Page 124 of My Pucked Up Enemy

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I wake to the sound of Alex’s steady breathing beside me and sunlight peeking through the blinds. For a second, I just lie there, curled against the sheets that still smell like him and last night. Like heat and skin and sex.

It’s been a week since I told him I was staying, and waking up in his bed, in his space, feels natural. Dangerous, maybe, but right.

I shift, slowly, deliberately, and press a kiss just beneath his jaw. He stirs, eyes still closed, lips quirking like he’s dreaming something good.

“You awake?” I whisper.

“No,” he mutters, voice gravelly. “But if this is a dream, don’t stop.”

I trail my fingers down his chest. I've memorized every inch I want to kiss again. “What if I want you to wake up and earn it?”

His hand shoots out, catching my wrist, and just like that, I’m under him, his body heavy and warm and fully awake now. “Then I guess I better deliver.”

And he does.

It’s slower this time. Deep. Intentional. Every kiss feels like a vow. Every breath shared is like we’re writing something permanent into the space between us.

His mouth drags over my neck, his tongue drawing invisible promises across my skin. He pauses, lifting his head just slightly, eyes dark and gleaming.

"I'm going to unbutton this with my teeth," he says, voice rich with heat and mischief. "And you're going to sit there and enjoy every second of it."

I bite my bottom lip, already trembling with anticipation.

He leans in again, and with slow, precise motions, he works each button open of my pajama top using only his mouth—his tongue dampening the silk, his teeth catching the edge, tugging. It's maddening and erotic and achingly intimate. My panties get wetter with each pop of fabric.

"Sexiest damn shirt I’ve ever seen," he murmurs against my skin. "And it’s coming off."

I slide my fingers into his hair and smile wickedly. "Good. Because I’m ready for your mouth everywhere, Alex."

"You’re so damn beautiful when you’re like this. All mine."

The last button of my pajama top pops free under his teeth, and the silk falls open like a whisper. His gaze drops to my breasts, and he inhales like the sight knocks the breath out of him.

"Perfect," he murmurs, before lowering his head and closing his mouth around one nipple. His tongue circles slowly, deliberately, drawing it into a tight peak. I cry out, arching again as pleasure spikes through me.

He shifts to the other breast, nipping gently, then soothing with warm, open-mouthed kisses that leave me trembling. My fingers tangle deeper in his hair as I gasp his name.

"You like that?" he murmurs, breath hot against my skin.

"Yes... Alex, yes."

I arch beneath him, gasping as he trails one hand down my side, his fingers skating over my hip, gripping just hard enough to make me feel claimed.

“I want you to feel everything,” he murmurs. “No rush. No noise. Just us.”

I nod, too breathless to speak, and he kisses his way lower—teasing, tasting, lingering between my thighs until I’m trembling beneath him, and begging for more.

“Alex…"

He takes his time, building tension with every slip of his tongue, every press of his fingers. Then his hand drifts higher, sliding between my thighs. He groans when he feels the wetness soaking through my panties.

"Fuck, you're already drenched for me," he murmurs, voice low and reverent.

I gasp when he hooks his fingers under the waistband and slides them down slowly, deliberately. He yanks them off and tosses them over his shoulder like they’re nothing, and then grins like a devil.

"That’s better."

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