Page 27 of Pucking the Grump

He fills Barb’s bowl, then straightens, catching my stare.

He crosses the room in two big steps, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Everything good?”

I nod, my throat dry as I lie, “Yeah. Just ready for you.”

His gaze searches mine for a beat before he whispers, “Me, too.” He kisses me slowly this time, sweetly, and my traitorous heart lurches.

We stumble across the open living room to the bedroom, hands everywhere, mouths fused. Stone kicks the door shut behind us, already ripping my sweatshirt over my head. He makes quick work of my sports bra, too, biting his lip as he bares my breasts.

“Yep, still gorgeous. Still fucking perfect,” he breathes, palming me in his hands. His thumbs brush my nipples, and I arch into him with a gasp.

“Less talking,” I demand, yanking his sweater over his head. My hands roam his chest, tracing the familiar planes of muscle, the scattered freckles I’ve memorized with my tongue.

He lets out an encouraging moan as he maneuvers us closer to the bed. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and I fall, pulling him with me. His weight settles between my thighs, perfect and heavy, as his mouth finds mine again.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, rolling his hips in a way that makes me see stars.

“You know what I want.”

“Say it anyway.” His teeth graze my jaw. “I love hearing you ask for it, Rem. Hearing you beg for me to fuck you, take you, please you…”

I drag my nails down his back, feeling him shudder. “I want your mouth on me. Then, I want you inside me. So deep inside me, I can’t—” I break off as his hand slides between us, cupping me through my leggings.

“How deep?” His voice is rough, hungry. “Tell me.”

“Every inch,” I breathe. “Every single one.”

He delivers another bruising kiss as he tears at our remaining clothes. When we’re finally skin to skin, his cock hard against my thigh, I wrap my legs around his hips and flip us over.

Stone lands on his back with a huff that turns into a swiftly indrawn breath as I take him in my hand. “Thought you wanted my mouth first.”

I stroke his pulsing length slowly, deliberately, savoring the way his abs clench and a vein in his neck begins to flutter. “Changed my mind,” I whisper. “I don’t think I can wait. I need you inside me.”

He growls, his fingers clamping tight around my waist as I shift forward until the head of his cock brushes against my entrance. I let him feel the heat, the slickness, the way I’m already so swollen and ready for him, but I don’t drop my hips.

Not yet…

I circle them, instead, holding his gaze as I tease every inch of his swollen tip with my pussy. Then I reverse direction, thanking my figure skating days for everything I know about isolating graceful, dancer-style muscles. Watching a red flush creep from Stone’s chest to his throat, all the way up to his cheeks, is all the encouragement I need to ensure that hip swivels remain a part of my cool-down at the gym for the foreseeable future.

“Fuck, Remy,” he bites out through clenched teeth. “Now who’s bad, woman?”

“I am,” I say without a beat of hesitation. “And you love it.”

“Yeah,” he says, the words as soft and sure as the look in his eyes. “I sure fucking do.”

Still holding his gaze, I sink slowly down, biting my lip as I take him deeper, my inner walls stretching to accommodate his girth. He curses, a low moan vibrating from his throat as I bottom out with his cock buried all the way to the base. The way he fills me is enough to make me keenly aware of every inch of him, but not enough to hurt.

In fact, it’s perfect.

Magic.

We stay like that for a long beat, our bodies flush and our blood rushing in time as we stare straight into each other’s hearts. And his heart is beautiful, as always, but even more open than it’s been before. Tonight, his guard is all the way down, his blue eyes shining with emotion that makes my throat go tight as the moment stretches on.

“Jesus, Remy.” He reaches up, cupping my face in one big hand. “Do you know how beautiful you are? Because you are. Every piece of you. Inside and out.”

A part of me wants to confess that I feel beautiful with him, that I feel grounded and strong in a whole new way. That I’m starting to think I might be capable of trying things I’ve never tried before. I might even become the kind of woman who stays instead of the kind who uses a burner phone to keep her hookups at a distance and never met a morning after she wouldn’t avoid by sneaking out in the middle of the night.

But my lips refuse to move.

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