Page 42 of Huge Pucking Play

He turns me in the water, our bodies sliding against each other with delicious friction. His mouth captures mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens, his tongue seeking entrance. I open to him willingly, hungrily, my hands coming up to frame his face.

The taste of him is intoxicating—a hint of mint and bourbon that I'm already addicted to. Our tongues dance and explore as water sloshes gently around us. I feel weightless, suspended in this perfect moment where nothing exists beyond this bathtub, beyond us.

His hands slide up my ribcage, leaving trails of heat that have nothing to do with the bathwater. When his palms finally cup my breasts, I gasp into his mouth. My nipples harden instantly against his touch, and he breaks our kiss to look down at me.

"So responsive," he murmurs, his thumbs circling my nipples. "I love that about you."

I can't form words as he gently kneads my breasts, his touch alternating between feather-light and firmly possessive. The contrast is maddening.

I arch my back involuntarily, silently begging for more. He notices—of course he notices—and the corner of his mouth lifts in a knowing smile.

"Patience," he whispers, but then contradicts himself by pinching my nipples between his fingers.

"Oh God," I gasp, my head falling back.

The sensation shoots straight between my legs, where I'm already throbbing with need. He rolls my nipples gently, then with more pressure, gauging my reactions. Each touch sends new waves of pleasure through me, building and building until I'm squirming against him in the water.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs against my ear, his breath hot. "And I fucking need you."

One of his hands trails down my stomach, leaving my breast bereft but creating a path of goosebumps in its wake. His fingers brush against my abdomen, circling my navel, dipping lower with each pass. The anticipation is delicious torture.

"Please," I whisper, not caring how needy I sound.

His hand moves lower, fingers threading through the curls between my legs. I hold my breath as he pauses there, hovering just above where I'm aching for him to touch. Then slowly, deliberately, he parts me with his fingers.

"So soft," he whispers, and I shudder as his fingers explore me, gentle yet oh-so confident.

The water makes everything slick, heightening every sensation. His middle finger slides between my folds, circling my entrance before moving up to find my clit. I gasp at the contact, my hips jerking involuntarily.

"Stay still for me," he murmurs against my ear, his voice a delicious command.

I try to obey, but it's nearly impossible when his finger begins to trace circles around the bundle of nerves that's already throbbing for him. The pressure is perfect—not too hard, not too soft—as if he's already learned exactly how to touch me.

"Like this?" he asks, though the smirk in his voice tells me he already knows the answer.

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the bathwater. "God, yes."

“Are you sure?” he teases. “I can’t tell if you’re enjoying it or not.”

I open my eyes to look into his and smile. “Stop fucking with me.”

“Oh, I’ve only just begun.”

His hardness presses against my thigh, hot and insistent even underwater. The knowledge that he's so aroused by touching me only heightens my pleasure. I reach down, wanting to feel him, but he catches my wrist with his free hand.

"Not yet," he says, his eyes dark with desire. "Let me take care of you first."

The restraint in his voice—the control he's exerting—makes me wild. I want to feel him lose that control, want to be the reason for it, but right now I'm at his mercy.

His fingers work magic, finding a rhythm that has me clutching at his shoulders.

"Garrett," I gasp, as he increases the pressure slightly.

"Tell me what you need," he whispers against my ear, his breath hot. "More pressure? Faster?"

I can barely form words. "Just...don't stop."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. "I wouldn't dream of it."

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