“Oh . . . ohhhh. Oh god, Puck. I really like that,” she breathed.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I stiffened my tongue and kept going, and she whimpered again.
“But—”
I glanced up at her. “But what, babe?”
She blushed, which seemed silly, but I had a feeling she wasn’t used to asking for what she wanted, not in so many words, and especially not this, which she’d admitted she’d never done before. “Your finger.”
I spat on my hand and applied the saliva to her, working it against the knot of muscle, and I felt her tighten at my touch. “Relax, babe.”
“I’m trying.”
“Don’t try—just enjoy it.” I teased her with my finger, touching, pressing, but not pushing in.
She moaned at my torture, flexing her hips toward me as she warmed to the feeling. “What if—what if I touched myself . . . while you touched me back there?”
“I have a better idea,” I said. “Stay just like that, hands on the wall.”
I pivoted and put my back to the marble floor and slid underneath her, and saw her staring down at me past the mound of her breasts.
“Oh god.” She reached down and cupped the side of my head. “Yes. That. That’s a much better idea.”
She guided me where she wanted me, holding on to the back of my head as I moved in to taste the sweet sugar of her pussy. Because she tasted like heaven, sweet and smoky and delicious, a taste I’d never get tired of. I worked my finger slowly inside her and used my tongue to work her up to orgasm, bringing her there as fast as I could, no games, no teasing. Just my finger in the tight, clamping channel of her asshole and her pussy grinding on my mouth, her hand clutching me hard against her, rocking into me, crying out, wailing loudly as she came apart. I tasted her as she came, lapped and licked and sucked away her juices as she gushed all over my face, my finger pulsing in and out of her. She was still convulsing through her orgasm when I stood up behind her and slid into her, helpless to stop myself. Her pussy clamped down around me as I fucked into her, and she moaned even harder, moving with me until I was at the edge myself, and her fingers were still moving on her clit, and I felt her clamp down and heard her cry out as a second orgasm wrenched through her.
I nearly didn’t pull out in time. I felt it hit like an earthquake, and only barely yanked myself out of her tight, warm slit. Colbie whirled as I pulled out and wrapped her hands around me, sliding her fists along my length until I collapsed forward against her, pressing my face into her wet tits and gasping raggedly as I exploded, my come spurting all over her sliding fists, all over her belly, all over mine.
“Holy shit, Puck,” she breathed into my ear.
“Holy shit,” I agreed. “You’re always gorgeous, but you’re never sexier than when you’re coming.”
She pushed me backward, and we both glanced down at the mess I’d made. “Good thing we’re in the shower, huh?” she asked, laughing. “The truth is, I feel sexy when you make me come.” She grabbed the shower gel and began working it into my skin. “Feel free to make me come as much as you want, as long as you want, any way you want, whenever you want.”
I let out a harsh breath at her words. “That’s an awfully open-ended invitation, Colbie.”
She was lathering the soap over my ass as she answered, taking extra time there, playing with me as if she enjoyed my ass as much as I enjoyed hers. “It was meant to be, Puck.” She worked the soap up my back and then down my chest again, and then sank to her knees to wash my calves and then my thighs. “This—you and me, how you make me feel—I don’t think I can let go of it. I can’t give it up. It feels too amazing. Emotionally, physically, you just . . . you get me.”
“Colbie, I—”
“You get me, Puck.” She gazed at me so I could see the genuineness and vulnerability in her. “You get me, so . . . you get me. For as long as you want me.”
I let out a breath. “Cole, honey.” Her face twisted in an expression that was equal parts pain and pleasure. “What if I never stop wanting you?” It was a rhetorical question, and she knew it, didn’t bother answering, but her sweet, hopeful smile told me everything I needed to know.
We washed each other’s hair and rinsed once more, and finally shut off the now lukewarm water.
We dried off, wrapped ourselves in towels, and then sat on the couch, and the conversation that followed was easy and endless, helped along by more of that amazing Scotch.
