She laughed, a pleased, erotic huff of enjoyment. “I like front clasp bras. My boobs are small enough that they’re still supported.” She unbuttoned again, holding the clasp of the bra. “And then at the end of the day, a front clasp bra is just so easy to take off. One little pop . . . and it’s off.” She undid the clasp, but kept the tension and didn’t quite open enough for me to really see anything.
“What is it you want to hear me say, Colbie?” I whispered. “My dick is aching so hard it hurts.”
She held the edges of her bra with one hand, and reached for me with the other. “Oh no, poor Puck. It hurts?”
“Throbs.”
“So bad?” She hesitated a quarter inch away from me.
“I’m dyin’, babe.” I thrust, vainly, trying to get closer to her hand.
“You need me to finish you off, is that it?”
“Might just die of frustration if you don’t.”
“I wouldn’t want that,” she said, circling her fingers around my cock. “The only problem is, now my bra is undone. I can’t finish you properly with one hand, but if I let go, my boobs will fall out.”
“That would be epic,” I breathed. I met her eyes, let her see my sincerity. “Please, Colbie?”
“Hmm. I don’t know.”
I groaned as softly as I could. “Shit, shit, shit.” I thumped my head against the seat. “I need to see your tits.”
“Just see them?”
“Hell no. I need to bury my face in them. I need to paint my come all over them.” I heaved a deep breath as she squeezed my cock, a teasing pressure. “But for now, I’ll settle for the privilege of seeing them.”
Her smile was genuinely flattered. “Privilege?”
“Fuck yes, Colbie. It would be an honor and privilege—and probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Promise not to tease me anymore?” she asked.
“Hell no.” I lifted my chin. “What will I promise is to tease you just enough. I promise I’ll always follow through. I promised you an orgasm you wouldn’t believe, and I made good, didn’t I? You like the teasing, Colbie. You love the game as much as I do.”
She stroked me, and we both watched as her hand traveled from root to tip, slowly. “Damn you for being right.”
8: Sex, Guns, And Gangsta Rap
My heart was hammering so hard I was worried I was having some sort of attack or episode.
I absolutely could not believe I was doing this. At all. Much less with a man I had just met, let alone in this situation, on a small passenger plane full of his friends and coworkers. Any one of them could turn around at any moment and catch us, and then what would they think of me? I was not like that. I didn’t do that. The last guy I had sex with, I didn’t so much as kiss him until we’d been on three dates—not because I believed in the three-date rule per se, but because I generally didn’t like to go there with a guy until I was comfortable with him, and it usually took a while for me to be comfortable with anyone. Yet Puck, somehow, made me feel totally at ease, comfortable, daring even. He didn’t dare me or challenge me to do this, he just didn’t believe I would, and for some stupid reason it triggered something in me that wanted to prove him wrong.
And also, I wanted to do this. I wanted to feel him, to touch him. I also wanted to get him back. I wanted to prove to him that I could play the game too, that I could push his buttons and read his reactions and make him beg. It was equally portioned between the two reasons, honestly. The way he’d made me feel, the intensity of the orgasm, had only made me hornier than ever, made me want him more. And then, after I’d recovered from the climax, I’d looked over and he’d been sporting a monster erection. And he also seemed to genuinely not expect or anticipate anything in return despite how hard he was. And god, he looked huge. And then, when he took off his pants right there beside me, I got my first look at his dick, and I actually stopped breathing for a second. The damn thing was even more perfect and enormous than I’d imagined. Seven or eight inches long at least—so fucking thick, though. My fist didn’t fit around it, it was so thick. One glimpse, and I had to touch him. I wanted that smooth, firm flesh in my hand.
I wanted to feel him lose control. I needed to know, for myself, and I needed him to know that I made him crazy, that I made him beg. Drove him to the edge and pushed him over, but not before toying with him.
And holy shit was it satisfying. Watching him squirm, watching him grind those teeth together and fight the urge to go caveman on me . . . watching him try to stay still and quiet, and lose the battle. So fucking hot. I was all wet again, and now I didn’t have any underwear on, so the wetness was seeping out of me, dripping down; he could probably smell me, I was so wet.
