I knock gently on his window, though I know he's not asleep; the tiny spark of light coming from the corner of the room tells me that much. It's too dark to make out his face, but I watch as his shadow moves towards the window. His large smile glows white in the darkness, making me grin as well.
"Carrots," Tucker sighs, heaving the window open with a devious smile on his face. "You know you're not allowed to come over this late at night." I can practically touch the sarcasm in his voice. The goofy grin plastered on his face doesn't help his case, either.
"I know that your parent's aren't home. And Billy is probably fuming right now. And that it's terribly unbecoming for a grown woman to be sneaking out to her boyfriend's house in the middle of the night," I smile, leaning closer to the window. "But I couldn't help myself. The idea of you, alone, in this empty house was just too tempting."
He grins and holds out his hand. I take it and slide easily into the room. He kisses me almost immediately and I laugh as his hands move blindly to close the window. I close it for him and let him kiss me, warmth spreading through my whole body.
I got back a few weeks ago from Stanford for summer vacation, but it feels like an eternity since I've gotten Tucker alone. Whenever I come over to his place, his parents or Wendy are always there. And at my house, Billy keeps a silent eye on us constantly. We go out a lot, but the places in Jackson Hole are always full of familiar faces. We're never really alone.
Until this weekend. Wendy's on some fancy vet retreat thing for school, and it's her parents' anniversary, so they're taking a weekend retreat to the mountains. Leaving Tucker alone and completely available.
"I missed you," I murmur against his lips, urging him to pull away so that we can talk. He takes the hint and leads me over to his bed—his lovely, completely western/boyish bed. He leans against the headboard and I curl up beside him, snuggling into his warm, flannel shirt. Typical Tucker-wear.
"I missed you, too," he smiles, planting a kiss on the top of my head. "Even though we saw each other this morning." I elbow him in the side and he fakes pain, which makes me shake my head.
It was true though. We went for a hike this morning, then back to my house for breakfast. And the day before that, we saw a movie. And before that, we went fishing. Every single day since I've returned from a long year at Stanford has been spent with Tucker. But for some reason, I still miss him.
I look up at his face and take a deep breath. There was a reason I came tonight—and it wasn't just because I wanted to see him. There was something . . . more. "Tucker," I murmur. His crooked grin turns into a look of concern as he takes in my tone. He shifts so that we're face to face, both leaning against the headboard while facing each other. "I figured something out the other day."
"About what?"
I take a deep breath. "Glory," I sigh. I know Tucker loves it when I tell him all about my angel-blood stuff, but I hate it. It just reminds me of the differences between us—despite his now prolonged lifespan. He's still mostly human, aside from the occasional visions. And it pains me to know that we'll never be completely the same.
Tucker gives me a suspicious, care-free look. Like it's of no importance to him. Which, I suppose it is. It's not like he glows in a blaze of holy light every time he's overwhelmed with emotions. "What about it?"
"I think I figured out a way to . . . control it better. Under," I take a deep breath, "certain circumstances."
His eyes go wide and I can see the surprise clearly in his face. This was not what he expected me to talk to him about. "Oh," he murmurs. I nod, unsure what else to say.
I bite my lip and look away, recalling the meeting with Angela I had yesterday. She found this ancient book—of course—that explained glory more in depth. It explained how to control it better, like an SAT Tips and Tricks book but for angel-bloods. Angela and I tried some of them out and it was surprisingly easy. Whoever wrote it must have been a glory-master.
And the practice got me thinking.
And now here I was, practically asking my boyfriend to have sex with me. Not like it's that weird of a thing to ask—we've been dating for almost five years. But it still feels weird. We've never . . . well, we've never gotten past second base, really. Whenever we started going too far, I lit up like a Christmas tree and Tucker fought the urge to puke. It was horribly unromantic.
"So?" he asks, breaking the silence. He reaches out and takes a strand of my golden hair in his hand, combing it softly. His hands are rough from working all year, but I like how they feel.
"So," I repeat, scooting closer to him so that I can feel his breath against my cheek. "I thought maybe I could, um, test my theory." Tucker gulps and I watch as his Adam's apple bobs up and down. It's strangely adorable.
"Okay," he says.
"Good," I reply.
I don't know why this is so awkward for us. We've gotten close to doing it multiple times before, without this awkward what-happens-now kind of thing. But I guess the idea that it might actually work this time is scaring us both a little. Before it was make-out-until-you-start-disturbing-your-boyfriend. Now it's make love. There was a major difference.
Tucker seems to overcome this fear first, as he leans in and kisses the top of my lip gingerly, slipping his arms slowly around my waist. All of my fear evaporates as his arms encircle me, and I find myself inching closer to him. Pressing my chest against him. Kissing him back.
Once he has a firm hold on me, he rolls us around so that I'm trapped beneath him. His legs straddle me and I can feel him in the most pleasant, delicious way. He kisses me again, this time running his hands down my arms, pinning me to the bed. I arch my back to get closer and curl my fingers into his hair. He moans deeply as his hands reach the hem of my shirt, playing with it. I nod eagerly and he slides it off of me, his touch delicate yet strong, only breaking the kiss for a second or two.
"You smell like the sky," he whispers against my stomach, where he's placing featherlight kisses. I close my eyes in bliss.
"That's because I just flew here, you dummy," I giggle, moving my hands under his shirt, feeling his impeccable chest. He smiles against my stomach and moves back to my mouth.
"Here," he mutters, pulling his shirt off without my help. I can't help but stare at him. Yes, I've seen him shirtless thousands of times before. No, I never get used to it.
He falls back against me and starts to devour my neck, making me moan. Entangled on the bed, we slowly remove the rest of our clothing. I unzip his pants and he slides mine down. He unhooks my bra and I play with the edge of his boxers. He leaves my underwear on, though, and pretends to ignore it. He's teasing me, and it's delicious.
"You're beautiful," he whispers, pulling away for the first time just to stare at me. I blush and avert my eyes, still feeling self-conscious. This is the first time he's seen me like this—naked —and it's more embarrassing than I would have assumed.
And then I remember that he's naked too and my eyes are right back on him. I look him over and inhale sharply. He's beautiful, perfect, and unbelievably handsome. At the sight of him, you'd think he was the angel-blood. His whole body was just . . . wow.
"Tucker," I breathe, unable to say anything else. I want him. I need him. Right now.
He smiles deviously and leans back over me, kissing me slowly, rocking his body against mine like a wave. I follow him, letting him guide me. It feels so wonderful. Better than glory, even. "God, Clara," he whispers. I try not to think about it as he pulls gently at my panties and slides them down my legs. His eyes are closed as he kisses my ear, but the idea of me being completely naked now scares me.
He pulls away for a moment and stares into my eyes. I look back at him in awe. He's so lovely, so divine. I can't believe that I have him, right here, with me and me alone. It's all I've ever wanted. "Are you sure you're ready for this? Just because you can contain the glory doesn't mean we have to rush," he murmurs, though his voice is practically dripping with desire.
"I've been searching for my purpose for a while, Tuck. And I know what it is, now." I smile, placing a hand gently on his cheek. His skin is so soft and tan. "My purpose is you, Tucker Avery."
I've never felt so perfect in my life.