I’d long since lost track of time, and the only clock was in the bedroom and the blinds were drawn, and I didn’t care what time it was. Late night, or early morning. I didn’t care. When we were both buzzed, I tugged Colbie to her feet, yanked the towel off her, shed my own, and we fell into bed. I pulled her against my side, her head on my shoulder, the blankets up around us. She threw her leg over mine, pulled my face down hers, and kissed me stupid.
Kissed me breathless.
A kiss that was a Kiss, another one that swept me away, sent me delving into the depths of this wild, powerful thing I’d found in this wild, powerful woman.
This time, though, the kiss faded, and our eyes closed, and we fell asleep like that, nuzzled together.
I woke hours later, sunlight peeking around the blinds. Puck was asleep in front of me; his butt snuggled up against my front. I slid my arm under his to clutch his chest. He wiggled his ass against me, burrowing deeper. I was lazy, sleepy, and so comfortable I could lie there forever. I faded back to sleep that way, my face against Puck’s broad back, my nose between his shoulder blades, my arm over his hip, my hand on his belly.
I woke again, in the same position. Hours later yet, judging by how drowsy and foggy I felt. Refreshed, but still lazy. Content to lie there and drift.
Puck shifted in his sleep, making a soft sound of contentedness as he burrowed back into me, seeking out and finding my hand in a partially conscious gesture. He held my hand like that, and I felt him drift back to sleep, his grip loosening until he let go.
Depositing my hand right onto his hard cock.
I smiled against his back, remembering our time in the shower last night, what I’d done to him. A lot of work, but so fucking worth it to feel him lose control, to see him so completely consumed in pleasure. Especially after the way he’d made me come, the sheer quantity and quality of mind-blowing orgasms he’d given me; I’d wanted to blow his mind as completely as he had mine.
I gripped his cock, unable to stop myself. And why should I? I shifted so I could see his erection with my hand on it. And then my eyes landed on the string of condoms he’d set on the nightstand.
Oh.
Oh yes.
I reached out, leaning over him to snag the string, tore one free, tossed the rest who knew where. Ripped it open with my teeth and tossed the wrapper aside.
Rolled the condom down his hard length. He moaned, murmured, but didn’t wake.
I smiled, glad he was staying asleep.
I pulled at his shoulder, and he moaned and murmured again, but rolled with me so he was behind me, spooning me, now.
Perfect.
I snugged my ass back against him, reached between my legs to find him, and guided him into me. I moaned as he filled me, and I felt him shift, heard him murmur and mumble. I rolled my hips back against him, pressing my ass against his thighs, sighing in pleasure as I felt his thickness spread me apart. I reached behind us to clutch his ass, holding on for leverage as I slowly pushed back against him, again and again.
He moaned low in his throat.
Began unconsciously moving with me.
“Cole . . .” I heard him mumble, sleepy, maybe still asleep.
I rolled my hips again and craned my head around so I could press my lips against his. “Puck,” I whispered.
He made another sleepy, unintelligible sound, and his hand slid along my hip, searching, and his hips flexed to push his cock deeper into me. “Cole . . . so good.”
I believed he thought he was dr
eaming, and the fact that he was moaning my name even in his sleep sent thrills of deep satisfaction and happiness through me.
I sighed in pleasure, letting my hips move in a sinuous slide, holding on to his hard ass, head twisted to keep my lips pressed against his cheek. His hand clutched at my hip, gripped and released, and then squeezed again, pulling at me.
“Unnhh . . . Cole . . . Colbie.” He sounded more coherent now, more awake. Still thought he was dreaming, though.
“Puck, god, Puck,” I breathed.
I heard him grunt in surprise, and his subconscious thrusting faltered. “Colbie?”
I rolled my hips and clutched his ass, found his mouth and kissed him, morning breath and all. “Keep going, Puck.”
“Holy shit.”
“I know, right?”
He slid his hand up to my tits, fondling them, taking both in one hand and squeezing as he let himself move again. “Jesus, Cole. You really know how to wake a guy up.”
