Page 52 of Dirty As Puck
I shake my head. My mouth’s too dry for anything anyway.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Then she closes the door gently and leans against it, studying me like she’s trying to find something.
“I’m not trying to get information out of you tonight, so you can relax,” she says quietly.
“I know.”
Something eases in my chest. I close the space between us, slow steps, every inch deliberate. My hand finds her cheek, a thumb brushing her jaw. She doesn’t flinch.
I’ve been waiting for this moment since the last. I can’t recall the last time I wanted someone this badly.
I lean down, seeking permission. She closes the distance.
The kiss starts slowly, like we’re being cautious. Her lips feel warm, familiar, and I ravish the taste of it.
No mind games or power play. All that’s between us is the heated desire that we can no longer ignore.
Her fingers slip beneath my hoodie, tracing the line of an old scar along my ribs. “What’s this one?” she murmurs against my mouth.
“First year in foster care. A cut by a broken bottle.”
She let out a low hum, not out of pity, just acknowledgement, and then she keeps going. Each mark she touches feels less like an exposed wound and for the first time, it’s not a story that she’s chasing after.
By the time we reach the bed, my hoodie’s gone, her hair’s a mess, our lips are swollen and warm. The air feels thick with heat and raw hunger.
She pushes me gently and climbs over my lap, kissing me again. It’s slower now, like she’s mapping the shape of my breath.
My hands find her hips and slide up her back, feeling every inch of her without the usual rush of anger. Every sigh she lets out sinks deeper than the moans we’ve torn out of each other before.
Her dress slides off her shoulders instantly. I press my mouth to the curve of her neck and follow the path down to her collarbone, her chest. She gasps when I suck gently on a nipple, then laughs quietly, her fingers threading through my hair.
“You’re different tonight,” she whispers, mocking me.
“Maybe I’m just tired of pretending I don’t want you, because I do.”
Our clothes start to fall away piece by piece. We move with a strange patience, like neither of us wants to break whatever spell is holding us at this moment. Our naked skin presses against each other, slowly grinding, breaths mingling in the dark.
I’m rock hard now, and she can feel me so close to her groin. I swipe one hand between her legs and her grip on my hair tightens.
She’s so moist, that the thought of feeling every inch of her causes a soft grunt to escape my lips.
When I finally thrust into her, it’s not frantic. It’s a slow, steady rhythm, her nails dragging down my back, my forehead resting against hers.
I keep my strokes steady, gently thrusting in and letting the sound of her gasps for every thrust fuel my desire even more.
Every movement feels like a step closer to the climax, and I increase my pace, her hips moving in circular motion, while I feel every inch of her.
She whispers my name once, no sharp edge to it, just pure need. Her eyes lock in on mine, and I can tell she wants me as much as I want her.
I kiss her again, slower than the first one, letting it stretch, her tongue guiding me. The city is noisy outside, but here it’s just her breath catching and my pulse finally finding a rhythm that matches hers.
She lets out a loud cry as she reaches her climax, nails digging deeper into my back, while she presses her lips desperately to mine.
The sight of her clinging to me for pleasure, tips me over the edge, and I groan, riding out the pleasure with fast strokes, and hungry kisses.
Soon, we’re trying to catch our breath, her forehead resting on my chest, while mine rests on her shoulders. Our skin is slick with heat and sweat.
We stay tangled like this as my hand traces circles along her spine.
