Pucked Love

by Helena Hunting

  “Would you like me to find something else?”

  She throws her hands up in the air. “Yes! You ruin making out when you have Dorito breath.”

  “I didn’t come here to make out. I came here to spend time with you.”

  Her brows pull down. “Why can’t we do both? Why does it have to be one or the other? Or do you not . . . want me like this? Do you need me to change?” She motions to her attire, her confusion endearing, and painfully understandable.

  I drop the snacks on the coffee table and sit down beside her. “I always want you, Charlene.”

  “So why the Doritos? I don’t get it. You come here with gifts, paint my toenails, tease me with that kiss, and then pull out gross-breath snacks like it all makes some kind of sense. What the hell?”

  She’s definitely angry, which seems to defeat the entire purpose of me showing her I want more than sex. “You know that I care about you, don’t you?”

  She purses her lips, eyes roaming over my face as if she’ll find some kind of explanation there. “Yes. I know that.”

  “How?”

  “What?”

  “How do you know?” I ask, because I want to understand what I do to make her see that, since I honestly don’t know.

  “You take care of my needs before your own. You understand when I take things farther then I mean to, and you always know where my limit is. You’ll let me try new things even if it’s not always something you’re keen on. And you bring me flowers and chocolate because you think that’s what I need based on someone else’s idea of what constitutes normal. That’s how I know.”

  It doesn’t escape me that most of these references apply to our sex life, except for the last part, which only serves to reinforce how change is necessary, but it may need to be a bit more gradual. I have until the end of June, which should give me lots of time to make Charlene see that we’re supposed to be more.

  That way, if I’m traded at the end of the season, asking her to come with me won’t be something she’ll balk at. Broaching that subject now doesn’t make sense, not when flowers and chocolate cause this kind of reaction.

  “Darren? Did I say something wrong?”

  I realize I’ve been staring at her, saying nothing in response. I smile in what I hope is reassurance. “No, firefly, you didn’t say anything wrong.”

  She skims my knuckles and scoots a little closer. “This morning you threatened to kiss me for hours the next time we were together.”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?” I drag a single finger along the column of her throat. “Would you like me to make good on that now?”

  “Mmm. I would like that very much.”

  I shift until I’m in the center of the couch and move Charlene to straddle me. I press the softest kiss to her lips, then trail my fingers along her throat. I don’t go back to her mouth like she wants me to. Instead I start at her fingertips, kissing each one, working my way over her knuckles, following the vein on the inside of her wrist all the way to her elbow. I keep going, up the inside of her arm, over her shoulder, across her collarbone, along the side of her neck and the edge of her jaw to her chin.

  The entire time Charlene grinds over me, rubbing herself on my erection through the barrier of clothing. If we were naked, I’d be inside her already. For some reason, restraint is difficult to find and hold on to tonight. Maybe because everything is shifting for me, and I want it to be the same for Charlene.

  I’m about to continue the kiss torture, starting with the neglected fingertips of the other hand, but Charlene grabs my chin to keep me from moving away. She doesn’t try to kiss me. Instead her eyes meet mine, uncertainty flickering there. “Stay here for a minute, please.”

  I lean in and kiss the corner of her mouth before I brush my lips over hers. I curve my finger around the shell of her ear and ease my thumb along her throat until I reach the soft spot under her chin. Her pulse hammers there, hard and steady with untended need.

  I angle her head slightly and tip my own in the opposite direction. Breathing in the warmth of her shaky exhale, I taste chocolate and marshmallow before our mouths are even connected. I press my lips to hers, reveling in the softness before I stroke along the seam. She tastes sweet, as she always does, and that little buzz of lightning always follows, much like the shock of light that appears in the sky when a firefly makes its presence known.

  I don’t stay for a minute. I linger at her lips, sweeping inside her mouth over and over, slow and languorous, as if there is no other place to be, and we’re speaking through kisses that never end.

  I have no idea how long we make out, but Charlene’s lips are swollen and her chin is red from stubble burn by the time I disengage.

  “Should we go upstairs? Do you want me to change now?” she asks on a breathless whisper.

  I skim her bottom lip with a fingertip and shake my head. “I want to stay right here.” I brush her nipple through her tank. “But I’d like to see more of you, if that would be all right.”

  She nods. “Please.”

  I find the hem and tug it up, exposing first her decorated navel, then the gentle curve of her belly to the swell of her breasts. I sigh when I reach her nipples. I had the barbells custom made for her. They boast the Chicago logo and my number on the little balls that hold them in place. She had them pierced a few months after we started dating. Avoiding them during the healing time was a torture worth enduring for both of us.

  Charlene lifts her arms, and I pull the tank over her head.

  “You’re so beautiful.” I meet her heavy, needy gaze. There’s something else there, not the anxiety and anticipation that comes with wondering what’s next, but a different kind of wanting.

  A small smile curves her pouty lips. “So are you.”

  “I think only to you,” I mutter, then dip down to pepper kisses along her jaw and neck and then lower until I reach the swell of her breast. I capture her nipple between my lips, tonguing the barbell before I tug it between my teeth.