And now I had him on the edge again. Teased, and tortured. Pushed him close to orgasm, backed him away. Gotten him to reveal desperation, the need to feel me touch him again, the need to see me. He was sitting there, chest heaving, jaw clenching, stomach tensed. I had his huge, gorgeous cock in my hand, and all I’d need to do was stroke him a few times and he’d come all over the place. I had his underwear on my lap, ready to use them for easy cleanup. I wasn’t about to tell him this, but I was actually—foolishly, stupidly, probably—considering using my mouth a little. I wouldn’t swallow it all, not this time. But I might let him feel that. Give him that much, just because he’d made me come so hard I had legitimately gotten dizzy from it.
I’d surprise him with it; that was what I’d do.
His eyes were flicking from my hand on his cock, squeezing and shallowly caressing it near the base, and my hand on my bra, holding it closed—then up to my eyes, roaming my features, and back down.
“No touching me,” I said.
He slipped his hands under his butt. “Okay.”
I glanced one more time around the small cabin, noticing Layla and Kyrie had finally dozed off, Kyrie leaning against the window with Layla’s head on her shoulder, and Ivar was using both hands to type on his phone, absorbed, ignoring everything, the big bulky headset on his ears blocking out any sounds we made. As private as we’d get, under the circumstances.
I released my hold on the clasp of my bra, and my boobs bounced free, swaying gently. I reached up and brushed the straps off my shoulders so the garment hung open, baring my breasts completely. His cock throbbed, jumped in my hands, and he shifted, clearly fighting the urge to touch me. I liked seeing that need in his features, how badly he wanted to touch me.
I focused on his dick. Wrapped my right hand around his shaft above my left, and stroked downward. His eyes were fixed on my tits as I stroked him, so I gave a little shimmy, setting them to swaying, and he made a soft grunt in the back of his throat, his hips flexing, pushing his thick, firm, warm cock through my fists. God, it was hot, watching him edge closer to release, and the public setting made it hotter yet.
I felt a gush of wetness seep through my sex, and I clenched my thighs together. He was so close. Hips thrusting, cock pulsing in my hands.
Then I did something crazy, something I’ve never done before, never even considered: I tugged the hem of my skirt up, baring my pussy to Puck’s gaze, and as he watched, I slipped two fingers inside myself, gathering my essence . . . then I smeared it onto the tip of Puck’s cock, mixing it with his own leaking pre-come. He growled low in his throat, his eyes raking over my bared, glistening core.
“Holy motherfucking shit,” he murmured. “Your pussy is fucking perfect.”
I grinned, couldn’t help but touch myself again, smeared more of my wetness onto his dick. Plunged my fist down his length, coating his shaft with sticky wet essence, his and mine mixed. Stroked faster, using both hands now. Skirt up, shirt undone, bra opened—tits bared, pussy bared . . . his thick, hard cock in my hand. People mere feet away. One loud noise and they’d all look back here.
“Fuck,” Puck growled.
“Not yet,” I whispered.
“Trying,” he said through gritted teeth.
“You’re holding back?”
I asked, plunging my hands around him, twisting my fists around his plump pink glans then stroking down to his base.
“Yeah.” His eyes fluttered closed then snapped open, staring in turn at my hands, my tits, my slit.
“Don’t come yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I told you not to. I want you to wait.”
“I can’t much longer.” He tensed all over, hands fisted under his thighs, jaw clenched, breathing hard.
“A little longer. It’ll be worth it.” I kept stroking smooth, even motions from tip to root and back up.
I made him wait, slowing down enough that he started thrusting helplessly, needing the release.
“Puck,” I whispered, and his eyes flitted up to mine.
“Yeah?”
“Say ‘Please, Colbie.’”
His mouth twisted in a grin. “Please, Colbie?”
“How many more orgasms are you gonna give me if I let you take me somewhere private?”
