Page 72 of Puck You Very Much

“All right,” he responded slowly. “But first…to your bedroom. You’re going to want to mount me and I’d rather fall on a soft mattress than a hard floor.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you were afraid you’d get carried away by the idea that you’re special. But okay.”

She hurried ahead of him through the living room and pushed open the door to another large room.

Dax stopped dead in his tracks. Strangely, the bed was the second thing he noticed. The first thing he saw was a huge sack hanging from the ceiling that…

“What?” Lucy asked, surprised, having obviously seen his stunned expression.

“Did you stick my face on your punching bag?” he asked in disbelief, gesturing to the corner of the room.

“Oh,” Lucy said and laughed loudly. “Um. Yes. An anger management strategy on my part. Always worked well.”

“Fuck, should I be afraid of you beating me up?” Skeptical, he looked at her.

“Not anymore, no,” she promised hastily. “And if you’d finally take off your shirt, I will definitely be more lenient with you.” Her face was so deadly serious that it made him laugh.

“My goodness, you’re obsessed with my upper body.”

Her eyes darkened and she licked her lips. “You have no idea,” she whispered.

Dax got hard just from her look. Okay, shit, enough talk. He finally gave her what she wanted.

He pulled the long-sleeved shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. Lucy closely watched every move he made. Her gaze slid over his chest and down his stomach before stopping at the belt buckle.

Well, it was obvious what she wanted him to do next, so he slowly unzipped and stepped out of his pants and then his boxer shorts. Now he was completely naked.

His erection bounced against his stomach and Dax saw Lucy swallow before her gaze wandered again—leisurely, appreciatively. Dax felt it in every pore.

“Don’t let it go to your head, but… God, you’re beautiful,” she whispered, licking her lips again.

“Ditto,” he murmured, his voice sounding gravelly to his ears. He had to stop himself from closing the distance between them and throwing her onto the bed. This was her night. She wanted control, and she was going to get it.

Lucy took a shuddering breath, sought his gaze again, undid her skirt, and let it fall. Wearing only high heels, nylons, and a tight-fitting blouse, she approached, placed a warm hand on his chest, and pushed him toward the bed until the edge hit the back of his knees and he fell backward onto the mattress.

She calmly placed one leg then the other on either side of his hips and let her hands wander: up his chest, over his shoulders, and down his biceps to his hands, before counting his six-pack with her nails and stroking the fine hairs there.

Dax was on fire. His cock pulsed, and when she slowly sat on him, soft on hard, he groaned loudly.

He could feel her wetness through her panties and nylons—and, shit, how much she was turned on turned him on. He wanted to reach for her, turn her under him, and rip the stupid pantyhose off her body, but when he raised his hands, she shook her head and pinned them to the mattress with her own so that her breasts and the stiff fabric of her blouse brushed his chest.

“No,” she whispered, and hell, he had never found that word so hot. “I’m not finished yet.”

He could have freed himself, but he stopped and left his hands where they were. Lucy sat upright again and stroked his cock repeatedly with her bottom, with her wet center, which he could feel even though she was still dressed.

It was hell. It was heaven. It was torture and pure bliss at the same time.

Mouth dry, he watched Lucy’s eyes glaze over as she rubbed herself against him and undid the buttons of her blouse. She undid one button after the other until a dark blue lacy bra appeared.

Lucy took off her blouse, threw it behind her, and then fiddled with the bra clasp, still rocking back and forth on his erection, driving him mad with desire.

Then the bra fell and her heavy, beautiful breasts pushed for freedom—and Dax could no longer hold back. He had to touch. Taste. His hands wandered as if on their own, dipping to Lucy’s waist before sliding over her ribcage…until they cupped her breasts and he tweaked their hard tips with his fingers.

Lucy didn’t stop him. Her breathing grew shallower, her lips slightly parted. When he sat upright, wrapping his arm around her back and taking a nipple in his mouth, she gasped and continued to circle her hips. She tortured him while he tortured her until she trembled in his arms, braced her hands against his chest, and pushed him back onto the mattress.

She stood and bent down to unbuckle her high heels, but this time he shook his head. “No. Keep them on. So many of my fantasies have revolved around your shoes.”

“Really?” she said, surprised.

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