I breathed a laugh and nuzzled my nose into his cheek, his beard tickling my chin. “Couldn’t help it. Accidentally got a handful of your hard-on, and I wanted you, so I figured why not?”
He slid his palm down my belly and between my legs, found my clit and sent me soaring. “I wouldn’t mind waking up like this more often.”
“Me either.” I gasped as his touch brought me from merely enjoying sex to riding the edge of climax within seconds, with a speed and intensity I’d only ever felt with Puck—would only ever feel with Puck, something told me. “Of course, I wouldn’t mind waking up one morning with your cock inside me. Or your mouth on me.”
His teeth latched onto my shoulder, and I felt his abs flexing against my spine as he drove into me slowly, lazily. “I think that can be arranged.”
“Yeah?”
He groaned against my back, his breathing beginning to stutter, his thrusts to gain power and intensity. “How about every morning?”
I heard what he was saying, and understood what he wasn’t. “I think that could be arranged,” I echoed his words from a moment before.
“Yeah?”
I dug my fingernails into the iron-hard muscle of his butt, clawing at him as his fingers whirled and blurred and stroked me toward a gasping, thrashing climax. It didn’t take long for either of us. I fell into shattering climax within a handful of strokes, and he was right there with me, grunting into my ear, breathing my name. I moaned as I felt him come, his climax blasting through him as I dissolved into a thrashing, wailing orgasm, taking him hard, taking him deep, his thrusts wild and frenzied.
He was chanting my nickname again—Cole . . . Cole . . . Cole—in time with his thrusts, and I had my teeth buried in the thin skin of his neck, biting as hard as I dared, groaning—growling, really—as our mutual orgasm seared through us. I felt him, not just his orgasm, not just the release or the heat as his come filled the condom, or his hands clutching me everywhere he could reach, or how deep he went as he fucked me furiously through the last wrenching, shuddering waves of our climax.
Not all that. But him. I felt bound to him, connected to him in a way I’d never connected to anyone, no matter how good the sex. This was the best by several orders of magnitude, but also more, deeper, more meaningful. Not just deeper like he could fuck me so deep—which was true and delicious and incredible and I wasn’t even done coming and I wanted him to fuck me again, and harder, and deeper—but because I somehow was meant to do this with him. No point in over dramatizing it or putting labels on it or sticking it into boxes, but it was just . . . meant to be. And I had absolutely no plan or desire to let go of him until it was obvious we were done, and if that day never came, so be it, and maybe I’d learn how to use the L-word with him, and we’d have one of those things that start with the letter “M” and rhymes with carriage, something that’s never even crossed my mind until I met Puck . . .
Jesus.
Fucking yesterday?
Really? Felt like longer.
We were gasping, stilled, his cock still stiff inside me, his hands clutching my tits possessively. He seemed content to let me lie on him like that as I caught my breath and recovered from the orgasm, and I was content to stay like that as long as he’d let me; he was a very comfortable man.
“Where do you live, Puck?”
“Where do I live?” he repeated the question. “Um. Nowhere, really. I have an apartment I rent in Boulder, because it’s within driving distance of Harris and Layla’s compound, but I don’t stay there much. I’m on the road a lot when I’m not working. Just riding.”
“No plans to find somewhere to stick, though?” I asked, endeavoring to sound casual. “Like, no intention of putting down roots?”
Puck shifted his hips so he pulled out of me, and we both groaned as I lost him. He tied off the condom and tossed it onto the floor, and then I rolled so I was facing him, lying almost completely on top of him, my head on his chest, his beard tickling me, his hands stroking through my hair.
“Never had a reason to stay in any one place before,” he said. “Don’t have anything against sticking around, I’ve just . . . never had a reason.”
“What if you had a reason?”
His touch skated down my back. “Then I’d stay.”
“Where?”
“Wherever the reason was.”
I allowed a long silence to grow, until I summoned the courage and my voice. “How do you feel about New York?”
