Puck

by Marata Eros

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I open my mouth to tell her to fuck off. Instead of my own voice, a ventriloquist has jacked my body. “It’s okay. Just—I got to go.”

  I can’t be sure, but I think somewhere in there, lips kissed the underside of my jaw. Then she’s sliding away, slipping from my grasp.

  From my miserable life.

  Chapter 27

  Temp

  He’s coming. And I’m so nervous to say the things I need to that I don’t know where to begin.

  I hear the bike before I see him. Letting the curtain fall away, I resume my pacing, like I’ve been doing most of the day.

  Harvey gave me a sabbatical, which is kind of bad. I have loads of time to think about Puck, but it’s kind of good because I need the time to figure out me and Puck.

  I don’t know how Tabby’s doing, and after what Ritchie said, I was worried for her and Chenille.

  However, Puck made it clear to me, as the place where Kendra and I were held was blasted and burned to the ground, that Ritchie wouldn’t be a concern of mine anymore. Ever.

  I didn’t have the guts to ask how that came about. My speculation is probably pretty close to accurate.

  When the cops questioned Kendra and me, we corroborated our stories, keeping them simple. As a former cop, Puck handfed us what the best replies would be.

  No matter what happened, I couldn’t feel guilty. That horrible Alexander fucker was going to disappear us into his cruel organization. Killing us wasn’t final enough. He wanted to make our end protracted. Dirty.

  I woke up last night, drenched in sweat, heart racing. I could still feel that one lingering finger as it slid from my vagina to my big toe.

  In the nightmare, Alexander’s touch had felt so real. It had been more like I was watching it happen. Feeling it. When I woke up, Alexander wasn’t in my bedroom.

  No one was.

  That day, I took a trip to the hardware store and bought ten LED nightlights. Thankfully, the cops had my small apartment cleaned so well that I could hardly tell everything had been torn apart.

  When Puck texted and asked if we could talk, I knew I was ready.

  My anger that he snooped into my past isn’t part of the equation anymore. I get why Puck had to know more about me. Seeing the Road Kill MC in motion, taking back what they looked at as theirs and covering their tracks made me realize that if they adopt someone into their tight-knit group, they have to vet them first.

  I just wish that Puck hadn’t found out about the attack from a cold, two-dimensional piece of paper instead of from my own mouth.

  And of course, he suffered a similar abuse.

  The irony of that similarity isn’t lost on me.

  A single crack of knuckles sounds at the door, and I run my hands needlessly over my stick-straight hair then do the same to my pale-turquoise summer dress. I second-guess my clothing choice for the thirteenth time then force myself to go to my front door.

  Get it together, Temp.

  “Who is it?” I ask, heart racing.

  “It’s me,” Puck’s deep voice rumbles.

  I press my head against the door for a second then step back, unlatching the bolt.

  He looks delicious. His short hair glints auburn in the late-day sun grazing the horizon that backlights him.

  Dark eyes take me in from the top of my head to my strappy-sandaled feet. His pupils dilate as he passes through the door, kicking it shut behind him. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he lifts me from the ground.

  I think he’ll consume me, but his lips feather a kiss over my forehead.

  Shutting my eyes, I feel the press of his lips on first one eyelid, then the brush of whiskers over the bridge of my nose as he presses a second kiss to the other.

  Opening my eyes, I stare into the darkness of his, only inches away, and smile. “That’s an enthusiastic greeting.”

  A strange expression shadows his face, and Puck says simply, “I love you, Temp.”

  I suck in a breath.

  Tears boil from my eyes and begin running down my face. I’ve cried more in the last three weeks than my entire life put together.

  Puck lets me slide down the front of his body but keeps his hands cupped at my waist.

  The strap of my dress slides down my shoulder, and bending, he kisses the curve of my bare shoulder then slowly pushes the strap back in place, the slide of his fingers branding the skin he just stroked with his lips.

  I lean away as his tongue runs over my collarbone. Hot. Wet. One of his broad hands lands at my nape, and his next kiss sinks between my breasts.

