Page 37 of Grudge Puck
I stared at the space he'd just occupied.
Fuck. Fuck, I'm so dumb.
I laid in a puddle of cum and sweat. Beau's cum, my fluids, and our sweat. In Piper's bed.
And I wondered how thehellI could've possibly been so stupid and naive to do what we just did.
What a colossally bad idea.
Chapter 11
Curfew
Beau
I rushed down the apartment building stairs, burst through the front door and immediately hailed a cab.
Luck was on my side tonight. A vacant cab was right outside the building, waiting for me. I whistled and hopped right in. I gave the cabbie the address to the hotel in Mid-town. I slipped him a $100 bill and told him to hurry.
Money motivates any man, and sure enough, the cabbie stepped on the gas like a bat out of hell. I relaxed into my seat and watched New York City roll by in a blur.
Filthy memories of what I'd just done played through my mind's eye:
That 'one last kiss' that we both knew would lead to more.
The way she reached between my legs and fondled my cock while we tongued.
The sight of those perfect, perky tits spilling out of her dress.
The look in her eyes when I told to her suck me like shealwayswanted to.
Yeah. That's what really got her. It was like a switch flipped in her head. And the girl I knew she'd been hiding from the world finally came out.
She spat on my cock and buried me in her throat. She didn't let me go until streaks of cum were painted up and down her face.
Damn.
My cock swelled fondly at the memories. My waist and thighs were still sticky and coated with her fluids. I sniffed at my fingers like a dog, desperate to find more of her essence. Sweet and musky, a touch of spice. She smelled damned good.
That was the hottest sex I've ever had.
Normally, I'm a one-and-done kinda guy. I find things get a little too complicated after the first time you've slept with a girl.
She startswantingthings …expectingthings … and it all gets to be too much, especially for a busy guy like me.
But … there's something about Camille. I dunno what it is, but there's a little extra something, a kinky spark, that I don't get with other girls.
I'd do her again, is all I'm saying.Ab-so-fucking-lutely.
Judging by the look on her face when I left, though? Ha. For some reason, I don't think I'm going to be seeing Camille again—not at the hockey game tomorrow, not at the club, not ever.
A sour streak of loneliness sank into the pit of my stomach. But I did my best to squash it and ignore it.
Who cares?
I've fucked a lot of girls. Not once have I cared about how much they'll end up hating me the minute after we're done. So why would I care now?
Besides, I think we both needed that. She likes to make me out to be some terrible bad guy, but conveniently, she forgets how mean she was tomeback in the day.
