Page 14 of The Pucking Grump

“Put it back on.”

I blink. “What?”

“Your dress.” Even if his lower body is beckoning to me, his face is a mask of sheer resolve. “Put it back on. Now.”

I lift my chin to him. Following orders has always been my thing. If you want to be a superstar without being branded as a diva, you have to learn how to follow instructions with a smile on your face, to glide through the world without ruffling feathers.

I’m still crashing inwardly from everything my dad said and what it might mean for my career. It’s in my best interest to obey Blake now, because getting into an argument on top of everything else I’m going through has the potential to rip me in two.

But I’m just about sick of following men’s orders. Blake is far from being Ben or my dad, but he has the same arrogant self-assuredness that causes him to believe he can boss me around all day. Like the way he tried to stop me from using the TV.

In retrospect, perhaps that wasn’t the worst of ideas, though.

“I’m not putting this dress back on,” I say, crossing my arms around my chest defiantly. I regret that a second later because the additional pressure causes my breasts to slip further out of my corset.

Blake seems to take note. His gaze slips from my face like lazy molasses, settling heavily on my exposed bosom. I find it difficult to breathe as he takes me in. His gaze doesn’t look impressed, but I can tell I’m affecting him. Strongly.

I wait for revulsion or embarrassment to envelop me, as it usually does when I notice some reporter staring at me brazenly during an interview or a fan’s lustful gaze.

But I don’t feel either of those things.

To my utmost surprise, I feel . . . great. Maybe I have never let myself acknowledge it, but I like this. To be desired so obviously. To know that there is a man out there who wants me, and not in the soft-puppy way I sing about. But in the way that lights a fire in the pit of my stomach and makes me think of Earth-shattering orgasms.

And not just any man, either. But one of the most swoon-worthy guys I have ever seen in my life. He’s a bit of a dick, yeah, but he still looks like Hercules.

Feeling the heat from his gaze is slowly draining the tension from my body. So much that within a few seconds, I realize I have another reason for not wanting to wear my wedding dress.

The fact that he gets to see me.

“You can’t decide to go naked in front of me,” he says. “Especially on your wedding night.”

“It’s no longer my wedding night.” It also feels good to finally stand up for myself, even if it’s to the person that has arguably been the nicest to me today. I think of my dad’s false proclamations, and a sudden wave of recklessness overtakes me. Without thinking, I let my gaze linger on his obvious bulge. “And you don’t seem to mind this situation all that much.”

Fuck, I think a second later, as fury turns his face a blotchy red.

“Is that what you’d like to hear?” he says, taking a step closer. “For me to tell you that I’m hard for you?”

I force myself to stay rooted to the same spot. Something about his reaction is brutish, a little harsh. Surprisingly, though, I don’t feel the slightest bit of fear.

In fact, what I feel is closer to anticipation than anything.

I don’t know what it is about Blake that makes me trust him, but I know with a cool sureness that he’s never going to hurt me. What he could do to me are things that I’d naively convinced myself were beyond the realm of possibility.

And even if I want to draw closer to him, I’m a tiny bit scared of exploring the unknown. Of crossing over from my safe understanding of pleasure to something far greater.

“Alright, here goes.”

I look up at him, startled. He takes another step, closing the gap between us. My heart slams in my chest as I feel his palm against one of my ass cheeks, pulling me to him.

“I’m hard for you.” His breath is hot on my face. “Do you feel it?” I nod, disoriented at his reaction. “Trust me, it’s as confusing for me as it is for you. Didn’t think girls like you were my type. But when you prance around wearing nothing but this, all I want to do is turn you around and screw you till we both forget every second of this miserable day.”

Oh, I think I’d like that.

Sweat beads on my forehead. My arms are riddled with goosebumps. No one has ever spoken to me like this.

No one has ever had an effect this profound on me, either. My inner thighs are so slick with fluid that my panties are nothing but a wedgie between the folds of my lips. I look up at him, barely able to breathe, aware of the fact that I want the picture he described more than he could imagine.

He gives my ass a small squeeze. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” he repeats, this time in a low, sensual voice that sets all my nerve endings on fire.

---