4
TUCKER
Once Gabe and I were in agreement about Abigail, that she would finally be ours, I became impatient. I itched to feel how soft her hair was, to run my knuckles over her silky skin, to taste her lips, to hear her gasp when I began to unbutton her blouse, to see her face when I made her come. I needed her to be mine, to be ours.
While she might have an admirer, he did not have her heart. Therefore, we had no concerns about stealing her away. If she’d been engaged, if we’d seen light and love in her eyes when we’d spoken with her at the picnic, then we would have bowed out. But that was not the case.
But, as Laurel had said, Abigail was shy. Skittish even. While two sheltered years in school had kept the other men—almost all of them—away from her, it had not given her an innate c
