Page 45 of Puck

He didn’t take as long, this time. He even went so far as to pull my leg aside. I didn’t fight that as hard as I should have, but hell, I was all worked up and still trembling from how close he’d gotten me to orgasm, and I wanted that release,needed itat this point. Dammit, I needed it. I wanted his touch, ached for it. He touched me like I belonged to him, like he knew exactly what I wanted.

Somehow, I was lower in the seat, and my thighs were falling open. If Puck had drawn attention to that, I’d have sat upright and closed my legs, but he was a smart bastard, so he said nothing, just took advantage of it. Found my sex waiting, hot and wet and ready. Slid that finger into me, and immediately drew it out and brushed it against my clit. My eyes closed and my teeth ground together, and my chest heaved, because somehow that short reprieve as Puck removed my underwear had only served to make me wetter, more sensitive, more ready. Closer. God, so close.

He was teasing, now. He’d slide his finger in and pull it out, tease my clit, then slide it back in. Two fingers, middle finger and ring finger, and then he’d tease me once more, and yet somehow he never quite gave me the pressure I needed to get any closer to orgasm. Yet the urge, the need, the heat, it all kept building. Each time he brushed my clit, each time he slid those fingers into me, I wanted it more, needed it more desperately, and each time I got the teasing burst of sizzling pleasure from the brief touch to my clit, I’d hope and silently beg that this time he’d let me come, yet he never did. And the desperation was intense, now. Almost unbearable.

I had my fingers curled into fists, my jaw clenched. Eyes closed. I was breathing deeply, long, sucking inhalations and slow, shaky exhalations—resisting the urge to give in each time he touched me.

And always, his touch was slow and unhurried and gentle.

A squelch as he slid two fingers in.

I bit down on a whimper when he brushed my clit.

And this time, when I clamped my teeth around the breathy little sound, he did it again. Two fingertips stroking my clit, and my hips flexed. Again, and I felt my butt cheeks squeeze together, and my thighs tremble as I fought the urge to lift my hips, to grind into his fingers.

“How long are you gonna fight it, Colbie?” His whisper was close, so quiet I had to strain to hear him.

“I . . .” My train of thought was derailed when he grazed my clit a third time; the pressure, the pleasure, and the searing need were all tangled and wild and throbbing—one more touch like that, maybe two, and I’d be gone. “I . . .oh—”

One fingertip, pressing firm against the bud of my clit, pressing, just touching, and I was shaking all over, barely able to breathe, fighting it, needing it, wanting it, refusing to give in. He wanted this; he had to take it from me. He had to know I never gave up, that he’d earned it.

And god, holy shit, he was close.

Because I was rightthere. And he fucking knew it. Yet he didn’t take it.

Instead, he plunged his finger into me so deep his palm bumped against my clit, and I was rocked forward as a blinding clenching burst bit through me.Grind that palm . . . right there, right there. That was what ran through my head, but never passed my lips.

Yet my hips were flexing on their own. A slight, subtle movement, but I knew he felt it.

Out again, and that was it—one more even accidental nudge and I’d be toppling over the edge, coming harder than I ever had in my life.

Yet he didn’t give it to me. He fucking knewexactlyhow close I was—how the hell he knew, I had no idea, but he knew. Frustration boiled through me, tangled with raw need and rippling desperation.

“Puck—goddammit.”

He had the audacity to laugh. “You want it, Colbie. You’re there, beautiful. I can feel it. Your thighs are shaking. You can’t breathe. Your hips are moving.” He slid his finger back in, agonizingly slowly. I gasped as I felt his finger press in. “Two words.”

“Two words?” My eyes flew open and met his.

In and out, in and out, slow, consistent—finger-fucking me. Hot, erotic, pleasurable, but not what I needed. He was silent, watching me as his fingers glided smoothly through my wetness.

“Two words, Puck?” I prompted.

I couldn’t help it anymore. My hips were grinding with his movements, seeking what I so desperately wanted. I was crazed with it. I had to come.Hadto. He’d been working me to the edge and back for I couldn’t remember how long. Forever, it felt like. Too long. If I didn’t come soon, I’d explode with frustration.

“Please, Puck,” he murmured.

“Fuck you,” I snarled, under my breath.

“Got that backward, hot stuff. Pretty sure I’m the one fucking you.” He increased his speed, but never quite let any part of his hand touch my clit. “Say those two words, and you’ll be coming all over my hand so hard you’ll see stars.”

“No.”

“Fair enough.” He withdrew his touch completely.

“What are you doing?” I asked, hating the edge of panic in my voice.

“My wrist is cramping,” he said, a smirk on his lips.