Pucked Love (Pucked 6)

I keep circling the piercing, slow and gentle, aware that softness pushes Charlene to the edge the fastest, and that the lack of direct contact is going to make her even needier.

And just as I predict, she comes, body shaking hard, nails digging into my knees through my jeans. Her elbows give out, and I have to tighten my grip on the back of her neck to keep her in place as she rides out the waves of pleasure, her soft moans growing louder as the orgasm drags her under.

When she’s over the crest I pull her close again. She’s drunk on her orgasm, uncoordinated and fumbling as brings our mouths back together.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, tongue already in my mouth.

She grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it roughly over my head. Her satin fingertips drift down the sides of my neck to my chest. Charlene comes back to suck on my bottom lip as she circles my nipples, but when she attempts to go lower, I stop her. At her questioning expression, I grip her by the waist and lay her out on the couch.

“I want to taste how much you need me,” I explain.

I drag her leggings down and toss them to the floor, then pause when I hook my fingers in her underwear. Most of them are some combination of lace, satin or leather. Sometimes it’s all three, and occasionally there are buckles and chains and metal clasps—those are her choice, not mine.

But her panties tonight are different and nothing I’ve ever seen on her before. They’re cotton—that boy short style I’ve never been particularly fond of. Until now. These are lace trimmed at the waist, with tiny polka dots. Sweet and sexy, just like Charlene.

“Do you have a lot of these?”

“A few pairs.” Her cheeks flush.

“I can buy you more,” I offer.

“They’re not expensive. I get five pairs for twenty-five dollars.” She lifts her hips, possibly encouraging me to remove them.

“We could shop for them together. Do they come in different patterns and styles?”

“They do. I can show you my other ones after.”

I shimmy them over her hips and drop my head, pressing my lips to the crest of her pubic bone before I remove them and drop them on the coffee table.

I shoulder my way between her legs and make her come with my mouth. She smells like need and tastes like want. By the time I’m done, the ache in my stomach is damn near killing me. I let Charlene pop the button on my jeans and drag the zipper down. I shove my jeans and boxers over my hips and down my thighs. Charlene stands between my legs and pulls them off the rest of the way, then pushes the coffee table back and sinks to her knees between my parted thighs.

My erection is pretty much pulsing. Even the air hurts at this point. The head is an angry shade of purple usually reserved for eggplant emojis, and the tip is weeping.

“Oh God, Darren.” Charlene runs her hands up my thighs, tongue sweeping across her bottom lip.

I cover her hands with mine before she can put them on me. “No hands, no mouth.” Jesus. I can’t even form sentences that make sense anymore. “Stand, please.”

She braces her palms on my knees and rises. Then she starts to turn.

I grab her hips to keep her facing me, then slide my palm down the outside of her thighs until I reach the back of her knees. When I tug her forward she has no choice but to brace her hands on my shoulders and straddle my lap.

I meet her confused gaze, which is understandable. Usually sex is an elaborate event for Charlene. “Should we go upstairs now? I could—”

“I want you like this, please.” In two years, we’ve never had sex like this: on her couch, the TV still droning in the background.

“Okay.” Her eyes are glassy with the same need I feel. “I can take you now?”

I smile at her phrasing and grit out a yes.

Charlene’s palms rest on my shoulders and she shifts forward, lining us up without touching me. I position my thumb at the base and angle it toward her. When her hood piercing skims the tip, I groan.

Charlene’s eyes dart to mine and then back down as the head nudges at her entrance.

“Slowly, please. I want to savor the feeling of you surrounding me.”

She places a gentle palm on the side of my neck. Every part of me is burning with need so extreme I feel as if my nerve endings are on fire. She eases down, legs trembling as I disappear inside her.

I let my head drop back against the cushions, eyes still on her, and take a moment to absorb the sensation. It’s different tonight. Like it’s weighted with something new.