Page 9 of Mother Pucker

“Hey. Hey!” I stomp up the drive behind him, the concrete cold beneath my socks. “You stubborn asshole. We’re not done!”

Erik whirls and tries to grab me again, but I’m ready this time. I duck under his arms and tackle him around the waist. It doesn’t move him an inch, of course. I’d have to weigh twice as much and train twice as hard to even nudge this mountain of a man.

But my fingers dip down, my thumb resting lightly over the inside of his thigh. There’s a sudden hiss above me, an intake of breath so sharp it cuts through everything.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I frown at the tiny sound of pain. “Groin strain, right? That’s no joke, Erik.”

I look up into his face and it hits me. In my determination to get Erik to admit the truth, I pushed along on instinct. But now I’m standing with my hand on his inner thigh, staring into Erik’s amber gaze. Heat suffuses my body. His heat. Even through layers of clothes, I can feel it.

Erik’s cock is hard, straining down the length of his pants. Restrained, but barely. I snatch my hand back like I just burned it on a hot stove. I swallow in a suddenly dry mouth as every drop of moisture in my body heads south for the winter.

Erik reaches down and tips my chin up with one big finger.

“Yes, Payton.” He answers my question— and the one I haven’t asked yet. “There are a lot of things I can’t do right now. Things I want, very much, to do. Do you understand now?”

Suddenly, a lot of things make sense.

I can feel the heat creeping up my cheeks. I’m no wilting violet— I’ve been in too many locker rooms for that. But something about Erik’s smoldering gaze is making my entire body blush. I can feel the heat spreading out from my core, licking along my skin like roaring flames.

“Oh,” I say simply as the fight drains out of me. “I thought maybe it was Sawyer? Or my job? Or, you know—” I swallow hard. “I thought maybe you just didn’t like me like that.”

Erik slowly raises an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth curling up into a smirk.

“Like you? No. I do not like you, Payton.” He laughs, but there’s nothing but fire in his eyes. “I long for you. I ache for you.”

My heart thunders in my ears as Erik goes on.

“The pain of this —” he grabs my hand and presses it against his strained inner thigh “ — is nothing compared to the pain of this.”

His hand shifts, dragging mine over to the bar of steel that is his constrained dick. Fuck, he’s thick. Long. I instantly want to spring it free of its terrible confinement. My pussy is plotting a jailbreak, and it’s already baked the file into my cake.

“But —” he snarls, an animalistic sound that sends a shiver down my spine and a flood of desire down my thighs. “I can’t. We can’t.”

When I don’t answer, Erik drags a hand through his hair, muttering something in Swedish below his breath. I have no idea what he says, but it sounds as filthy as I feel. When he speaks again, his accent is thicker, his speech heavy with the weight of desire.

“You noticed my issues on the ice—” Erik’s golden eyes are alight with lust and willpower. “They’d follow us to the bedroom, Payton. I can’t— I wouldn’t be able to perform right now. Not the way you deserve.”

I bite my bottom lip and I stare, unable to form words yet. Erik has been the object of my every fantasy since I first laid eyes on him. Hearing him confess that he wants me to is almost too much to bear. My hand squeezes instinctively around the steel bar in his pants.

He groans, and it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. I need more of that. I need to make this man lose all control.

“Erik, you’re a fucking idiot,” I snort, narrowing my eyes as I drag my fingers over him.

His eyes widen in shock, his mouth opens to say something — and he groans again as I give him a harder squeeze.

“My stick handling isn’t bad, right?” I ask coyly.

He doesn’t answer with words, but actions.

His mouth crushes against mine, his lips full of savage, primal hunger. It’s a rough kiss, greedy in all the best ways. I melt against him, opening my mouth to slide my tongue against his. We kiss like we do everything else: back and forth, bordering on a fight.

For once, it’s a fight I’m happy to lose.

He scoops me up, and I want to protest, but I can’t. My pussy is driving now— and she’s doing 90 with the top down.

Erik carries me inside his place. It’s as spartan as my own. Not somewhere to live, but a rest stop. Not a home, but a house. There isn’t much in the living spaces beyond a television and one long sectional couch.

The only exception is the bed.

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