. In a way, it was what we needed. To find each other in this place where no one and nothing could distract us or pull us apart. We were both lost in the shuffle of life, just surviving and not really living. Now we had each other.

  “What do you want to do for Christmas?”

  Char is lying on my stomach in our mattress pile, and was reading before she put her book down and questioned me.

  “Oh, right. Christmas is in two days.”

  Being here, time moved so slow. Or so fast.

  “Yep. I usually go to church on Christmas Eve and then watch a movie. Something funny or holiday themed. But I guess we can’t do either of those things this year …” Char trails off, thinking, “Hey, I don’t think I ever knew what your family did on Christmas?”

  I snort. “Dad used to get rip-roaring drunk and drone on about his almost-NFL worthy career. And then he’d segue into berating my mom for being a horrible wife, and then he’d start in on me. My grandparents would be asleep by that point and he’d pretty much alienated all of the other extended family by the time I was sixteen, so … yeah. Holidays at my house were a grand ole time.”

  I see the pity in her eyes. “Oh Tuck, I’m sorry …”

  “Don’t be. This will be the best Christmas yet.”

  I just wish it wasn’t here. I wish I could get her a present and see her face light up. But who am I kidding? I don’t even have the money to do that out there in the real world. I have no house to cozy up with her in. I have no real job to come home to her from.

  I frown, thinking about all of the ways I’ll eventually let her down.

  “What’s going to happen when I get caught?”

  Char perks up, and now I’ve filled her eyes with worry. “Don’t say that. You might never be caught. We can take off once spring comes. We can make a plan.”

  But it’s crazy talk to think like that. And I know, when the time comes, I won’t make her sacrifice for me anymore. She shouldn’t have to live like this. She’s never made anything but the right choices.

  I press the subject further. “If I go to jail, what will happen to us?”

  She sucks in a breath as if my words slapped her. “You won’t. But if you do, we’ll get through it. They have visiting hours. And I’ll … I would never tell them anything.”

  Now she’s agreeing to lie to the police
for me. God, I’m an asshole.

  “Let’s not think about this, though. Okay? Let’s think about Christmas. We can go play in the snow. Build a snowman or something?”

  “Yeah sure …”

  Char gets up and starts pulling on her clothes, and pulls on the work gloves we’ve been using as mittens.

  I curse myself again for getting her into this mess. For loving her and making her love me enough to stay and freeze her ass off in this hellhole.

  And even though we have a fun afternoon ending in a cold, red-nosed make out session in the snow, the lingering sadness of getting her involved in this is weighing my heart down. It’s so heavy, I’m not sure how long I can carry it around with me.

  33

  Charlotte

  On Christmas, Tucker wakes me before the sun is even up.

  “Merry Christmas, baby. Wake up, I want to give you your present.”

  I sigh and roll over, throwing my arm across him. I’m fairly certain he’s talking about his cock, because what else would he give me out here? But when I reach out for him, he’s not even in the bed.

  “Come back to bed. What are you doing?” My voice is muffled with sleep.

  Big, strong hands rub my back. “Get up lazy, Santa came.”

  “Huh?” I sit up and notice the handsome man before me, bundled from head to toe.

  “Get some layers on and come with me.”

  He kisses my forehead and then opens the front door. A snowy wind blows through the cabin and I huddle back under the covers.

  “Charlotte, get up!”

  Groaning, I heave myself out of bed and do as he’s asked. It’s too early and cold for all of this, but I go anyway.

  “What’s this all about? You couldn’t wish me a Merry Christmas with your naked body instead?” I grab his hand as he pulls me through the snow.

  “This will be better I promise.”

  We trudge through camp, all of the untouched snow so white and fluffy and beautiful. I don’t mind so much that it feels colder than Alaska, not with all of the beautiful snow weighing down the trees and covering the ground. It looks like a postcard with the mountains in the distance.