Page 46 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

I hear him chuckle right beside my ear, the deep indulgent sound sending tingles straight to my clit. “You wanted to know what it means to be mine? This is what it means, Dove.”

He nips at my earlobe, his fingers circling more quickly, more forcefully. I want to shut my legs, to squirm away from the exhilarating bliss I feel building in my lower belly, but he holds me captive against him.

“I’ll keep your secret safe and your pussy satisfied.”

I am almost a goner, so much pleasure fills me, consumes me, overwhelms me, and I can’t stop it from happening. Even if I wanted to.

The edge is approaching.

Pleasure courses through me, building in waves that make it impossible to pull away, even though I know I should. I’m seconds away from being completely consumed, when suddenly,reality claws its way back. The muffled sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway, followed by a firm knock on the door.

“Hey, Thatcher, it’s time for practice!”

I freeze, every muscle going rigid as the heat between us evaporates in an instant. What the hell am I doing?

My instincts scream at me to pull back, but it’s too late. The doorknob twists, and the door swings open, revealing Ezra standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock. His gaze bounces between Thatcher and me, his expression a mixture of disbelief and something else—smugness maybe?

For a heartbeat, none of us move. The silence is thick with the weight of everything that’s just happened. I feel a wave of mortification crash over me, and I wrench myself out of Thatcher’s hold, trying to straighten myself, to act as if what just happened didn’t.

“You’re interrupting,” Thatcher finally speaks, his voice harsh and biting.

“Sorry,” Ezra smirks, raising a brow at me. “Didn’t realize you were getting your rocks off.”

Heat fills my cheeks, and I clear my throat. This is too embarrassing.

“I’m l-leaving.”

The last thing I want is to face the consequences of what just happened, what I just agreed to, especially not with Ezra standing there, smirking like he’s just walked into a dream.

I push past him, my heart racing, feeling the weight of their stares on my back. I make my way down the hall, each step feeling heavier than the last as my mind races with confusion and embarrassment.

Behind me, I hear Thatcher call out in a teasing voice, I can almost picture the grin on his face as he speaks, “See you tomorrow, Dove.”

Tomorrow comes all too soon.

The Grande coffee is doing nothing to wake me up. After spending a sleepless night plagued by the chaotic replay of yesterday’s events, I hoped a cup of caffeine would help me feel even slightly more alive. But each sip only seems to fuel the tension twisting in my stomach, doing little to shake off the bone-deep exhaustion.

Well, the exhaustion is my fault. In part contributed from my lack of sleep and partially from…

After getting back from the frat house, without saying a word to Cassidy who was waiting for an explanation for where I had been and why I wasn’t in class, I marched into my bedroom, locked the door, stripped down to my underwear and laid on my bed.

My body burned, my underwear was soaked, and I needed to come so bad I wanted to scream. I had no idea how I managed the walk over to the apartment without spontaneously combusting from need right on the sidewalk.

I hadn’t touched myself in so long. Sex became an afterthought ever since Wesley and I broke up, intimacy had fallen off my list of priorities with everything else on my plate. But now, after Thatcher—after his words, his hands, the way he’d kissed me with such consuming force—I couldn’t stop the desire from flooding back.

I couldn’t stop my hands from reaching under my pants and rubbing my clit, trying to replicate his touch, his intensity, his tempo… I even imagined his rough voice teasing me, his heat, his infuriatingly delicious woody and spicy scent. It disgusted me that I was doing this, using his image as I did this, but the need that burned in me consumed all rational thought.

I just needed to come.

When I did, it was desperate, needy and dirty. I bit into my pillow to smother the whimpers that poured out of me as I convulsed, pure electricity racing through my veins. Everythingtightened and released so quickly that I was worried, the white bliss fading into something warm and wonderful. The release came in waves, but instead of satisfaction, a hollow ache lingered. My limbs felt heavy, my mind clouded, and a sense of dread crept in as I lay there, staring at the ceiling.

There had been something almost desperate in that release—like I’d been trying to exorcise him from my mind, to shake off the hold he had over me with each touch, each calculated word. But even in that vulnerable, private moment, he’d haunted every second of it.

Each time, it was the same: a fleeting release that left me feeling emptier than before. I’d tried again and again throughout the night, hoping that, somehow, I could find the satisfaction I craved—a satisfaction that could blot him out, if only temporarily. But it always eluded me, leaving me tangled in my sheets, breathless and frustrated.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was there, lingering in the dark spaces of my mind, an insatiable presence that wouldn’t let me rest. Each attempt to satisfy the ache only brought his face to mind more clearly, his voice, his touch, the way he’d looked at me with a possessiveness that both terrified and thrilled me.

It was ridiculous. Borderline obsessive. I knew it. But still, here I was, exhausted and sleep deprived, the memory alone enough to fuel the restless energy that had kept me up all night.

---