Page 10 of Mother Pucker

Dominating the middle of Erik’s spacious master bedroom, the four-poster mahogany frame is filled with a thick mattress and piles of soft, warm blankets. It’s huge, sturdy, and luxurious— the perfect fit for a man like Erik.

My Viking throws me onto the bed without another word. I land hard and bounce twice. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s exactly the right amount of rough that I’ve always craved.

He fixes me with another one of those piercing looks. Nailed in place, I can’t help but squirm for him.

“Are you sure about this, Payton?” Erik asks, patient as ever. “We can stop now. We can wait until I’m fully healed.”

I shake my head, unable to find words in my dry throat. My bottom lip is swollen from kissing Erik and gnawing away at it nervously. Being around the sexiest man alive will do that to you, I guess.

“I want as much of you as I can take, Nordstrom.” My voice is as shaky as the rest of me, but I can’t stop talking. It’s a confession, spilling out of me as I gaze up at my would-be priest. “I’ve ruined every pair of panties I’ve worn around you. I can’t think around you, can’t stop craving the things you’ve promised.”

His brow furrows.

“I haven’t promised anything,” he says, crossing his arms across his big chest.

I narrow my eyes at him, cocking my head to the side.

“Every argument we’ve ever had— every time I annoyed you by being right. This is how you wanted it to end. What we both wanted.” I shrug, but there’s nothing casual about it. “Even today, out there on the ice, this is what you were thinking of, wasn’t it? Me, in your bed, begging.”

Erik’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a huge breath. He uncrosses his arms before reaching down to pull his shirt off. Fuck, he’s huge. He doesn’t have a barrel for a chest, he’s got a whole fucking tank. Instinctively I spread my legs, my own hands dropping down to fumble with the hem of my shirt.

“No.”

No is a complete sentence, but it’s a damn frustrating one.

“Why not?” I ask.

Insecurity flirts with me. I like my body, but I know I’m not every guy’s idea of perfection. Maybe Erik doesn’t want to see all of me?

“Because, Payton. If you take your clothes off, I won’t be able to stop myself.” His mouth is a hard line as Erik’s eyes drag across my body in the middle of his bed. “I’ll have to fuck you— injury or not. And that will only make it worse.”

Ok, scratch that insecurity.

“Alright,” I move my hands off my clothes and watch the show. “That might be the wildest line I’ve ever heard, but damn was it hot.”

Erik holds my eyes while he strips the rest of his clothes off slowly. It isn’t quite a striptease, but he’s not rushing, either. It’s slow and deliberate. The way he does everything. Methodical.

He’s watching my eyes, so he sees them dip down to his cock.

There are a lot of words that come to mind. Big. Thick. Monster. But the one that escapes my lips is—

“Perfect,” I breathe it out like a prayer.

Because I’m still staring, I see his cock jump, bobbing up and down. The veins crisscrossing it are standing out so much that I want to trace them with my tongue.

My eyes cut back up to Erik’s, seeing the smirk there. Well, he certainly has a body worth being smug about. He summons me with a crook of his finger, like a king or a pharaoh or a chief. I go willingly, eager to get my hands on him.

“I’m glad you’re hurt,” I tell him honestly, looking up at his eyes.

He frowns again, that same look of consternation appearing. It gives me a little thrill every time I confuse him. It’s scoring another point in a game we’ve been playing since we met.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because there’s no way I could take this tonight,” I reach out and grasp his cock with both hands. “You’re huge.”

The first thing I think is heavy. His cock has weight to it, a heft I wasn’t expecting. Toys and my fingers don’t have that same feeling. His skin is softer and warmer than I expected, but his steel core is as hard as ice.

He snorts, shaking his head.

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