“How do you feel about long weekend trips on my Harley?” he countered.
“I end up working from home on Mondays quite frequently, and most of my work can be done with a cell phone and a laptop, so as long as I have signal and Wi-Fi, I can work from pretty much anywhere.” I paused. “So if, say, a motorcycle trip was to last from Friday after work until late Monday evening, would that make up for having to be in the city during the week?”
He chuckled. “I have nothing against the city. I’ve always enjoyed Manhattan.”
“Actually, I live in DUMBO, I just work in Manhattan. It’s too expensive to live downtown Manhattan.”
“What’s dumbo?”
“It’s a name, it stands for Down under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass,” I answered. “It’s a neighborhood in Brooklyn.”
“Oh. Well, whatever.” He gripped my ass with both hands, as if he couldn’t help himself, and god knew I didn’t mind. I loved the way he couldn’t keep his hands off me, and as I thought that, I realized I’d used the L-word, and tried not to panic. “As long as you don’t try to turn me into a hipster.”
I snorted. “Dear god, no.” I lifted up and tugged on his beard. “Don’t change a single thing about yourself.”
“Nothing?”
I tilted my head to one side, thinking. “Maybe fewer metal shirts?”
He chuckled. “That one’s easy enough. I usually only wear them while I’m working anyway.”
“What about me?”
“What do you mean, what about you?”
“Anything you would change?”
He pulled me into a kiss. “Cole, baby . . . not a goddamn thing.”
I wiggled against him. “Good answer.”
He palmed my ass again, and kissed me in response.
The kiss was endless, drowning. Minutes, or hours, or I didn’t know how long. It stole my breath, and made my pussy drip, and I felt him harden.
I writhed, and wriggled, and shifted, and felt him slide bare into me.
“Get ready to get messy, sweet thing,” Puck murmured to me.
I moaned as he moved. “I like getting messy with you.” I slid off him and rolled to my hands and knees, swayed my ass at him. “Like this. That way when you pull out, you can make a mess all over my ass.”
He growled. “Goddamn, Cole. I really like the way you think.”
“And then we’ll need another shower,” I said, letting my voice make the obvious suggestion.
Puck just laughed again, but it was a growling, eager, pleased sound.
I laughed wit
h him, but the laugh turned into a groan as he slid into me, and then the groan turned into a whimper as he started fucking me, and the whimper turned into a wail as he spanked me in time with his thrusts, one cheek and then the other in turn, harder and harder, until he was fucking and spanking with crazed abandon, and I was slamming back into him and I didn’t need to touch myself to come. I still did, though, because I liked—loved—touching myself while Puck fucked me, feeling his cock slam into me as my fingers flew.
He growled again, and I felt him falter, stop, and pull out. I lowered myself so my chest was on the bed and my ass was in the air for him, and I watched over my shoulder as he jerked his cock rough and hard, and our eyes met, and I grinned in delight watching his come squirt out of him. I felt it splash onto my ass, again and again, more and more and more come in thick, wet, hot, viscous puddles, dripping down my crack and tickling my asshole.
“God, that was hot,” I breathed, when he was done.
He groaned wordlessly, holding on to my ass with both hands for balance, gasping. “Yeah, babe, it was . . . fucking intense.”
“Intense fucking, you mean,” I laughed.
He laughed with me, sliding off the bed and stumbling as if half-drunk to the bathroom, where he snagged a washcloth, wet it with hot water, wrung it out, and came back to me, wiping me until I was thoroughly clean.
He finally collapsed onto the bed beside me. “Jesus. Twice before breakfast. I think that’s a new record, even for me.”
“I’m all about new experiences,” I said, grinning at him.
“And I love that about you,” he said, and then blinked at me as if realizing what he’d just said. “Um.”
I snuggled closer to him, laid my head on his chest and toyed with his flaccid dick, flopping it back and forth. “Don’t take it back. Don’t explain it. Just . . . let it stand.”
Puck: Alpha One Security Book 4 Page 22
