Page 74 of Grumpy Puck

Before he can read the latter on my face, I stuff my mouth with my last dumpling and do my best not to moan as I chew it.

I must be chomping in a weird way or something because Michael watches my mouth very intently, like he’s trying to read my lips for some hidden message.

“What would you like to do after dinner?”he finally asks.

I shrug.“Watch some Netflix?”And then, fingers crossed, chill?

“Good idea.”He takes his phone out and looks something up.“How about the olderSuicide Squad?We liked the newer one, so…”

“Sure.How bad can it be?”

As it turns out, the answer is “very.”And yet I can’t bring myself to care because I’m sitting on the couch next to Michael, and the heat of his body melts something in my nether regions, turning me on so much that even a weirdly silver-toothed Joker isn’t spoiling it.

As the action on the screen picks up, Michael wraps his arm around me—which instantly adds at least two stars to my hypothetical review of the film.A little deeper in, Michael pulls me toward him, making me realize two things: we’re officially snuggling, and relatedly, this movie deserves on Oscar.

I float on a happy cloud until the credits start to roll, at which point I face Michael and catch him examining my lips… again.

I moisten said lips.“Did you like it?”

His reply is to crush his mouth against mine.

Oh, my.The kiss is hungry, passionate, and not at all what I’d expect from someone who offered me the guestroom to sleep in.

A tiny moan of pleasure escapes my lips and is promptly swallowed by his.

In an eyeblink, we’re kissing while standing and tugging on each other’s clothes.In two eyeblinks, a trail of those clothes leads all the way to Michael’s bedroom, where he lays me on the sheets and devours my pussy like a man possessed.

“I want to make you come a hundred more times,” he growls once I’m buzzing from a post-orgasm glow.“Maybe a thousand.”

I manage to open my eyes.“That’s pretty ambitious, even for you.”

He shuts me up with a kiss and proceeds to work on his lofty goal until I lose count of the number of times I come.

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of nearby grunts.

Huh.Why am I hearing sexy noises that do not involve me?Is Michael jerking off after yesterday’s sex marathon?

No.

Impossible.

I sit up and see that he’s not spanking any monkeys.Instead, he’s doing push-ups by the bed, which is an even weirder thing to do first thing in the morning.

And did I mention that he’s naked?With muscles glistening and with beads of sweat rolling down his taut skin.

And that butt.

Don’t get me started on that butt.

Suddenly, what seemed like a crazy idea just a moment ago—masturbating first thing in the morning—sounds like a very reasonable and practical way to start the day.

Without intending to, I exhale a tormented breath.

Michael stops the exercise and leaps to his feet.“Morning,” he says, breathing as evenly as if he’d been on a gentle stroll.“Did I wake you?”

“No.”Unless a sexual awakening counts.“What are you doing?”

He walks over to the doorframe and grabs onto a bar attached there, one I didn’t notice before.

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