Page 14 of Puck Daddies
He kisses me, his tongue sliding past the seam of my lips as he rolls onto me. The weight of his body grounds me as I spread my legs for him. His cock is thicker than Oliver’s, and when he mounts me, it’s all I can do not to ramble gibberish into his mouth. The stretch intoxicates me.
He leans back, breaking our kiss to watch my face. When he laces his fingers with mine, he holds me down so all I can see is him. His back arches with his thrusts, digging into my G-spot every time until I’m vibrating inside my skin. I rock up to meet him, sweat building on my lip. But it’s when Rocco reaches down between us for my clit that all hell breaks loose inside of me, and I erupt in a howling scream as I come. Hudson unleashes himself, whipping his body into me, gracefully violent and wickedly delicious as he comes too.
Both of us breathing hard, we disengage to catch our breath. But Rocco has other ideas. He murmurs something in Italian before he rolls me onto my hands and knees. He leans against me from behind, his big cock sandwiched by my ass as Hudson leaks down my thighs. And then Rocco whispers in my ear, “Brace yourself, amor.”
He moves back and begins to enter me, his breath a whistle through his tight teeth.
I gasp from the sheer size of him, and just as I do, Oliver stands at the side of the bed and strokes my cheek. “Open up for me, baby.”
I do it without a second thought, taking him between my lips. He’s the distraction I need to keep me from focusing too hard on the near painfully-sized cock in my pussy.
Rocco purrs, “You’re so fucking wet, amor.”
“That’s me,” Hudson gloats.
Rocco snort-laughs and slaps my ass with his big hand. “It’s her. She’s the reason you made that mess. Credit where it’s due.” Then he thrusts halfway in. “See that? If you weren’t this wet, Icouldn’t get that far so quick. You’re taking me like such a good girl.”
I’m trying to, but it’s almost too much. Not that I can say so with Oliver in my mouth. But I trust them not to hurt me.
And they trust me to take it all.
Soon, we’re rocking back and forth. Down Rocco’s shaft, swallowing Oliver into my throat. I can’t take every inch of Rocco, but I’m doing my best. Then someone plucks at my clit, and I lose my fucking mind, screaming and bucking as I bowl through another orgasm, too enthralled to think, too gone to feel anything but pleasure as Rocco fills me to spilling. Oliver loses it too, shooting down my throat while I mindlessly gulp down every drop.
Mine. They’re all mine.
Another orgasm follows that thought, and I shimmer out of existence inside of myself.
Time fades away. I barely know what’s happening around me. Someone kisses my temple. Someone’s fingers lace with mine. Someone says my name. The room smells like sex and skin and the last of my honey perfume and something else I don’t have a word for yet. I close my eyes and let it be exactly as simple as it is.
6
HUDSON
Huh.That was probably the dumbest thing I have ever done in my life.
Not because anything hurt. Not because anyone crossed a line we didn’t address first. Not because I regret a single second. I don’t.
But the minute the ceiling starts to pale and the room remembers it’s a room, the truth clicks. I can’t go back to anything else now. Not after that. Not after her.
I’m not built for casual when it comes to Meg. I know that about myself. I knew it before last night and I know it with my whole body now.
I could pretend I’m a guy who can take a good thing and tuck it back where it belongs, but that’s bullshit. Now that I’ve had her—had her laugh and moan in my mouth, had her hand fisted in the front of my shirt, had her say my name in a way that rearranged my spine—no one else will do. It’s in my bones. Permanent.
She’s asleep when I open my eyes, and all the dumb sayings people have about heaven start sounding like something I could believe in. She’s curled into me, leg thrown over my hip like it always wanted to be there. She’s wearing my team tee from last night, the one I tossed toward the chair and missed. Her breath slides against my sternum in even counts. Her brown hair tickles my throat. I could stay like this forever and not get bored. I could learn the way her chest rises and falls and make a life out of it.
The room is quiet in the way rooms get after they’ve been loud. My head is louder.
We’re best friends. I’ve had a crush on her since we were kids. Only Oliver and Rocco know. I never told her because I didn’t want to ruin the thing that saved my whole life from being sharp all the time. That’s the truth I keep pressing with my thumb like a bruise to make sure it still hurts. I let everyone believe I was fine with just being the guy who carries boxes and tells jokes and makes breakfast, because being that guy meant I could be near her without breaking anything.
Now, I don’t know if I’ve broken anything, and we’ve got a season to fix.
We have jobs that require us to be obsessive about sleep and food and not doing dumb things that put your head somewhere that isn’t the next shift. Meg is a giant distraction in every way that word can be, good and bad. That’s not her fault. That’s just reality.
I stare at the ceiling and count slow. Not to fall asleep. To slow the part of me that wants to wake her and ask if she meant it and if she wants it again and if she wants me again and if I can keep this shirt on her forever because it looks better on her and that feels somehow like cheating on my team.
Her hand twitches against my chest and I freeze because the last thing I want is to make her feel like she has to reassure me. She doesn’t. Last night happened. I was there. She asked. We said yes. That’s enough for right now.
I slide out from under her and leave the blanket where it is, tucked around her. She makes a small sound and then settles again. I stand beside the bed and look because I can’t help it. I don’t touch. I want to. But I don’t.
