Page 21 of The Pucking Grump

“Put on some clothes.”

I’m taken aback. There is no way.

“Put on some clothes. Now.” He takes a menacing step closer. Even though the bulge in his pants is bigger than I have ever seen it, he sounds harsh.

I swallow the embarrassment welling up in my throat.

This is exactly why it’s just easier to not expect things.

The feeling of empowerment is swiftly receding, to be replaced by my default setting; the one of a girl unsure of herself and desperate to please. I’m nowhere near the sultry singer who knows how to make men cave by merely looking at them. I might like being desired by Blake, but I don’t know anything else. I’m unsure of how to break him out of his shell.

At heart, I’m still the awkward teen whose dad forced her into singing about love. I might have convinced myself that breaking free from the wedding and getting shut in with someone who wants me meant I could be more, but I was wrong.

I should reach for the towel before this gets any worse. But there’s an undercurrent of rebellion piling up in my heart as well, making it impossible for me to back down as easily as I always do. Just like at the wedding, I’m suddenly sick of remaining within a tight little box, of conforming because it’s the easiest thing to do.

I’ve been stuck here alone for four days because of Blake’s asshole behavior. And yeah, it was hard. I went from every second of my life being scheduled to not knowing the next step. But once I got past the self-loathing and boundlessness, I realized something else.

For the first time in years, I am free. Not just free to do anything I want to, but free to be anything I want to be, as well. My dad is probably still out there, destroying my reputation, but I kind of appreciate it. It means that upon my return, I can write my own story.

The first night I came to the cabin, I stood my ground against Blake and told myself that I wasn’t going to be bossed around anymore. Over the past four days, I’ve cemented that decision even more.

I’m not going to crawl into a cave and hide because someone tells me to. Even Blake. I glance at the veins popping in his forehead, a sure sign that he wants to draw even closer to me and hold me. There’s something holding him back, something that makes it impossible for him to admit to himself how much he desires me.

He’s in denial. It doesn’t mean I have to be too.

I meet Blake’s annoyed gaze. “No.”

He raises his brows. “No?”

“I was here first. You can leave if you don’t like my outfit.” With every passing second, I feel warmer. I’m saying things that I never imagined in my wildest dreams, and I feel more like myself.

“This is my house.” One of the veins in his forehead is threatening to pop. “You don’t get to go around half naked.”

“I was swimming. As I have done for the past three days. And you’re never around. The fact that you’ve decided to stop avoiding me doesn’t mean that information gets automatically downloaded into my brain. You intruded on my privacy. And excuse me, but I’m not half naked. I have a bikini on.”

His blue eyes grow wild with warning. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

I cross my arms underneath my breasts. His gaze dips, and I feel my nipples bead under his watch.

A low sound of longing rips from his throat. I can tell from the look of consternation on his face a second later that he hadn’t meant to be so obvious.

I don’t know much about men, but I do know that he’s weakening. Really quickly. That it’s not unreasonable to expect that he should already be stripping himself of his clothes and making his way to me.

Maybe any other man would be turning my ass over for his dick right about now, but Blake is still rooted in that spot.

He’s refusing to give in.

That should frustrate me. But I feel the exact opposite. I’m pleased. Because dragging this out carries a kind of ecstasy in its own right. Here, I can explore just how bold I’m becoming. And then, when it finally happens, I can revel in how much work I had to do to break him down.

I inhale sharply. I have never really given much thought to what having sex with Blake would feel like. I enjoy foreplay and everything associated, but my heart is churning with thoughts of being claimed by him.

Fluid drips down my thighs. I squeeze them together automatically, and the sudden shock of rubbing my clitoris causes a sound to spill from my lips.

Blake’s azure eyes grow a shade darker, and my own pleasure wounds higher. He’s the very image of stoicism, but I like this, the little details about him that hint at how hard he’s straining to keep himself in check.

Exactly why I have to push further.

“You haven’t been avoiding me?” I ask incredulously. I’m aware of how silly it is to attempt to maintain a normal conversation while being exposed in the most vulnerable of ways.

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