Page 26 of The Pucking Grump

Something about her emphasis on the word “stand” and the look in her eyes has me rearing back. Like she can take anything from me as long as it isn’t my disdain.

Damn you, Ken, I think, wishing my friend were here so I could punch him in his face for giving me such horrible advice. Actually, maybe I should punch myself. For being stupid enough to follow it in the first place. Making a gesture only made things worse.

“All of my adult life, I’ve been playing the part. Everything has been one big lie. I didn’t expect that when I finally started to own up to who I am, the first person I’d come across would dislike me this much.” Her voice breaks on the last word, even if her face is expressionless.

Fuck. Me.

“I don’t dislike you.” She’s staring at me in disbelief, so I try to explain further. “Sure, I think your take on love is weird and the fact that you choose to sing love songs about your fiancé—ex-fiancé as a career is a little strange, but . . .”

A tremulous smile forms on her face. “That’s my public image. And yeah, most of it was fake. But you dislike me apart from that. You’re repulsed by what I think about love and with what I choose to do with my days. You loathe me so much that you’d rather leave your own home than spend your time around me.”

I’ve got nothing else to say. Truly.

“So, I think it would be best if we discussed how and when I’ll leave and return to my real life. You’ve done a lot for me already, and I don’t . . .”

My frustration surges upward, propelling me out of my chair and across the table to stand in front of her. A wary look crosses her face. Perhaps she’s wondering if I’m going to make fun of her again. But I’m thinking of something very different this time.

Pulling her up, I set her on the table mere inches from her plate. She inhales sharply, but her thighs are falling open, inviting me to draw closer. I squeeze myself into that space, as close to her as I can get.

“I don’t dislike you,” I mutter, looking down at her stunned face. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I like you too damn much. I want you, so fucking bad. And when I saw you in that bikini, all I could think about . . .” I take a deep breath, unsure of whether I can finish that statement without a practical demonstration. “I bought you all your damn clothes. Don’t know if I managed to sneak that swimsuit in during a fever dream or something, but . . .”

“You didn’t buy it. That, or any kind of underwear, by the way.”

Her words are innocent enough, but being reminded that she has been spending the past four days not wearing anything beneath her clothes is more than I can take. A groan rips itself from my throat as my hands find her waist, pulling her in and crushing her breasts against my chest. Every fiber in my body is filled with need. My only thought is letting my palms explore her.

But I can’t. Not if it means giving her false hope. She has only ever been with one man her entire life, the man she fell in love with.

Girls like Faye Strummer do not know how to separate love from sex, and coming on to her is as good as proposing marriage. I cannot . . .

Just then, I feel her slender fingers. Not on my arm, or my chest, or even around my neck. She could have chosen any one of those locations and still driven me crazy. But she went even farther, pressing against my cock, which is already straining against my pants. It twitches in her hand, wanting to feel more of her.

I look down at the fire in her green eyes.

Maybe Faye does know how to separate love from lust, after all.

9

TIME IS A FUNNY THING

Ihold my breath as I feel him through the thin fabric of his pants. It feels like I’ve forgotten to breathe.

Exploring a huge dick for the first time in your life will do that to you.

I relished watching him squirm when he saw me in my bikini, but I enjoy this reaction better. How red his face is turning, how he’s slowly collapsing against the table, how it looks like he’s also forgetting to breathe.

“Faye.” It’s a warning. But hearing him say my name has the opposite effect. All I want to do is to press on. To get even closer.

“Faye,” he growls again. This time, his fingers wrap around my throat, squeezing slightly. Another warning, like he’s trying to inflict some measure of pain to make me push him away. This one, too, has the opposite effect. I’ve never been choked before, and I didn’t think I’d like it this much. But it feels good. I arch my head back, but still close enough to meet his gaze.

He wants me. I was sure of that at the lake, but somewhere between him refusing to touch me and talking about my ex, I interpreted his words as aversion. Back in the bedroom, I spent the last hour coming to a firm decision about leaving this cabin for good.

And now, I’m here being choked on the kitchen table while stroking his dick.

Time is a funny thing.

A sense of urgency overwhelms me, the need to do even more, feel even more.

Suddenly, I’m reaching for the button on his pants, eager to watch him spring free and to touch him bare.

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