  Charlene arches and moans, that delicate sound sending a bolt of heat down my spine. The ache in my balls is damn near violent, but I’m accustomed to delayed gratification and determined to make good on this morning’s promise.

  I lick and suck and kiss one nipple and then the other, moving back and forth between them until Charlene’s fingers are fisted in my hair and she’s grinding aggressively, fighting her way toward an orgasm. I wrap my hands around her waist and lift so she can’t achieve friction.

  She whines my name.

  “I’m pretty sure I said I was going to kiss you for hours before I let you come.”

  “It’s been long enough, don’t you think?” she pleads.

  I glance at the clock on the wall, ticking away our evening. We’ve been making out for far longer than I realized. I pull her closer and kiss the space below her navel, and along the waistband of her leggings. I plan to kiss every inch of her body—eventually—but I’d like to play with her a little longer.

  I settle her ass on my thighs again, but away from my erection so she can’t rub on me. Her expression is pained, desperate, her need for release overwhelming. I keep one hand on her hip but slide the other palm up her stomach, between her breasts, until my fingers drift over her throat, tracing the edge of the pearls. Moving higher, I curl a finger along the shell of her ear and follow the curve of her jaw with my thumb.

  As soon as I release her hip, Charlene tries to slide forward. I tip my head to the side, and she stops.

  I follow the waistband of her leggings with a single finger. “I like these. Why don’t you wear them more often?”

  “I wear them all the time,” she says breathlessly.

  “I would like it if you wore them for me.”

  “Okay. I can do that.”

  I trace the outline of a donut that ends conveniently at the apex of her thighs. She sucks in a raspy breath as I run my knuckle over the bump of steel piercing her hood.

  “I bet I can make you come like this.”<
br />
  “I’m sure you can.”

  I find the steel with my thumb and press gently. Charlene’s grip on my knees tightens, and she rolls her hips. I decide this is how I want her tonight: in my lap, close like this, so I can see every emotion as it crosses her perfect, expressive face.

  I keep circling the piercing, slow and gentle, aware that softness pushes Charlene to the edge the fastest, and that the lack of direct contact is going to make her even needier.

  And just as I predict, she comes, body shaking hard, nails digging into my knees through my jeans. Her elbows give out, and I have to tighten my grip on the back of her neck to keep her in place as she rides out the waves of pleasure, her soft moans growing louder as the orgasm drags her under.

  When she’s over the crest I pull her close again. She’s drunk on her orgasm, uncoordinated and fumbling as brings our mouths back together.

  “Thank you,” she mumbles, tongue already in my mouth.

  She grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it roughly over my head. Her satin fingertips drift down the sides of my neck to my chest. Charlene comes back to suck on my bottom lip as she circles my nipples, but when she attempts to go lower, I stop her. At her questioning expression, I grip her by the waist and lay her out on the couch.

  “I want to taste how much you need me,” I explain.

  I drag her leggings down and toss them to the floor, then pause when I hook my fingers in her underwear. Most of them are some combination of lace, satin or leather. Sometimes it’s all three, and occasionally there are buckles and chains and metal clasps—those are her choice, not mine.

  But her panties tonight are different and nothing I’ve ever seen on her before. They’re cotton—that boy short style I’ve never been particularly fond of. Until now. These are lace trimmed at the waist, with tiny polka dots. Sweet and sexy, just like Charlene.

  “Do you have a lot of these?”

  “A few pairs.” Her cheeks flush.

  “I can buy you more,” I offer.

  “They’re not expensive. I get five pairs for twenty-five dollars.” She lifts her hips, possibly encouraging me to remove them.

  “We could shop for them together. Do they come in different patterns and styles?”

  “They do. I can show you my other ones after.”

  I shimmy them over her hips and drop my head, pressing my lips to the crest of her pubic bone before I remove them and drop them on the coffee table.

  I shoulder my way between her legs and make her come with my mouth. She smells like need and tastes like want. By the time I’m done, the ache in my stomach is damn near killing me. I let Charlene pop the button on my jeans and drag the zipper down. I shove my jeans and boxers over my hips and down my thighs. Charlene stands between my legs and pulls them off the rest of the way, then pushes the coffee table back and sinks to her knees between my parted thighs.

  My erection is pretty much pulsing. Even the air hurts at this point. The head is an angry shade of purple usually reserved for eggplant emojis, and the tip is weeping.

  “Oh God, Darren.” Charlene runs her hands up my thighs, tongue sweeping across her bottom lip.

  I cover her hands with mine before she can put them on me. “No hands, no mouth.” Jesus. I can’t even form sentences that make sense anymore. “Stand, please.”

  She braces her palms on my knees and rises. Then she starts to turn.

  I grab her hips to keep her facing me, then slide my palm down the outside of her thighs until I reach the back of her knees. When I tug her forward she has no choice but to brace her hands on my shoulders and straddle my lap.

  I meet her confused gaze, which is understandable. Usually sex is an elaborate event for Charlene. “Should we go upstairs now? I could—”

  “I want you like this, please.” In two years, we’ve never had sex like this: on her couch, the TV still droning in the background.

  “Okay.” Her eyes are glassy with the same need I feel. “I can take you now?”

