Page 37 of Mother Pucker

She’s different from the type of women I usually go for, and not just because she’s older and a single mom. She’sindependent, tough, and as sharp as a tack. I’m not just mesmerized by her beauty, I’m in awe of her intellect and wit, too.

Apart from all that, the woman is ballsy. A ballsy little spitfire who not only took a bath in my tub–using all my bath soaps, mind you–like she was Goldilocks, but she also squared her shoulders and climbed out like she owned the place!

And when she got on her knees, looking up at me with those wide brown eyes, my cock practically fought through my pants to get out. Jesus, the vision of her, naked and dripping over my bathroom floor, did things to me I’d never felt in my entire life.

She was a mixture of vulnerability and courage, but for the first time since we met, she showed me a side of her that was also real and playful. A side of her that said I wasn’t completely off base, that our connection wasn’t just a figment of my imagination.

Because she felt it, too.

Her core rubs against me, and I urge my dick to settle the fuck down. “I name all of them.”

I grind my molars. “How fucking many do you have?”

“Oh, like twelve,” she says airily. “There’s Brad, he’s sort of my go-to–reliable and consistent. Then, there’s Denzel.” She wiggles, getting this ridiculous swoony look in her eyes, like she’s imagining this dildo as the actor himself. “He’s just long and thick. And then there’s Leonardo–”

Oh, for God’s sake, I need to shut this woman up.

I slam my mouth over hers, effectively doing just that. I swear, I’ve never wanted to throw dildos against a wall more than I do right now.

At first, she stills in my arms, but as my lips work hers, she relaxes into me. Her hands come up to my shoulders before she slips one over the back of my head, pulling me down to her. Her mouth opens and I snake my tongue inside, finding hers.

A low groan spills from my throat as my hands find the globes of her breasts and I squeeze, working over her nipples with my thumbs again. I can feel them taut against her shirt.

Shay grinds up against me, moaning as her legs tighten around me. I can smell her sweet scent as if my nose was buried in it. She’s so fucking ready, so needy, and I’m having a hard time thinking straight.

My mouth works against hers, taking what I’ve been dying to have since the moment I saw her, tasting her and etching this moment into my memory for as long as I live. Her lips are soft and plush like pillows, and a vision of them stretched around my cock has me practically turning to stone inside my pants.

I kiss her, long and hard, soft and slow, before dragging my lips over her jaw and down her neck. My heart races like a thoroughbred sprinting toward the finish line as everything seems to disappear around me. My hands roam down her sides and under her ass, pulling her needy center toward me, letting her feel exactly what she’s doing to me.

Her fingers capture the short strands of my hair and, writhing under me, she whimpers, “Rowan.”

I pull back to look at her, loving the soft whisper of my name on her lips. “You want me, baby?” I ask, dipping down to run my nose along her neck, taking a long inhale of her flowery perfume.

“Yes,” she hisses. “Please, yes.”

I chuckle against her, nipping at her skin. As much as I want to bury my face inside her wet pussy and devour her the way we both want, I know I need to rein this in. This fever. This hunger. This goddamn maddening desire.

Because if there was one thing I realized after our little run-in inside my bathroom, besides the fact that she was the hottest woman I’d ever seen, it was that she trusted me.

She got on her knees in front of me, not because I asked her to or because she needed her clothes that badly. She did it to give me a part of her she rarely gave others–her trust.

And because I know the value of that, I want to take things slowly.

No matter how much my cock thinks otherwise.

I tuck the long side of her hair behind her ear, looking at her bee-stung lips. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to throw you over my shoulder and take you to my bed–”

“Yes,” she nods enthusiastically, cutting me off, “you really ought to do that.”

My lips twitch. “But if we’re really going to do this, then I’m going to take my time with you, Shayla.”

She pouts, grasping the collar of my shirt and pulling me toward her lips again. It only takes a few seconds before I’m lost in another kiss–a mix between frenzied and slow. My hands wrap around her face, and I tilt it to change the angle and deepen our connection, making her hum contentedly against my mouth. “God, you’re a good kisser.”

I smile, not taking my lips off her and playing into that cocky side she loves to hate so much. “You’ll find that I’m good ateverythingI do, sweetheart. That’ll includeyouat some point.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she quips, clearly trying to sway my decision.

I grasp the back of her neck, my eyes boring into her. “Oh, you’ll see it alright. See it,feelit. I plan on making it hard for you to walk for days afterward.”

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