Page 44 of Puck Daddies
“Don’t stop.”
But I set the tin aside. “I need to kiss you.”
“Yes,” she says, immediate.
I step in and kiss her, slow at first because I don’t trust myself when I’m running hot. She leans into me, hands on my sides. I let the kiss deepen and lose myself in her.
She grips my shirt and pulls me against her. Wax flakes at the edge, catching on fabric. I slide my hands around her waist and lift her onto the counter. She settles there, knees open, ankles hooking at my back. I stand between and hold the curve of her hips.
I map her again with my mouth and hands, the same way I did in my room, but without the patience of a lesson. This is not patient. The square of skin warmed by the wax is soft now under my mouth. She makes a sound into my ear, and it hits the center of me. I yank her shirt open and buttons fly across the kitchen.
“More wax,” she says.
I tip the tin and let a few drops fall along the line of her shoulder, then down the inside of her arm. She watches it, pupils blown. I smooth the trail with my palm. She shivers and pulls me harder to her.
Her hands go to my waistband and works me free. We don’t need words for a minute. We just move. My shirt flies through the air; her jeans are shucked off.
I brace her back with one hand and slide the other to guide myself, and then we’re against each other in a way that makes both of us breathe wrong. She arches. I hold her hip and adjust one inch at a time until the angle is right. Until we move together.
I keep the pace she gives me. I hold on so I don’t go too hard, but that’s for two strokes, tops. I need this. She needs me too. She grips my shoulders and finds a rhythm that works for both of us. We kiss and break and kiss again. The counter edge digs into my thighs. I don’t fucking care.
“I want…” she starts, and can’t finish.
“Tell me,” I say.
“Faster, Hudson,” she says. “Please!”
I go faster. She meets me, every time. She hides her face in my neck and says my name, and I lose the last of my careful. Her wet pussy squeezes on me. It’s all I can do not to come right the fuck now. But not until she does.
Not until she’s begging for it. “You’re close.”
“Yes,” whimpers out of her ragged throat.
I press our foreheads together and hang on. When she goes, it hits her all at once. I feel it and I say, “Good pet,” because I can’t not.
She shakes, and her body goes loose. “Please, I’m right there, oh fuck!”
I push harder, faster, anything that gets her there. She bites my lip and growls as she comes on my cock and drags me there with her, every tremor of hers echoing in my body until we go still again. I hold her steady and finish with a hard breath I try to swallow and fail. I rest my head on her shoulder and breathe until my body remembers how.
We stay there a minute and do nothing. No words. Just air. The room smells like honey cedar and sweat.
“Water,” I say because it’s a very safe word. Safer than anything on my mind. Too sensitive to pull out, but I have to. It’s intense, and I pass her a paper towel as soon as possible for cleanup.
I grab the bottle and hold it to her mouth. She drinks. I drink. I wet a cloth and wipe the wax flakes off her collarbone and the cooled lines from her shoulder.
She touches my jaw. “You okay?”
I nod. “You?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks are still pink. She looks good like this. I don’t say that. I think it too loud.
We stand there and look at each other. I pick a fleck of wax from her sleeve and flick it into the trash.
“I need to say something,” I say.
“Okay.”
“I’ve liked you since middle school. Not the way you like a teammate. The other way. I didn’t say it because I didn’t want to break us.”
