Page 68 of The Pucking Grump

“I want to prolong this,” he gasps. “But I’m desperate to feel you.” His dick is straining against his pants with such force it looks like it’s about to tear the fabric open. I let my fingers go lower, pulling down his waistband and letting his cock spring free. Even after all this time, I feel muted awe as I stare at it.

I’m straining to get closer, to suck it, but Blake has other plans. Shoving pillows aside, he sets me gently on the couch, ridding me of my jeans. I’m completely naked before him. This has happened many times before, but there’s a gentleness to his look that’s new.

He starts to kiss me then, from my neck down to my collarbone, between my breasts, down my stomach. He’s tender, meticulous, and his touch feels so damn good, I’m squirming before he even gets to my belly button. He continues his slow progress, running his tongue down the small tuft of hair between my legs.

“Blake,” I hear myself moan. “Please.”

I don’t know what the hell I’m begging him to do, but I sure hope it doesn’t involve stopping.

Blake takes my pulsing clitoris into his mouth. A tremor runs through me. Automatically, my legs attempt to snap shut, hiding my most sensitive flesh from his touch.

He looks up at me, a smile in his eyes. “You’re going to have to trust me, sweetie. I want to show you the kind of pleasure you’ve only ever dreamed of.”

I hesitate. Sex with Ben never involved oral play, and so far, it hasn’t happened with Blake. I don’t even know anything about it, except that it involves an awful lot of surrender. But when I look down at his blue eyes, I start to relax.

Blake’s right. I can trust him. I’ve always been able to.

He parts my legs and delves in face first. His tongue draws a line down my labia, both taking away and adding to my moistness. His fingers work on my clit as he continues to lick me, prodding his tongue deeper with every stroke.

I close my eyes as pleasure breaks out from me in uncontrollable spasms. Blake keeps at it, slipping a finger inside me and sliding it in and out. Tears start in my eyes as he pushes me closer to the edge. I’m a quavering mess in seconds, trembling all over as my first oral orgasm hits me.

Blake was right. I’ve only ever dreamed of this sort of pleasure.

Or maybe not, I think, as Blake rids himself of his pants and positions himself above me. Even though I’m desperate to have him in me, a part of my brain fires with warning. We’ve never had sex missionary style, ever. It feels too close, too intimate. Less . . . lust-driven.

But Blake doesn’t seem to notice. He pushes himself inside me with one full stroke, and I hear myself scream with pleasure, all of my thoughts disappearing into oblivion. Raising my legs, I wrap them around his waist, urging him to drive into me deeper.

And he does. Over and over, until I can’t even remember my own name.

“Fuck, Faye,” he screams, giving me his longest and slowest stroke yet. “What the hell have you done to me?”

He drives himself into me one final time before he collapses on me, in the throes of his own climax. I hold on to him, my hands coming around his neck too. His weight threatens to flatten me into the couch, but it’s also oddly comforting.

In the silence interrupted by our heavy breathing, I let my thoughts linger on everything Blake said.

I drove here from the complex unable to bear the thought I wouldn’t be seeing you for the next few days.

I hated having anyone in this cabin, until I met you.

What the hell have you done to me?

My breathing is getting deeper and shallower as I settle on the conclusion that scares me to my very core.

He has feelings for me.

I close my eyes, my heart pounding. It’s almost impossible to even imagine it. Blake spent days telling me of his views about romance.

But I can’t deny what’s in front of me.

Especially because I’m falling in love with him.

My heart feels like it’s collapsing on itself, but even with that, a sense of relief creeps in. Admitting what I’ve known for weeks now makes me calmer than I’ve felt in a while. I’m in love with Blake, and there’s no use pretending otherwise. No use pretending everything depends on what he feels for me.

I watch as he pulls on his sweatpants, wondering about the exact moment I started falling. During our weeks of non-stop texting? When he came back for me at the hotel? Or even sooner, the day we met? I remember how firmly he’d gripped me as we fell to the ground, how even then, I knew he was different from anyone I’d ever met.

I pull up my own clothes, still feeling that sensation of my heart caving in. I’ve never felt this way for anyone before.

The fear of not knowing how he feels does not descend on me. Not yet, anyway, because I’m becoming a new, better person. The kind who’s not afraid to feel things for fear that it might offend someone else.

---