Page 88 of The Puck Chase

“Say it,” I command with a wicked smirk, pressing a little more into him, but gripping his hips tightly when he tries to get me deeper inside of him. “Say ‘fuck me, Daemon’,” I add, trailing one of my hands across my name on his back and groaning out loud.

“Fuck me, Daemon, please, I need you inside of me,” he begs, and fuck, who could deny a plea like that?

I slam into him in one smooth thrust, bottoming out completely, ripping a groan from both of our chests, before pulling back and doing it again. Then I am fucking him relentlessly, pounding into his ass and pulling ungodly sounds from the back of his throat.

“So good, Daemon, so fucking good,” he spits, pushing his hips back into mine, and I tighten my hold on them.

“Look at you with my cock in your ass and my name across your back. You’re mine, Archer, you’re fucking mine,” I spit, reaching around and gripping his cock in my fist, jerking him roughly until we find a rhythm.

He thrusts into my fist and then fucks back onto my cock, slamming his ass against my groin over and over, until I lose my fucking mind. I fuck him hard and deep, pounding into him, while jacking and twisting his length until I can feel his body tightening beneath me.

“Give it to me, Golden Boy, come for me so I can fill this tight ass with my cum,” I spit, moving even faster, fisting my jersey in my hand and dragging him against me even harder.

“Oh fuck,” he shouts, rolling his entire body against mine, as his release coats my fingers and the mattress, tearing my own release from me without pause.

I come with a loud groan, collapsing on top of him, before pulling out of him and dropping beside him on the bed, as his satisfied stare greets me with a smile.

“I fucking love being yours,” he huffs, struggling to catch his breath, and I smile, as I push some of his hair back out of his eyes.

“And I love you,” I reply instantly, his smile getting even wider, as he snuggles his body into mine, content to just be at my side.

“I love you too, baby,” he says, and those five words settle something deep inside of me, something I never thought possible.

If my heart were as cold as I pretend it to be, maybe I could have stopped myself from loving him, but as he settles in my arms, calming me completely, I can’t feel any regret. I now realize I never needed to be healed from my trauma, I just needed to be heard. And though I spent far too long running from him, I’m so glad Archer Gray decided to chase me.

Have you ever had the urge to tell a man to shut the fuck up? Who am I kidding, of course you have. How about five of them, all at once? Again, probably highly likely. They don’t just hunt in packs, they talk shit in them too. Even the copious amounts of alcohol running through my veins isn’t enough to numb the bullshit pouring from their mouths, and there’s only so much polite nodding you can do to a bunch of frat jerks, when you have no fucking clue what they are talking about.

I try to peek over their shoulders to search for my best friend, Malorie, but she’s at the bar flirting with some tall asshole, and I stare daggers into the back of his stupid blond head for distracting her. She was only supposed to be grabbing us a drink, leaving me for a minute at most, and now I’m stuck here. Forfuck sake, can’t she sense I’m in crisis here? I thought we had some sort of twisted sister fucked up bond where she could sense my peril, but apparently not.

The worst part is that, coming out tonight was my idea, one last hurrah before I have to accept my fate and start fresh, and instead of enjoying myself, my ears are being assaulted by some Kappa douche and his four friends. I’m sure by now they can tell I’m not listening to their pissing contest, a fact only proven when the one in the middle leans in even closer.

“What brings you out tonight?” he purrs, smirking in a way that tells me he thinks he’s God's gift to women, and I have to refrain from rolling my eyes,

“My mom dropped dead, followed by my grandma, so drowning my sorrows felt like a good idea, until you got here,” I reply in a sweet, sardonic tone, and his entire face drops, along with his friends.

It’s comical really, but there’s nothing like a dead mom to make you feel like getting completely fucked up. With alcohol I mean, my head is already pretty fucked up all on its own. Most people would find it ironic that three months ago I had never had a drop of alcohol, and I spent most of my nights on my knees in church. Praying that is, get your head out of the gutter. I was a good girl, I followed all the rules, kept my curfew, got decent grades, and never once got myself into any trouble, and now here I am. Using a fake ID to sip tequila, in a bar filled with frat guys enjoying their last few days of Christmas Break. I’m sure if dead people could feel things, my mom would not be feeling particularly proud, but hey, good thing she’s dead, right?

At least I’m still wearing my purity ring, much to my boyfriend’s dismay. He’s waited four years for me, as he so often likes to remind me, but apparently grieving a parent and a grandparent doesn’t factor into Ben’s plans for us. Nor do myplans of moving to another college over two hours away, but hey, maybe the space will do us good.

“Well I bet I could give you a distraction,” the guy finally responds, his eyes solely on my ample tits, as if some mediocre making out could solve my grief, and I almost laugh.

This time I do roll my eyes at him, trying again to get Malorie’s attention, and finally her stare meets mine. I do that thing we do, where we communicate silently with one look, and she says something to the guy distracting her. I see the asshole follow her line of sight, but before I can get a look at who she is currently ditching me for, one of the frat guys gets in my way.

“Maybe we could both give you a distraction,” he purrs, like two dicks are better than one, and a threesome might magically make me feel better, and I internally groan.

No wonder so many women become lesbians, when this is seemingly the alternative.

I open my mouth to respond when an assertive new tone hits us all, pushing past all five of them with ease. “Excuse me, gentlemen, you have something that belongs to me,” he purrs in a smooth British accent, before setting his sights on me. “Shall we, love?” he asks, and I’m momentarily stunned by what I can only describe as a blond Prince Charming.

Hair so blond it’s almost white, a jaw that could cut glass, and a physique these frats guys could only dream of having, and don’t even get me started on his smirk. It’s both determined and possessive, as if no one has ever said the word no to him, and from the custom fit of his clothes and expensive watch on his wrist, I can only assume they haven’t.

I open my mouth about to tell all of them to fuck off, but as if anticipating it, or my best friend has told him I’m a flight risk, he just winks, before leaning forward, picking me up, and effortlessly tossing me over his shoulder.

“Gentlemen,” he says by way of goodbye with the tip of his head, as if he really is some royal fucking prince, and god, he pisses me off more than the fucking frat guy.

“Put me down this instant,” I demand, and I swear I feel his whole body move in a laugh. A body that is hard and firm everywhere, and not for one second showing any signs of being weighed down by my curves, and trust me, there are a lot of them.

“Damn, Valerie, was right, you are a little viper,” he muses, tightening his grip across the back of my thighs, and I have never felt more humiliated in my life.

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