“As many as you can handle, plus one or two more.”
“And I’m gonna pass out from it?” I slowed nearly to a stop, backing him slightly away from the edge.
“Most likely, yeah.” He was thrusting, needing touch, movement, friction.
“Say my name again, Puck.”
He laughed, a huffing grunt. “Colbie.”
I couldn’t hide the pleased smile as I leaned toward him. “Keep saying my name.”
He blinked at me, disbelieving, as I bent over him. “Colbie . . . Jesus—Colbie.”
“Mmm.” It was all I could manage, because I had him in my mouth.
I tasted him and myself. Flesh. Salt. Musk. Sex. Heat, man. My jaw was stretched, and I felt him on my tongue, sliding past my teeth sheathed behind my lips. He let out a long, groaning breath, which I realized belatedly was my name, he was groaning my name like a prayer, drawn out, as I wrapped my lips around him and gave him the heat and warmth and wetness of my mouth.
I couldn’t take much and didn’t try. I stroked him underneath my mouth, moving my hands quickly now, because I knew I couldn’t make him wait any longer. And I didn’t want him to.
He sucked a breath in, a sharp inhalation, and then his teeth clicked together. “Colbie, babe—holy shit. I can’t—I’m gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck—”
I backed away slowly, let him pop free of my mouth, my saliva connecting my lips to his cock in a string, or maybe it was saliva and his pre-come mixed together. He tensed, hips locked in a forward thrust, head pressed back against the seat.
“Now, Puck,” I whispered.
I gathered his underwear and cupped it under the broad head of his cock, shielding the tip with the stretchy black cotton. Stroked him in long, fast jerks, my hand a blur around his root. I felt his breath catch, felt his cock throb and pulse. Shifted my hand up around the top of him and kept going, hard and fast. He growled, a sound from the bottom of his throat, from his chest, muffled as he buried his face in my hair.
“Ohhhh . . . god, Colbie . . .” he breathed.
And then he came. I watched his come jet out of him, soaking into the underwear, kept stroking him as fast as I could. He murmured something unintelligible, thrusting into my hand, and come shot out of him again and again.
I couldn’t stop myself. I bent over him again, guided him into my mouth and flicked my tongue over his cock as he spurted one last little drip. I tasted his seed, thick and salty and tangy and musky, and I licked again and swallowed the little bit that leaked out of him and glided my fist around him as he gasped. I backed away, and kept going with just one hand, slow, deliberate strokes to milk every last little bit of his come out of him, white droplets beading at his tip and sliding down the underside of his cock. I licked them away and kept stroking until he hissed.
“Colbie, holy shit—Colbie.”
“Yes, Puck?”
“Can’t take any more.” He was still hard, but wouldn’t be for much longer.
“Oh no?” I bent over him one more time, grinning at him. “Then . . . this would just be too much, huh?”
I took him in my mouth and sucked as hard as I could, working him with my tongue, using both hands to jerk him faster than ever. He moaned, hips flexing so hard he left the seat entirely.
“Ohh fuck fuck fuck, Colbie, Jesus, Jesus . . .” he groaned.
I was laughing as I sat up. “Now we’re even.” I tucked him back into his pants, zipped him up, and buttoned the fly closed.
I folded his underwear up so the come was as contained as it would get and stuffed the wad into one of his cargo pockets, which I then buttoned closed.
“Holy hell, woman,” he murmured. “That was . . . damn.”
I felt pleased with myself, because Puck was totally limp, head lolling back on the seat, eyes closed, breathing hard. I happened to glance forward, and I saw that Layla was awake, midstretch, twisting in place. She saw me, shirt open, boobs hanging out as I wiped my lips with the back of my hand. I blushed so hard my cheeks went hot and forced myself to remain calm as I fastened my bra. Layla made the international sign for a blowjob, moving her fist toward her mouth and sticking her tongue into her opposite cheek so it appeared as if a dick was poking the inside of her mouth.
Which only made me curse under my breath. “Shit. Shit!”
Layla just grinned and gave me two thumbs up.
