Page 22 of The Pucking Grump

But again, it is one of the most formidable things I have done.

Blake is unyieldingly stubborn. He raises his face back to mine, as if to tell me that his momentary lack of concentration is just that: momentary.

“I haven’t,” he asserts stubbornly.

“So, you leave the cabin every morning and come back every night because you’ve got a job somewhere?” I know that him leaving the house has something to do with how attracted he is to me. It feels good to finally call him out on it.

His jaw hardens. “I leave the cabin every morning because I’ve got to work out and run errands around town. That, or watch a game or see some friends. I know you’ve spent your whole adult life thinking the world revolves around you, Strummer, but not everything I do is about you.”

He is deflecting to hurt me. Maybe he’s hoping he will strike a nerve deep enough for me to put on some clothes and get the hell out of his life for good.

Knowing what he wants makes it that much easier to decide to spite him.

“So, you get a cabin out in the middle of nowhere because all you want to do is to hang out indoors? That’s logical.”

His face clouds with rage. I feel a deeper spark of pleasure. Seeing him come to the realization that I’m not that easy to walk over feels better than anything else has felt in the past few days.

He looks like he wants to say several things at once. But then he lets out an aggravated sigh, as though deciding not to pursue the argument.

“I came back here early because I needed to talk to you about something.”

“So, talk.”

There’s a pause from him as his gaze runs over my body again. I know exactly what he is thinking, that he would rather die than have a conversation with me while I’m wearing a skimpy bikini.

But then Blake is nothing if not hardhearted. And he would rather perish than allow himself to lose.

His lips part, ready to start speaking. But at that moment, a small insect perches on the exposed skin on my breast, and I swipe at it reflexively. My fingers touch my breast for an instant, and I hear Blake let out another, louder grunt.

I look up at him. His eyes are blue fire, and he’s clenching his jaw so tightly that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.

He’s losing it.

And I get to help him along.

Realizing the effect it has on him, I leave my fingers where they are, giving my breast a playful caress. Blake’s eyes are unabashedly on them, drinking in every movement, looking as though his very breath is hinged on my playing with my tits.

I don’t need to think of what to do next. The lust in his eyes directs me, and I somehow know what he would enjoy seeing.

I brush my thumb across my nipple, which is fully erect underneath the suit. The bud seems to explode in pleasure, and a moan of surprise bursts from my lips. I have touched myself before, but I have never felt that kind of pleasure from nipple rubbing.

Blake watching makes all the difference.

In that moment, I let go of my need to punish him or make him lose control. Right now, I want something else more than I want either of those things.

Him.

I communicate this to him silently, letting my other hand cup my other breast, squeezing both of them gently. My thighs are slick with fluid, and my vagina seems to be quaking with how desperately I need him to fill me.

Blake lets out another grunt. This one is less angry, more acquiescing.

And then he strolls over to me.

I’ve finally managed to make the big guy lose control.

He’s going to punish me for it. I can already see his fingers closing around my throat as he drags me in for a kiss, can already imagine his hands squeezing my ass.

My breath catches. I’m not able to breathe until he’s right in front of me, bending his face over mine, his eyes smoldering.

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