  Lifting his head, Puck draws me close, mashing me against his chest.

  His heartbeats are hard. Fast.

  The thought occurs to me that Puck is as nervous as I am. Placing my palms on his chest, I press a little, creating some distance.

  Puck’s face goes to stricken.

  “No,” I say, dissuading the negative assumption before it can start as I stroke a thumb over the cleft in his chin, my other hand fisting the material of his tight black T-shirt. “I love you too.” A tiny laugh escapes. “You declared then didn’t give me time to respond.”

  He lifts me again, kissing me firmly on the mouth. “Can we talk later?”

  I nod silently.

  Wanting each other is first, then we talk. Because we both love each other.

  That’s the only thing that will matter in the end.

  The rest is just words.

  Puck

  I sweep Temp from the floor. The stubborn strap on her dress falls off her shoulder again.

  I see that as an opportunity. “Here,” I mutter, shoving the narrow piece of light blue material all the way down, baring her gorgeous tit.

  My mouth finds the nipple as I walk us back to her bedroom.

  It’s a miracle I don’t trip as I work Temp over and walk at the same time.

  Popping the sweet tip out of my mouth, I lay her down on the bed and take a moment to feast my eyes on her form.

  “I’m going to undress you now.” I say, though I cock a brow. My statement also holds the flavor of asking for permission.

  “Please,” Temp says, kicking off flat sandals that thunk as they hit the floor. Her toenails are painted a pearly aqua that matches her eyes.

  I bend to undo the buttons that run from her breasts to just above her knees.

  Then I unwrap her like a gift. And Temp is. A gift to me. A hope. A partner.

  If she’ll let me, I’ll never be parted from her.

  And that’s the rub. Her free will might not match mine. But she told me she loved me. Better than that, her body responds like she does.

  I’ll tell Denni I did declare undying love.

  But right now, I scan every inch of Temp. When my eyes see the bruises on her small body, I close them.

  “It’s okay,” Temp states quietly, eyes searching mine. “It happened. Don’t let something we can’t change ruin our time in this moment, Puck—please.”

  Taking a deep breath and trying my damnedest to ignore the proof of her kidnap and beating, I focus on her full breasts instead. Gently, I splay my hands against her ribcage, perching my thumbs directly under the soft weight of her gorgeous tits. Then I widen my fingers, spanning her tiny ribcage, my gaze zeroing in on the sea-colored panties that match the dress.

  Sliding my hands down to the lacy thongs, I catch her shiver at the light touch and smile, hooking my thumbs underneath the fragile material. Temp helps by lifting her hips. They glide down her smooth legs, and I fling them behind me.

  Naked, Temp is as beautiful as I remember, but I’m not quite done admiring. Grabbing my T-shirt by the collar, I yank it over my head and toss it where I chucked the panties.

  I tear off my jeans and shoes before stepping away from the pile and sliding between her legs. Leaning forward, I spread her silky black hair out until it resembles a fan of ink, her eyes glowing like startled aquamarine jewels.

  “Puck,” Temp says like a pra
yer.

  I clamp down on the insane impulse to cry at her breathless mention of my name. I never thought it could happen. So I’m not prepared for it now.

  The rawness of my heart laid bare.

  The throbbing of my dick is nothing compared to the throbbing of my heart.

  Temp holds the hollowed piece of me in her delicate hand. Does she know she has a part of me within her grasp?

  Lying down between her legs, I split her with my cock. Cradling Temp’s head between my hands, I smooth her hair. “Are you really okay?”

  We haven’t talked about what happened in those hours she was vulnerable and unprotected. I’ll be damned if anything I do somehow makes that unknown worse.

  Temp nods, tears running against the dam my fingers make.

  I kiss the salty evidence away. “You’re crying for both of us,” I whisper and begin to press into the wetness of her.

  We groan at the intimate contact.

  No preamble. I need to be inside her, and Temp needs me to be.