  I smile at her phrasing and grit out a yes.

  Charlene’s palms rest on my shoulders and she shifts forward, lining us up without touching me. I position my thumb at the base and angle it toward her. When her hood piercing skims the tip, I groan.

  Charlene’s eyes dart to mine and then back down as the head nudges at her entrance.

  “Slowly, please. I want to savor the feeling of you surrounding me.”

  She places a gentle palm on the side of my neck. Every part of me is burning with need so extreme I feel as if my nerve endings are on fire. She eases down, legs trembling as I disappear inside her.

  I let my head drop back against the cushions, eyes still on her, and take a moment to absorb the sensation. It’s different tonight. Like it’s weighted with something new.

  I could come right now, without even moving, but that would be embarrassing as hell, so I hold her hips to keep her steady, close my eyes to block out the sight and just breathe. Charlene’s fingertips brush along the edge of my jaw, and I have to tell her to stop.

  I open my eyes and find hers. “Everything is magnified right now. Give me a few moments.”

  “Okay.”

  Recognizing how much I need her, all the versions of her, even the ones she might not want me to see, makes this experience so much more intense than usual. While I battle my response to being inside her like this, I trace the delicate lines of her body, distracting myself with the way her skin dampens under my touch and her muscles flex and tighten when I hit a sensitive spot. All of it threatens to push me over the edge, despite not having moved at all. I drop a hand between her thighs and draw tight circles, shifting under her just enough to make her come and keep myself balanced on the painful edge.

  As soon as the orgasm tips her into bliss, I move to the edge of the couch, wrap her legs around my waist and pull her close until our chests meet. I rock her over me, the ache in my balls bitingly vicious as it expands, shooting down my legs and forcing its way up my spine.

  “Ah, fuck.” I press my face into her neck, sucking on the skin, nipping my way up to her mouth. I kiss her, fighting to stay gentle, but need takes over and our teeth clash. I pull back, and Charlene’s nails bite into the back of my neck.

  Her eyes are soft but her words are not. “You gave, now take.”

  I hold her hips, lift and lower, over and over, faster, harder until I come—the whole world a wash of white and stars, the fusion of pleasure and pain so violent I nearly black out.

  Charlene runs her fingers through my hair, the rhythmic action soothing. Eventually I lift my head from the crook of her neck.

  “Hi.” Her voice is hoarse.

  “Hey.”

  “Feel better?”

  “Mmm.” I kiss her tenderly. She’ll need lip balm for days after this. I make a note to do some research and have some sent to her while I’m away. “You?”

  “Mmm. Better times four, I think.”

  “I would like to spend the night, if that’s all right with you.”

  Her eyes flare with surprise, and her smile makes my chest tight.

  “That’s all right with me.”

  Charlene’s bed is a double, so it means we spoon most of the night. My sleep might not have been the greatest, but the night was excellent, so I consider it a fair trade.

  We sleep in late and have lazy morning sex. I’d like to spend the entire day with her, but apparently she has yoga with the girls this afternoon. We shower together, which turns into another round of sex, the slippery kind. Afterward, I watch her get dressed. She wears black yoga pants and a sports tank, her long auburn hair pulled into a ponytail. Like last night, her face is makeup free. She’s always stunning, but I’ve decided I like her best like this. I want her without the mask.

  I fold a hand behind my head as she slips on pair of flip flops. “What are your plans after yoga?”

  “We usually go out for shakes afterwards. Would you like me to cancel?”

  The answer to that is yes. I would
very much like her to cancel, but I’m also aware it might be pushing Charlene too much, too quickly.

  “I don’t want to interfere with your plans. We fly out early tomorrow, so it’s best if I get ready this afternoon and get a good night’s sleep.” I don’t like that the first two playoff games of the series are away, but there’s nothing we can do about it, other than come in prepared.

  I throw the covers off and swing my feet over the edge of the bed. Crooking a finger I beckon her over. When she reaches me, I pull her between my legs and run my hands down her arms. Even with all the fabric in the way, she shivers.

  “I’d like to speak with you tonight, if that’s all right.”

  “Speak with me? About what?”

  A furrow creases her brow, so I smooth it out with my thumbs.

  “To find out how your day was. To hear your voice.”

  “Oh.” The furrow returns.

  “Is that okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay.”

  “Great.” I take her face between my palms and kiss her until she has to push away and rush out the door for fear of being late.

  I flop back down on the mattress. I could upgrade it for her. Get her something better and bigger, but I don’t want to make her place more comfortable.

  I meet up with Alex for an afternoon workout since I have nothing else to do and then head home. As I pack a bag for tomorrow’s flight, I check my messages and frown when I note a voicemail from my grandparents. My good mood is dunked in a bucket of shit when I find out my parents are supposed to be in town this week for some kind of conference. I never hear from them directly. Technically I don’t consider them my parents at all since my grandparents officially adopted me when I was four. At least I won’t be in Chicago at the same time they are, so that’s a relief.

  I want to brush it off as meaningless, but it shines a dark light on the progress I made with Charlene last night. Because as much as I want things to change, one thing I want to keep her away from is my family, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that forever.

  Which is exactly how long I want to keep Charlene.