Page 75 of Puck

“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. Ireallylike 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 with 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.”

“Okay.”

“So did we just agree that you’re moving in with me?” I asked after a few minutes of contented silence.