Page 63 of Don't Puck Him

But it is also my rage. I can feel anger surging through me like wildfire, making the veins of my forearms pop.

“She doesn’t know how to be a real mother. She just wants to win everything. Even with her own fucking kids!”

Wren’s body begins to shake, and I pull her once again into my arms. I feel the need to assure her of her safety, that there are securely locked muscles and blood and bones around her body. That this is where she can scream out the agony until her throat is dry.

Her mother is truly something else. Something wreathed and ugly. I clench my fist together, keeping delicate harmony between holding Wren and not bursting my own blood vessels.

“Oh, Wren…” I murmur, my teeth grinding, running my fingers through her hair that smells of rose water and lemon. “I know from my own issues with my own parents that sometimes people use aggression and control as a need to keep a handle on the things you love. It’s a coping mechanism.”

For a moment, Wren stills, shifting from having her face buried into my chest to pinning her chest against my shoulder. I run my fingers down her neck, trailing the vertebrae of her spine like cobblestone in some ancient city.

“You have family problems, too?”

I nod. I know I haven’t revealed much to her at this point, and it feels strange to say any of it aloud, but somehow, it feels natural. Everything that was once strange feels that way with Wren.

“Yeah. My parents are pretty wealthy as you know, but they used a lot of that as a substitute for any actual relationship. Instead of spending time with us, they bought us gifts, trips around the world, expensive cars and video games….”

I trail off, memories of the past returning like stabs to the heart and brain. It has been some time since I considered how all of that felt. It was once a distant memory, but right now, it feels a present horror.

I cannot let her slip away. My body is pulled taunt against hers, the nightmares flashing from the backwash of the past, rising in my throat like poison.

I don’t like being like this. This isn’t what a strong man does, is it?

“Your heart is beating really fast,” Wren mutters.

I clear my throat and kiss her head, feeling lost and irritated at my vulnerability.

“Your mom is probably at a loss as to how to keep you around. So she’s manipulating you to stay as opposed to just saying it.”

Wren rises up from my shoulder, her hands sliding down my arms and resting on my thighs. Her eyes look swollen and tired, but the tears have stopped for now.

She shakes her head adamantly, a few whimpers popping out every now and then.

“My mom isn’t like that, Hunter. Like I said, she just wants to win every time. Even when she’s betting against me. It’s some pathetic game. She just wants someone around to win against. Like someone owning a fucking dog just to hit it.”

Wren looks away from me, her gaze unfixed. Her neck is exposed to me, looking soft and appetizing.

I lean forward and place a gentle kiss upon her nape, which she responds to with a deep, sensual breath. I want her to keep talking for as long as she wants, but I still need her to know that she is safe.

And that I am the only one who can make her feel that way.

“I would never do that to you, babe. Though, I do kind of like the idea of you being my pet.”

There is a beat of silence, and I wonder if the timing of my flirtatious innuendo was a complete miss. Then she lifts her hands to wrangle them around my neck, pulling my mouth in closer, encouraging me with labored breathing and breasts raised to rub against me.

“Is that so?” she says breathlessly.

“Uh-huh,” I mutter, tracing my mouth down to her shoulder to the road of her collarbone. “You know I like to keep you in line.”

When Wren giggles, I know that I am in the clear. I shift between her legs, and she enfolds me between them, slowly lying down on her back and raising her arms over her head. The sweet balm of sweat entices me, engorging my cock beneath my sweatpants.

“Tell me more,” she purrs.

I explore Wren’s body with the grace of a poet carving out words to describe the exquisiteness of his particular beloved. But I also explore it with a firmness of a jeweler, one that makes her breath catch in her throat, egging me on with a look of a bonfire raging in her eyes.

I lift the sweatshirt she is wearing up and over her head, then use the arms of the fabric to tie her wrists together. This is something she has told me she enjoys, and though we haven’t used actual handcuffs yet, I feel we are moving in that direction. She completely submits to me, allowing me to tear those cute little jean shorts off her body along with some satin blue panties.

Before tossing them aside, I swathe the panties over my nose and take a deep inhale. Her eyes glitter like a dark ocean while moans of pained desire pour from her succulent lips.

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