Pucked Love (Pucked 6)

I lean in and kiss the corner of her mouth before I brush my lips over hers. I curve my finger around the shell of her ear and ease my thumb along her throat until I reach the soft spot under her chin. Her pulse hammers there, hard and steady with untended need.

I angle her head slightly and tip my own in the opposite direction. Breathing in the warmth of her shaky exhale, I taste chocolate and marshmallow before our mouths are even connected. I press my lips to hers, reveling in the softness before I stroke along the seam. She tastes sweet, as she always does, and that little buzz of lightning always follows, much like the shock of light that appears in the sky when a firefly makes its presence known.

I don’t stay for a minute. I linger at her lips, sweeping inside her mouth over and over, slow and languorous, as if there is no other place to be, and we’re speaking through kisses that never end.

I have no idea how long we make out, but Charlene’s lips are swollen and her chin is red from stubble burn by the time I disengage.

“Should we go upstairs? Do you want me to change now?” she asks on a breathless whisper.

I skim her bottom lip with a fingertip and shake my head. “I want to stay right here.” I brush her nipple through her tank. “But I’d like to see more of you, if that would be all right.”

She nods. “Please.”

I find the hem and tug it up, exposing first her decorated navel, then the gentle curve of her belly to the swell of her breasts. I sigh when I reach her nipples. I had the barbells custom made for her. They boast the Chicago logo and my number on the little balls that hold them in place. She had them pierced a few months after we started dating. Avoiding them during the healing time was a torture worth enduring for both of us.

Charlene lifts her arms, and I pull the tank over her head.

“You’re so beautiful.” I meet her heavy, needy gaze. There’s something else there, not the anxiety and anticipation that comes with wondering what’s next, but a different kind of wanting.

A small smile curves her pouty lips. “So are you.”

“I think only to you,” I mutter, then dip down to pepper kisses along her jaw and neck and then lower until I reach the swell of her breast. I capture her nipple between my lips, tonguing the barbell before I tug it between my teeth.

Charlene arches and moans, that delicate sound sending a bolt of heat down my spine. The ache in my balls is damn near violent, but I’m accustomed to delayed gratification and determined to make good on this morning’s promise.

I lick and suck and kiss one nipple and then the other, moving back and forth between them until Charlene’s fingers are fisted in my hair and she’s grinding aggressively, fighting her way toward an orgasm. I wrap my hands around her waist and lift so she can’t achieve friction.

She whines my name.

“I’m pretty sure I said I was going to kiss you for hours before I let you come.”

“It’s been long enough, don’t you think?” she pleads.

I glance at the clock on the wall, ticking away our evening. We’ve been making out for far longer than I realized. I pull her closer and kiss the space below her navel, and along the waistband of her leggings. I plan to kiss every inch of her body—eventually—but I’d like to play with her a little longer.

I settle her ass on my thighs again, but away from my erection so she can’t rub on me. Her expression is pained, desperate, her need for release overwhelming. I keep one hand on her hip but slide the other palm up her stomach, between her breasts, until my fingers drift over her throat, tracing the edge of the pearls. Moving higher, I curl a finger along the shell of her ear and follow the curve of her jaw with my thumb.

As soon as I release her hip, Charlene tries to slide forward. I tip my head to the side, and she stops.

I follow the waistband of her leggings with a single finger. “I like these. Why don’t you wear them more often?”

“I wear them all the time,” she says breathlessly.

“I would like it if you wore them for me.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

I trace the outline of a donut that ends conveniently at the apex of her thighs. She sucks in a raspy breath as I run my knuckle over the bump of steel piercing her hood.

“I bet I can make you come like this.”

“I’m sure you can.”

I find the steel with my thumb and press gently. Charlene’s grip on my knees tightens, and she rolls her hips. I decide this is how I want her tonight: in my lap, close like this, so I can see every emotion as it crosses her perfect, expressive face.