  I rock another slow inch deeper, and she widens her legs, both accepting and inviting me.

  Willing myself to stop when I want to do nothing but shove inside, I grit my teeth.

  “What?” Temp asks breathlessly, her cheeks flushed, taking little pants as I stall.

  “You’re so fucking tight,” I admit. It’s like I’m a teenager. Not a man near-forty.

  Temp delivers a throaty laugh, and I stop again.

  God, she slays me.

  Finally, I begin to move again, and Temp meets each thrust as if we’ve been doing the dance for years instead of weeks.

  Lifting my upper body, I strain above her frailness.

  Temp appears delicate, but her hips move down hard on my cock and I gasp, her warmth enveloping me like a moist, velvet glove.

  Not going to last, I think and place my thumb on her clit, rubbing in gentle circles as I move within her.

  “More,” Temp breathes in my ear, and I smoothly roll us over.

  Temp is suddenly riding me. Her eyes widen, and I control my finger perfectly in this new position.

  Intense eye contact is the other thing I wanted. This sex is the most important of the times we’ve been together.

  It’s make-up, reunion, and milestone sex all rolled into one.

  I flick my short thumbnail over Temp’s clit as she rolls her hips forward and backward.

  She tips her head back, and her hair slides like dark water over her shoulders. A flush spreads over her body.

  Temp’s pussy gives a single, deep pulse, and I press harder on her clit.

  Body tensing, she begins to spasm with deep pulses around my cock.

  I go a moment later, letting off the pressure on her tiny bundle of nerves. Using both hands to grip her hips, I disallow movement as I hold her on my spurting dick. Filling her with my cum.

  My love.

  I give Charlotte Temperance all of me in that moment. She scoops out who I am, remaking me in that moment.

  When I come back to myself, she’s lying against my chest, and I fold my arms around her small body, softening inside her as I wonder about my luck.

  And just as quickly, I dismiss that thought.

  If there’s one thing I know, it’s that there’s no such thing as luck.

  Chapter 28

  Temp

  “You’ll have to meet my parents.” I smirk then add, “Pass muster.”

  Puck adds his smirk to mine. “Haven’t heard that expression in forever.”

  “Well... I guess when one of your parents is from Ireland and the other is Korean American, there’s a few oddities.”

  Puck chuckles, endlessly smoothing a hand down my hair. “Your hair is so soft,” he murmurs before his nose presses the top of my head. He kisses me where he just smelled me.

  “It’s like you’re one of those vampires from True Blood or something. All scentified.”

  Puck hikes a deep-red brow. “Interesting comparison.” He opens his mouth in a mock-hiss.

  “I read a lot of paranormal fiction,” I admit, smiling, as I run my own restless circles on the bare flesh of his chest.

  “So we need to talk,” Puck says after a few swollen moments.

  His pronouncement doesn’t make me feel tense, per se. But the weight of expectation replaced the comfortable lethargy of two people just enjoying each other.

  “I forgive you,” I say instantly. “I didn’t understand about the club. I don’t know anything other than what I read or that show, Sons of Anarchy.”

  Puck chuckles. “Well, to be honest, our club doesn’t hold a candle to that show’s drama.”

  Don’t know about that. Kendra has an inside track of sorts, and she tells me a lot of wild stuff about Road Kill MC.

  Stuff I might be a part of now.

  “I’m sorry, Temp,” Puck admits in a low voice and my head rises off his chest. I fist my hand and perch my chin on top as he talks.

  Puck tucks his hand under his head, causing his head to be higher as we gaze at each other.

  “It was a routine screening, I swear. Truly, I thought our intel would come back with social worker deets and maybe a scuffle or two in high school. I never thought it’d be... what it was,” he says in a low voice.

  “Yeah,” I admit, “it was my first check-in. First day at my job, actually. I decided I could handle it.” I give a rueful shake of my head at my younger self’s naiveté. “That I didn’t need police backup. I mean, you should have seen the house, Puck,” I say, my eyes drifting to a position on the wall above his face, remembering. “It was perfectly maintained, not a hint of what this guy was on the inside. His potential.”

