Page 18 of Pucks and Likes

Alex

It’s funny how my mind plays tricks on me.

For the last six months, I thought I had her body memorized. I thought I knew how she felt, how she smelled, and how fucking fantastic it was to have her hair against my face, in my nose. How the shell of her ear is designed for me to run my tongue along, to suck on her lobe. I thought I had her on lock in my mind, but no amount of dreaming, remembering, or imagining is like the real thing.

Elliot Bea McDavid.

Right. She feels fucking right.

I ignore that her body is taut next to mine, instead relishing the curve of her ass in my groin, her back against my chest, and how sweet she smells. She doesn’t smell like strawberries, but more floral with hints of citrus. It’s delectable. Hell, she’s delectable. She’s panting, her body flush with mine as I glide my lips along her ear. “I know I’ve missed you.”

I trail my hands along her sides, hating how big her shirt is. I’ve never seen her in anything this oversized except for my shirts when she’d wander around my apartment looking for food. She has the perfect tits and hips, and her hiding them is downright wrong. I kiss her lobe, and she leans into me, a soft sigh leaving that naughty mouth of hers. I move my hands up to rest across her stomach, but I’m not met with a flat surface like before. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care if she’s put on some weight—my mom would call her too skinny—but it doesn’t feel like she overindulged on donuts. Her stomach is extended, hard.

That’s odd.

Before I can really feel her flesh, she is out of my arms and whipping around to gawk at me. Her hazel eyes are wild, her face flushed, and her mouth parted in a way that urges me to close the distance between us and lick along her lips. To feel her everywhere, to follow my hands with my mouth, to consume her.

God, I want her.

I wasn’t lying when I said I missed her. I did. Greatly. She’s just as beautiful as I remember. Cherubic pink cheeks, a Cupid’s bow top lip with a fuller bottom, her eyes round and an incredible hazel color. They’re more blue than green but with bits of brown. Her brown hair has more blond streaked through it and cascades down her shoulders in styled curls. She has a scar along her chin that I know she got from falling on a rock when she was nine. Even if I hate the too-big shirt, I do enjoy the tight shorts that hug her thighs and show off her shapely legs. She’s wearing a pair of pink Converse that go great with her Pink Floyd tee.

She’s stunning.

And I want her.

“Elliot.”

She holds up her hands at me to keep me at bay. “You can’t just grab me like that,” she snaps, and then she quickly pulls at the shirt, her eyes still on me. “We haven’t spoken in six months. I could be involved with someone.”

I perk a brow at her. “Are you?”

“No.”

Excitement courses through me, and I grin widely at her. “Then come here,” I suggest, taking a step toward her, but she shakes her head.

“No.”

“Elliot,” I coo, lacing my fingers with hers. I rub my thumb along her knuckles when she doesn’t pull back. “I felt how you pressed that sweet ass into me. You missed me. Admit it,” I whisper, coming close and dipping in toward her. I don’t touch her lips or even her nose, but I swear I can hear her heart slamming in her chest. “Tell me, mami. You missed me, yeah?”

She exhales heavily, but I can see in her gaze that she has. She licks her lips, and the same war is raging in her eyes from before. She doesn’t want to want me, but she does. Oh, she does. I reach up, guiding my fingers along her jaw as I gaze into her sweet eyes. Her breath catches as her eyes search mine. “Alex,” she whispers, and I can’t stop the smirk that pulls at the side of my mouth. “You can’t keep touching me.”

“I can’t?”

“No.”

I tsk at her as I continue doing just that. Touching her jaw, her chin, her lips with my fingers. She feels so good under my fingers, and her eyes are enthusiastic for me. “Tell me you missed me.”

“No. You catch feelings too fast,” she throws back at me, and I nod.

“I do, and I’ve never once regretted catching them for you.”

“Nothing has changed.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I say, stepping into her space, but she turns, her shoulder brushing my chest. I lean in, my lips by her ear. “You don’t feel this? This burning electricity between us?”

She doesn’t answer; she doesn’t have to. I can see it in her eyes. I love how expressive they are. The windows to her soul. A soul that lines up with mine. “Admit that you haven’t thought of me, missed me, or wished to hear my voice these last six months?”

“Alex—”

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