“Shit, what?” Puck asked, his eyes still closed.
“Layla saw.”
“Saw what?” He lazily opened one eye and shot her a look.
“Me, with my shirt open, wiping my lips.” I was mortified, shaking. “She knew what I’d just been doing, obviously.”
Puck’s eye closed again. “She won’t judge, trust me.”
“I’m still embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” He took my hand in his, met my gaze. “Hang around this crew long enough, you’ll probably get an eyeful of her doing the same thing. She gives her man so many BJs it’s absurd.” He squeezed my hand. “She’ll probably congratulate you later.”
“She just gave me a big grin and two thumbs up,” I admitted.
“See? She’s happy for us.”
“Happy for us?” I asked, my voice sharper than I’d have liked.
“Yeah, for us.” He tangled his fingers in mine. “You can’t say there’s anything normal about this thing you and I have going on. I know I’ve never done anything like this before, and I don’t think you have either. And then there’s the fact that however you and I may both feel about this whole thing, it’s sure as fuck more than either of us know what to do with.”
“I can’t deny any of that, but—”
He spoke over me. “So yeah, us, wherever that takes us, whatever it looks like.” His gaze shot to mine, and his voice was just as sharp as mine had been a few seconds earlier. “And no, I’m not just saying that because you gave me a handjob so epic I’m having trouble feeling my toes.”
“There was some mouth in there, too,” I couldn’t help pointing out.
“Whatever word or phrase you want to use, then. Blowjob with hands, handjob with a little mouth, whatever—it was fucking incredible. Hands down, without a doubt, unequivocally, the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever experienced.”
“Including everything with what’s her name . . . Maya?”
Puck snorted. “No contest. Not even close.”
“Not even close? She was the best ever, I thought you said.”
“Best ever up until now. What you just did blows that whole week out of the water. No joke.”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m not!” He sat up straighter. “You really think at this point I’m the type to blow smoke up your ass just to make you feel a little better?”
“So what could I have done better?”
“You’re not insecure, are you?”
“No, but I’m not sure I believe you.”
“So if I tell you it was perfect, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I’m not saying that.”
He frowned. “Then what are you saying?”
“I don’t know!” I threw up my hands. “I’ve never done this kind of thing before. On a plane, in public? With a guy I’ve known a matter of hours? I don’t usually make out with a guy on the first date. I’m not a prude, but I don’t trust easily, and I have to have some level of trust before I feel comfortable enough with a guy to let him touch me, to be naked around him. Not because I’m insecure about how I look—I eat healthy and workout and I like how I look. It’s more just . . . I don’t know. But there’s something about you that I just . . . trust. So I don’t know why I did any of that with you. Why I let you touch me, why I touched you, why I’m even thinking about having sex with you, much less feeling like I need it more than I’ve ever needed sex in my life.”
“I’m not a stranger to casual sex, you know that about me at this point. But this is different for me, too. When I’m working, I’m normally laser-focused. This is a job for me, and also more than a job. Getting Layla and the girls back safe to their men, who happen to be not just my coworkers but my friends, my brothers in arms . . . it’s more than a job—it’s personal. So for me to get distracted? That’s never happened. Not since that shit with the madam. I learned my lesson. After that, I avoid temptation while working no matter what. Work is work, a job is a job, and I do not allow myself to be distracted. But you . . . you’re not a distraction. You’re . . . fuck, I don’t know, Colbie. I don’t fucking know. I can’t not do this with you—shit, that sounded stupid. I just mean . . . I could no more stay away from you than I could just stop breathing.” He palmed my cheek, and his hand was big and rough and warm and comforting. “Hear me when I say this: I need this more than I’ve ever needed anything or anyone, too. I absolutely have to feel you, naked and pressed up against me. I have to be inside you. It’s imperative. I don’t care what it takes to make that happen, I’ll fucking do it.”
I heard the sincerity in his voice, and I believed him.
And that scared the bejeezus out of me.
Puck: Alpha One Security Book 4 Page 15
