Page 9 of Pucking Fake

My tongue tangles with hers, and any protests die on her lips. Maybe because she still has my dick in her hand, torturing me as she explores. I don't know. But she doesn't say a word when I tug her shirt up over her head. She does grumble when I remove her hand from my dick to pull the fabric the rest of the way off her body, though.

And that body? Fucking hell. I've always known I was into curvy women. Something about them is just fucking sexy to me. They're so soft, so damn beautiful. But Peyton is in a class of her own. She's all curves and translucent skin, too beautiful for words.

"Fuck," I whisper, pressing against her shoulder to lay her out on top of the island. "I need my mouth all over you right fucking now, angel."

"Logan," she whimpers, staring up at me like I'm the best thing since sliced bread. Her back settles against the cool marble and she arches upward, shivering.

I unhook the front clasp of her bra, spreading it open.

Heaven used to be the ice. It was game time and the energy of the crowd pulsing through the arena. That was a sad simile. This right here? Nirvana. Paradise. Heaven. The afterlife.

My name echoes around us as I fall on her like a mannerless beast, pulling her right nipple into my mouth. I can't help it. It's hard and pink and begging for attention. It basically needs me.

I torment it with attention, loving the way she groans and whimpers and practically begs me to keep going. As if I'm prepared to stop. I move to the other, giving it the same treatment as my hand slips down her body, touching her everywhere.

She's silk beneath my fingertips, as soft and sweet as I expected. And sensitive, too. She trembles when I trace lines across her belly, and whimpers when I grip her waist.

Her whole damn body flails when I slip my hand into her pants, teasing along the hem of her panties.

Those panties are going to be the death of me. They're lace. How the fuck am I supposed to resist her in lace? I can't. It's impossible.

"Please, please," she babbles.

"Please what, sweet Peyton?" I tease, dipping one finger beneath to stroke it along her mound. "What are you begging for, baby?"

"I…you…" She chokes on a whimper when I dip my fingertip into her slit, teasing there too. "Yes, that!"

"You want me to touch your pretty little cunt? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Yes, Logan. Please."

"Mm. No." I still my hand, dragging my lips down her sternum instead. "I think I'll just leave my hand right here until I'm good and ready."

"You know murder is justified in some situations," she groans.

"Yeah?" I dip my tongue into her belly button and then rake my teeth down her lower abdomen. "I don't think not letting you come is one of them, baby."

"Might be. Sexual insanity."

I chuckle against her skin before biting her.

She flails beneath me again, moaning.

"I think I like that sound. Keep making it." I maneuver so I can inch her zipper down while keeping one hand in her pants and my mouth on her skin.

She groans beneath me again, louder this time.

I slide my finger through her juices, toying with her. She's so fucking wet. Christ Almighty. I can't wait until she's dripping down my chin and going wild for me. I already know she will. That fire in her can't be contained. It isn't quiet and polite. She'll come and scream and squirm until she's satisfied.

And I'll be the lucky motherfucker worshipping on his knees.

Yeah, I like the sound of that.

I tug her jeans down inch by inch, tormenting her just because I can. Just because I already know this woman is going to rule my entire fucking world and I intend to make her pay for it with sweat and come and obedience. I'll be her plaything. I'll do herbidding. But when we're like this, I'll drive her fucking wild just because I can.

"Logan, please," she whimpers, stretched thin and wrecked by the time I get her pants off. I leave her panties on for the time being and take a moment to appreciate the sight. Mostly because I was right.

Her in lace is irresistible. That wet spot spreading across the scrap of lace between her thighs is a thing of beauty. She's a literal goddess, writhing on the island, begging for relief.

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