Page 26 of Pucking the Grump

“Now. Upstairs,” I pant against his lips.

He breaks the kiss, his voice already ragged. “Yes. Now.”

We jog toward the elevator, his hand clamped around mine, laughter and desire thick in the air between us as we dash across the garage. The second the elevator doors slide open with a ding, he shoves me inside, slamming the button for his floor before pinning me against the mirrored wall.

His mouth finds my throat, his tongue teasing across my skin, while his hand finds its way down the front of my pants again.

“Stone—”

“Just let me feel how wet you are,” he whispers, fingers slipping into my panties, making my breath hitch. “Fuck, Bossy, you’re dripping. I can smell how turned on you are, Rem, and it’s driving me crazy.”

I arch into him with a gasp. “Stone, stop. There are cameras everywhere these days. They’re probably?—”

“Nope, no camera in this elevator. Not anymore.” He nips my collarbone as his fingers circle my clit. “It’s been broken for months. Everyone in the building’s pissed about it for some reason. But not me… Think you can get there before we reach my floor?”

“I don’t know.”

But I’ll try, I add silently.

I fist his shirt, riding his hand as the elevator climbs, my thighs shaking. He pulls back to watch me, his pupils blown, lips parted—a Viking undone by my pleasure. When I clench around him, crying out in the close air, he murmurs filthy praise as he brings his hand to his mouth, licking my come off his fingers with a moan.

“Bad man,” I pant.

“So bad,” he agrees as the doors ding open. He takes my hand again, smirking at my dazed expression. “Round one and two to me.”

“Cheater,” I say, as he tows me down the hall. “You didn’t even let me try.”

“But I will,” he promises, squeezing my fingers. “I’m so damned hard for you, Rem. Fair warning, I might not last long the first time.”

Before I can reply, I’m cut off by Barb’s manic barking, echoing down the hall long before Stone opens the door. As we step inside, a blur of rhinestones and elation rockets toward us, toenails clacking on the hardwood.

Stone gathers his tiny dog to his chest with one big hand, cooing as Barb licks his chin, literally trembling with happiness to have her daddy home. “Who’s the prettiest pup in Portland?” he asks. “Baby girl, you’re beautiful today. Show Remy your outfit.”

Barb yips as she squirms in his grip to face me, her sequined pink tutu quivering below her rhinestone-studded tank top.

I bite my lip and fight a smile, knowing Barb hates it when you laugh at her fashion. “Wow, Barbie girl,” I coo, doing my best to sound impressed. “Looking good today, sweets. Love the ballerina meets biker vibe.”

Barb grins, her small tongue lolling out as she graciously accepts the compliment, which she both expects and deserves.

“She’s in her punk phase, and I’m not sad about it,” Stone says, setting her down. “Don’t be jealous, but she also has a tiny black biker hat that she wears when we go out for walks.”

“Ugh, I’m so jealous.” I crouch down to scratch her ears. “That sounds fantastic, Barb. You’ll have to show me.” I cast a meaningful—and heated—glance up at Stone. “Later…”

“So much later,” he agrees, his voice rough again.

I stand, moving into his arms, but Barb lets out a sharp bark before trotting over to her food bowl by Stone’s massive TV.

She turns, shooting a bug-eyed look his way.

“She needs fancy hipster puppy supper. One sec.” He gives my ass a quick squeeze before jogging into the kitchen to grab the dog food from the fridge. He’s back in a flash, praising Barb for being such a sweet, patient girl as he fills her bowl.

I watch him, my chest going warm and soft. This is the problem with Stone—the way he loves his fussy, adorably bratty little dog, the joy he finds in simple, silly things. The way he looks at me, like I’m something rare and precious instead of just another tightly wound, overachieving former “gifted kid” on the verge of burnout.

I warn myself not to lean into the softness. I can’t afford to be soft.

Not now, not yet…

Not until I reach the finish line.

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