Page 55 of Tank
Or am I loving him because I know who he really is?
I don’t know.
And not knowing scares me.
“We’re here,” he says as the car comes to a stop in the driveway to his cabin.
Something surges in my chest, doubts dissipate, and I reach across, take his hand, and pull him close to kiss him. Whatever I decide, my mind’s made up — I want him. “Let’s go inside.”
Tank's lips crash against mine as he opens the cabin door, his hands already finding their way beneath my shirt. The cool night air hits my skin for just a moment before we stumble inside, never breaking contact. His beard scrapes against my chin, sending shivers down my spine.
“I've been wanting you since the moment I saw you," he growls, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me deeper into the cabin.
“Waiting for this? Did you forget we’ve already fucked?”
“With how bad I want you, I can never get enough.”
The world narrows to just us—his heartbeat against mine, the heat of his body, the scent of leather and pine that clings to his skin. I'm drowning in sensation, and for once, I don't want to come up for air.
"I need you," I whisper in his ear, surprised by the rawness in my voice. "All of you."
He carries me to his bed, laying me down with unexpected gentleness. The mattress gives beneath our combined weight as he hovers over me, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that makes my breath catch. For a moment, he just looks at me, as if committing every detail to memory.
I moan as his calloused hands slide up my sides, peeling away my shirt with a deliberate slowness that makes me arch against him.
"Tank," I breathe, impatient, my fingers fumbling with his belt.
"Patience," he murmurs, but I can hear the strain in his voice.
I reach up, fingers tangling in his hair, and pull him down to me. "Don't hold back," I command, surprising myself with my boldness. "I'm not fragile."
Something dark and primal flashes in his eyes. His hands pin my wrists above my head, his body a delicious weight pressing me into the mattress. The gesture should terrify me — being trapped has always been my nightmare — but with Tank, it feels like liberation.
He tears my jeans down my legs, his movements rough but controlled. I'm left in nothing but my underwear, exposed to his hungry gaze. The cool air pebbles my skin, but I'm burning everywhere his eyes touch.
"Every single time I look at you, it fucking stuns me," he rasps, his voice like gravel. He strips off his shirt in one fluid motion, revealing the landscape of tattoos and scars that map his torso. I reach out, tracing the inked lines with trembling fingers, feeling the stories written in his skin.
When he lowers his mouth to my breast, the world fragments into pure sensation. His teeth graze my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra, and I gasp as the fabric dampens beneath his attention. My hips roll up instinctively, seeking friction, seeking him. His large hand splays across my stomach, pressing me back down.
"Not yet," he growls, and I can feel his smile against my skin.
I'm not used to this—surrendering control, letting someone else dictate the pace of my pleasure. But the way Tank touches me, with such reverent hunger, makes me want to give everything to him.
He unclasps my bra with practiced ease, tossing it aside. The sudden exposure makes me shiver, but before I can feel self-conscious, his mouth is on me again, hot and demanding. His beard scratches the sensitive underside of my breast as he works his way down my body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
"Fuck, Bianca," he breathes against my navel. "The things I want to do to you..."
"Show me," I challenge, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears.
His eyes lock with mine as he hooks his fingers into my underwear, dragging it down my legs with excruciating slowness. I'm completely bare to him now, vulnerable. But instead of fear, I feel powerful. The way he looks at me — like I'm some rare, precious thing he can't believe he's allowed to touch — ignites something primal inside me.
When his mouth finds my pussy, I let out a noise from the deepest part of my chest.
“Love that you’re a moaner,” he rumbles before his tongue returns to my pussy.
I arch my back, fingers clutching at the sheets as his tongue explores me with devastating precision. There's nothing tentative in his movements—he devours me like a man starved, his hands gripping my thighs to keep me open to him. The stubble of his beard creates a delicious friction against my most sensitive skin, the contrast between his rough touch and soft tongue driving me wild.
"Tank," I gasp, my hips bucking against his mouth. "I can't — "
