Page 87 of Arrogant Puck

He tilts his head, brushing my hair back with aching tenderness. “Tell me what you want.”

I force myself to meet his eyes. “To take it slow.”

His lips twitch into a grin that promises anything but.

“This isn’t slow, baby. I want to fuck you like a rabbit and make you come until you forget your own name.”

My knees nearly buckle.

He pumps once, lazy and slow. “Look at me, Sage. I’ve got precum just standing this close to you. Fuck, you’re beautiful. So fucking beautiful.”

I look. I can’tnotlook.

He squeezes, a bead of slick glistening at the tip, and my pride evaporates. All that’s left is heat and want and this overwhelming ache that only he can fix.

“Is this what you want?” he rasps, hand stroking slow, deliberate. “Do you want me to fuck you, or do you want to watch?”

My eyes drop to his cock again. It’s thick, flushed, veins prominent. My mouth waters. He looks too big, too hard, too ready. I want to laugh. I want to fuck. I want to be his ruin.

I slide my panties down my thighs, slow enough for him to watch every inch of skin I reveal. His jaw tenses. His grip tightens. My pussy clenches at the sight.

I walk past him and crawl onto his bed—the same side I’d slept on just days ago.

“I’m not ready to have sex,” I say softly, laying back and spreading my legs just enough for him to see everything he’s dying for.

His eyes narrow. His cock twitches.

I curl my finger toward him. “Show me how much you want me.”

That’s all it takes.

He crosses the room like a storm, pumping himself in slow, punishing strokes. His teeth clench. His gaze is feral.

And then—

Ropes of come spill from him, hot and thick, painting his hand, his abs, the tip still pulsing. My mouth parts in shock. Did I make him come that fast?

He grabs a towel, wiping—until I stop him.

“No,” I whisper. “I want it on me.”

His eyes darken. That towel drops. He climbs between my thighs and without another word, his mouth crashes between my legs.

Oh my god.

He licks like he’s starving. His tongue working deep, slow, then fast, like he’s savoring my taste and trying to memorize everything. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider as his mouth devours me.

Then—his finger.

So.

Fucking.

Good.

He curls it just right and I scream, clutching the sheets, grabbing his hair, grinding down on his face. I’ll die if he stops. My body turns molten. I can’t even think.

My orgasm barrels through me like a freight train—violent, beautiful, unrelenting. My vision goes white as I cry out his name again and again.

---