Page 17 of Down to Puck

I cry out, a sharp sound of pleasure that makes him pull back, leaving me on the edge. I try to tug him back, but he’s so much stronger than me. Clearly, he’s intent on savoring the moment no matter how desperate I am.

Emerson’s mouth keeps working my skin, kissing his way down my body. I get a good hold of the fabric of his shirt and tug it up over his head as he slides down the bed.

I need more of him— his warmth, his skin, his kisses. The clothes are getting in the way and they have to go. He must feel the same because I feel him unbutton and unzip my jeans.

“Good thing I’m already lying down. I don’t think I could get these off standing up without a crane,” I say.

Emerson chuckles, peeling my jeans down my body with no apparent struggle.

“If I had to cut them off, I would. It’d be a shame though, because they look incredible on you. I almost couldn’t skate, I was so hard.”

I meet his eyes, feeling the intense heat of his gaze.

From anyone else, it would be a line.

“I would have let you,” I whimper, my voice hushed. “I would let you do anything you want. If you hadn’t stopped us, I would have fucked you in the gym.”

His mouth plants a kiss on my hip bone that makes my back arch. I pound a fist against the bed, swearing as he trails his lips lower. The slight brush of his five o’clock shadow against my most sensitive skin is intoxicating.

“We can’t have that,” Emerson croons. “That’s against the rules. No fooling around at work, Yasmín. But after work? In the dark?”

His teeth sink into the lacy band of my panties and tugs them down. It’s the single sexiest sight I’ve ever seen, and I swear I can feel myself dripping down my thighs.

“In the dark, you belong to me.”

Then his mouth is on my mound, his breath hot as he tastes my skin. I can't look away, but I want to hide, want to bury my face in my hands. No one has ever looked at me with that hunger. I’m about to get devoured, and the realization and anticipation make it even better.

“Please,” I beg. “Please. Please, Emerson.”

His mouth slides lower, threatening to brush against my clit. I buck my hips, trying to grind myself against him, but he moves with the motion. Teasing me, not letting me soothe the ache throbbing between my thighs.

“Please what?” Emerson asks, his eyes flashing as he moves his mouth lower, turning to the side to kiss my inner thigh.

I want to scream. My fists twist his sheets, my breath coming rapidly as I squirm and writhe in his bed.

“You know what I want,” I pant.

“I want to hear you say it, doc,” Emerson says as he moves to my other thigh. “You’ve got such a sharp tongue. I want to hear what comes out of that pretty mouth when I’m making it filthy.”

Oh, fuck. Is it possible to come from just words?

“Fuck you,” I laugh once. A crazed, half-hysteric sound. “Fuck you and just fuck me, Emerson. Kiss my pussy, suck on my clit, finger me until I’m a puddle in your bed. Is that what you want to hear, you bastard?”

His mouth is on me before I’m halfway through, his tongue parting my lips like he’s splitting a seam in my jeans. I arch, hands moving from his sheets back to his hair. I was trying not to rip out fistfuls. Now I don’t give a fuck if he looks like he’s got the mange tomorrow, I need my hands on him.

“Good girl,” he says as he pulls back, looking up at me with a dripping chin.

“Don’t stop,” I hiss, tugging him back, squeezing his head tight between my thighs.

He dives back in and finally stops teasing. His tongue works up and down my entire pussy, starting at the bottom and dragging my wetness up to the top. Long, slow licks that end with a flick of his tongue against my clit.

I’m already on edge, so I’m not shocked when I come hard and fast.

The pleasure hits me like a punch to the gut. I’m doubling over, scrambling for purchase, doing half a sit-up as I writhe against him.

I am shocked when he doesn't let up, doesn't stop, and I feel myself chasing that first orgasm with another. The sensations are almost too much, my body so sensitive that it hurts. The pain melds into the pleasure though, mixing and blooming like ink in water.

“Holy fuck,” I say, collapsing back onto my back.

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