In Ruins Read Online Free PDF Page A

the lines of his obscenely defined abs.
    He sucks in a sharp breath. “Fuck this, let’s get out of here.”
    I nod my eager agreement.
    “Stay here.”
    I hate being ordered around, normally. But right now, I obey him without question, and I don’t dwell on what the reason for that might be.
    Tucker heads back to the yard and returns a minute later with my cover-up and bag, his shorts pulled over his still-damp swimsuit. I slip my cover-up over my head and Tucker is pulling me around to the front drive before I can even fish out my phone to text Tina that I’m leaving.
    We climb into Tucker’s car, and he starts texting someone, and my heart plummets at the thought that it might be Sarah.
    “I’m designated driver and Cap’s supposed to stay at my place tonight,” he explains. “Just telling him to Uber it home instead.”
    “You’re just going to leave him?” I ask.
    “He’ll understand, trust me,” Tuck says cryptically.
    I don’t question him further; I don’t want him to change his mind.
    We ride in silence. I practically tremble with nerves, but they are the nerves of certainty. The nerves of knowing I won’t turn back—the surrealness of being here, with him , about to do what I’ve fantasized about for longer than I’d care to admit.
    He pulls into his drive, murmuring something about his mom being away—visiting her sister or something. When we get to the front door, Tucker pauses. A brief, strange look masks his features before he inhales long and harsh, as if he’s trying to slow things down. For a moment I worry he’s having second thoughts about crossing this line.
    But then he kisses me. Not hot and hard like at the party, but slow and deep.
    He pulls away and smiles a new smile. Not his knowing, cocky Tucker-smirk, or his carefree, playful Tucker-grin, but something almost shy, almost vulnerable.
    A flash of a memory reminds me of the first time I ever saw Tucker look vulnerable. The Father’s Day after his dad died when we were in the seventh grade. I lost my father in an entirely different way a few years earlier, and we were the only ones in our art class with no one to make a card for. We bonded that day. It was the day we went from classmates who teased each other to friends. Real friends.
    I reach out to trace the curve of his mouth, and instantly he’s back. Tucker smirks with lustful intent, and then he’s unlocking his door and pulling me up the stairs.
    “I’ve pictured you on my bed a million times, Princess.”
    I laugh. “I’ve been on your bed before,” I remind him. Never alone. In fact I’ve never been alone with him in his bedroom at all. But in a group of friends, hanging out, watching a movie, I’ve been here, and the room is familiar and comforting. His scent fills the air, relaxing me despite the anxiety inherent in what I’m about to do. What we’re about to do.
    Tucker’s smirk stretches wider. “Not the way I’m talking about.” He tugs me to him, resuming his kiss.
    I reach for his T-shirt and pull it over his head, and he maneuvers to help me. His fingertips brush the tops of my thighs as they grasp the hem of my cover-up, then it’s gone and I’m standing in my damp swimsuit, which is really just a few scraps of material that happen to be connected by a thin mesh cloth, making it a one-piece instead of a bikini. Tucker’s eyes rove over me from head to toe and back again, lingering on a few choice parts, and I watch, riveted, as his eyes darken and his smirk vanishes.
    I step closer and let my fingers explore his intricately sculpted body, starting at his chest before tracing the grid of his stomach. He sucks in a sharp breath as my gaze wanders south to where he strains against his board shorts, and I hope he doesn’t notice my thick swallow.
    He won’t know how new this all is to me. I know he’d never suspect that I’m a virgin, and even less so that the extent of my sexual experience was giving my first boyfriend a hand job when I