  Puck cups my face, my eyes returning to his. “He hurt you. I could kill him.”

  I nod quickly, holding tears back by a thread. “I couldn’t shake him. He was so big, and it all happened so fast, so unexpectedly.” I look down for a second, admitting what to me, was the worst part, “I couldn’t save her, either.”

  A frown forms between Puck’s dark eyes. “Who?”

  “The girl.” My eyes flick to Puck’s then away again. I can’t recount the vileness and look at him at the same time. “He sodomized me, then he raped her. His own daughter. She died, Puck.” My voice is a hoarse admission. I can barely get the words out.

  But Puck saves me. His own horror fills the gaps of mine.

  Puck’s fingers tangle in my hair, absently combing through the long strands. “The first time my father sodomized me, I think I was about ten.” Puck’s voice is mechanical, detached. “I walked in on him raping Candi. And though I wasn’t really clear on what sex was from an adult perspective, I got that he was hurting her. I guess her screaming and fighting him was a dead giveaway.”

  I don’t talk, but my silent tears underscore his memories.

  Puck goes on. “I think after that first time, he just wanted to have some place to put his dick that would cause the most harm.”

  I look up, and Puck is staring at a point over my shoulder. I don’t dare breathe. Move. Talk.

  “Anyway,” Puck says, “he’d sometimes sneak into my room when I was dead asleep, catch me unawares, and beat me until getting raped was better than his fists.”

  Puck’s crying, eyes angry, fists clenched.

  I cup his face, and he startles. I think for a few moments, he’d forgotten I was here.

  “I’m here,” I say.

  I know exactly how he feels. Reliving the horror makes it fresh and awful. And rape is a brand of violence where people can really empathize if they’ve both been through it.

  Puck sees me—really sees me—and releasing my hair, he grabs my hand, opens my palm, and presses a kiss into the center.

  “This is hard,” he admits as another tear rolls down his face. Angrily, he swipes at it.

  “We left the house the minute we could, and the fucker had unlimited resources. Eventually, he found us.”

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me the rest. I know that p
art because of Calem.”

  His instant smile is genuine, and my heart breathes a sigh of relief at its appearance.

  “Yeah, Calem.” Puck gives a small shake of his head. “He would have been next. That fuck would have never quit until all his children were abused, bleeding, and defeated.”

  “Not anymore,” I say with a strength that defies everything.

  Puck’s smile stays affixed, but his eyes hold a sadness that doesn’t match the expression. “Yeah, not anymore,” he agrees softly.

  His hold tightens around my body, and I say, “I’ve got something big to tell you, and I don’t want you to be mad.”

  Puck’s grip cinches for a moment then loosens. “No secrets.” His dark eyes hold mine captive, waiting.

  “No secrets,” I echo, a touch nervous. Or maybe way more than a touch.

  Lifting up from his body, I sit back on my heels, and Puck’s eyes rove my nudity. His perusal feels wonderful, and I know that this is what a healthy relationship between a man and a woman should be.

  Gripping his hand, I say in slow, even words, “I’m pregnant.”

  Puck sits up straight like a plank. “What?” he nearly hollers.

  “Are you mad?” I ask, unable to keep the quiver out of my voice as a million questions rip my mind like a knife through butter.

  What if he doesn’t want kids?

  What if he doesn’t want to be serious?

  What if everything I thought we’d be is bullshit?

  Instead of answering, he hauls me onto his lap, where a handy hardon has magically appeared.

  With a short, surprised laugh, I ask, “Well?”

  “Hell no, I’m not mad.”

  I ask tentatively, “What are you then?”

  His normally stoic face breaks into a sappy grin. “Happier than any man who ever lived, is all.”

  I shut my eyes and lean into the embrace, splitting my legs so I can press us together, chest to chest.

  A perfect moment unspoiled by words, circumstance, or violence.

  Alexander

  The dust has settled. Or ashes, rather.