Page 20 of Puck My Life

I scramble out of his arms, managing to roll onto my stomach and reach for my phone, but, damn, if Mal doesn’t follow, pushing my thighs apart and draping his body over mine.

This stupid, ridiculous, self-indulgent feline part of me preens, wanting to do nothing more but curl up smaller so he can cover even more of me. The heavy, hot weight of him crushing me to my bed that smells like him and me. His hard dick nestled between the very thin sleep shorts I’m wearing.

I claw at the pillow, struggling to breathe evenly. He flexes, and I just about melt. This sensation of pulling claws at my lower abdomen, grabbing nerves and muscles and turning me to liquid heat.

“Mal!” my voice comes out in a croak. I clear my throat while I fight to remain still. “Mal, please. You have to wake up.”

Why? Why does he have to wake up? He will regret this if I let it continue, that’s why.

He nuzzles my shoulders and reaches over me, grabbing the pillow. His hands are all veiny and huge. Strong, capable hands, I’ve fantasized about those hands. I bite my lip until I taste blood. He grunts as he thrusts up, the enormous length of him now nestled between my ass cheeks, my shorts wedged high.

I bite my wrist and pant, squeezing the pillow as I try to get hold of myself.

“Mal!” I shout.

He grinds into me again and then stills.

“Oh, fuck!” Just as suddenly, he rolls off me, springing up. “Shit, sorry, Vae. Oh, man, I’m late. Gotta go.”

And just like that, he’s gone. I bury my face in the pillow, trying not to cry. My pussy aches, and I’m wet, wetter than I’ve ever been. I slide a hand down and carefully slip my hand between my thighs. I’m soaking.

This must be slick.

“No!”

I spring up as fast as Malcolm did.

“No. This isn’t right.”

The door slams open, and Deacon glares at me. “We’re late. You’re driving. Hurry up.”

I want to protest, but I don’t want him to pay too much attention to me.

“Okay,” I say weakly.

His eyes travel up and down me before he inhales. He takes half a step into the room, his eyes burning with a light that makes me dizzy.

“Deacon! HURRY UP!” Mal shouts from the other end of the house.

He steps back, and I’m able to release the breath I’m holding. With one last lingering look, he steps out of my room and races off. It doesn’t take me long to get ready, and, in fifteen minutes, I’m sitting in the car, giving myself the pep talk from hell.

I glare out the windscreen, trying to get my body under control. But I vividly recall the way he felt, the sensuous way he moved on me.

“Oh, God, stop, please.”

I reach into the glove box and pull out some of the scent-neutralizing spray I picked up yesterday. It smells awful, which is bizarre, but as long as it masks mine, I don’t care. I spray half the damn bottle in the car with me, but the minute I see Mal on the porch, my scent tries to make an appearance. I spray my clothes and shove the bottle in the side of the door.

Mal climbs in the back, right behind me where I can’t see him, but I can feel him.

His hand lands on my shoulder, and I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. My whole body tenses, ignoring my screaming brain.

“Indy’s coming over for dinner tonight. It would be really good if you could make her favourite.”

I stiffen, the warmth, the arousal leaching out at an alarming rate, leaving me distressingly clear-headed and cold, so cold inside.

I glance in the rearview mirror and see him smiling at his phone. It was supposed to be a glance, but I can’t look away, not until the door wrenches open, and Deacon slides into the passenger seat.

I rip my eyes from Mal and focus on starting and driving the car, even with Deacon’s glare burrowing into the side of my head.