Page 86 of Revenge Puck

His obsession with a certain part of my body, while flattering, quickly becomes problematic the longer it goes on. I’m wet and aching, without any relief in sight. My pants and panties are still on, and Preston is still fully dressed other than his shoes.

But I don’t have to wait long for this amazing man to come to the rescue. Without removing his mouth from my nipple, his hand lowers to the crotch of my jeans, cupping me possessively.

“Yesss,” I moan when he applies pressure to that ache, causing my back to arch. His mouth frantically covers more of my breasts now thrust in his face as he rubs me through the denim.

“Give me a few more minutes up here,” Preston says, flicking his tongue over my other nipple now. “And I’ll spend as much time as you need down here. I want you soaking wet before I get another taste.” His hand applies more pressure to my mound. Just thinking about how good it feels when he’s “tasting me” down there has me trembling all over with pleasure.

I fly so high I get dizzy for several wonderful seconds. When I come back down, I open my eyes and find Preston moving down my body. His big hands tremble, trying to work the much smaller button and zipper on my jeans. When he gets them undone, he jerks the denim down my legs with a muttered curse, like they’re the bane of his existence. Then I’m lying underneath him in just my panties, and a matching bra still tucked underneath my heaving breasts.

“These pretty red panties are drenched,” he remarks, rubbing a thick finger over the damp crotch. I’m still so sensitive from my orgasm that I squirm at his touch. “But you’re still not ready to take my cock yet.”

“Please,” I whisper, wanting him, needing him inside of me. Like a little tramp in heat, I shove my panties down my legs and kick them off my ankles. I’m way past having things like modesty.

The way Preston looks at me like I’m precious to him, like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world, makes all my insecurities disappear.

He doesn’t waste any time teasing me. No, he gets right to stroking me with his tongue while simultaneously sliding a finger inside of me, getting me ready for him.

Every moan he pulls out of my mouth has his eyes lifting to mine, watching the pleasure visible on my face. I run my fingers through his hair and whisper his name, a plea for more. I need more of him, all of him. His tongue becomes frantic. He adds another finger, sending me flying so high I never want to come down.

But when I do, I open my eyes and find his face hovering above mine.

“Should I get a condom?” he asks, his voice so deep and rumbly a shiver runs through my entire body.

“Only…only if you want to,” I tell him. “I’m on the pill and I used one with…with everyone I’ve been with. Tested recently and was all clear. Very recently.” I don’t say Christian’s name, but we both know that’s who I was referring to.

“I haven’t been with anyone in years, and I have never gone bareback.”

“So, we could be each other’s first?”

“God yes. Even if I won’t last five seconds once I get inside of you.”

“That’s fine.” Grinning up at him, I run my fingertips over his broad shoulders and say, “I bet you’ll make up for it in the second period after a short intermission.”

“Damn right,” Preston agrees.

29

Elle

The morning after with Preston isn’t the least bit awkward. Yesterday, he was in a hurry to leave for practice, but even then, I never felt like he was rushing off to be free of me, of the consequences of the night (and the morning).

There’s no regret, no wondering if Preston is plotting some sort of escape plan on his side of the bed, silently facing me with a sleepy grin and bedhead.

Christian used to tell me he was starving for—just fill in the blank that constantly changed—and could only get said food from a shop or diner on the other side of town. He never once asked me if I was hungry or if I wanted to go with him. It was clear that he was just ready to get away, to flee my bed or his own.

That was usually the worst, having to do the walk of shame out of his fancy penthouse apartment to make my way back to my little shitty one wearing last night’s wrinkled clothes.

“We need food,” Preston eventually says, as if he overheard my internal thoughts. But he’s not abandoning me—he used the word “we.” “What are you in the mood for?”

“I’m not picky,” I assure him. “And I could use a shower before I think about leaving this bedroom.”

“Same,” he agrees, rolling to his back to stretch his thick arms over his head. “I had no idea bareback was so…”

“Messy?”

Chuckling, he turns his face to look at me. “Messy, but in a damn good way. Totally worth it if I’m so sticky down there that I may have to shave my pubes.”

I can’t help but giggle at his ridiculous TMI comment.

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