Page 83 of The Puckable Playbook

“Good girl.”

A jolt surges through me at his words, like a precursor to pleasure.

“Now say you’re beautiful.”

“Zaiah…” My hips move with him.I’m almost…there.

“These breasts. These hips. These curves. Fuck, Len. Say you see it.” He angles his cock down, and the head slips inside.

“Ahh!” I try to rock with him, but he expertly moves it back up to my clit, not missing a beat. “Zaiah.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

I press my lips together. Again, I try to imagine what he sees. My hair fanned out over the bed. My body ready, waiting, dying to be fucked by him. “I’m…beautiful.”

“Again.”

His harsh command whips through me, triggering my orgasm. “I’m—”

“Len!”

“Beautiful!”

He thrusts inside me as my body starts to contract. My walls close around him, and that sensation sparks a surge of pleasure as he rocks into me at a gentle pace. I ride out the long aftershocks like waves crashing onto the shoreline again and again. Unrelenting.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he pants.

He thrusts, sinking so far into my sensitive flesh that I cry out.

He moans into my neck, kissing me softly. “Better than I imagined, sweetie.”

“You felt me?”

His forearms move to the bed, propping himself up so he can continue his strokes. “Every perfect part of you.” He ravages me with kisses across my sensitive skin, my mouth, my neck, my collarbone. He doesn’t stop. “I see you.”

Those are the sexiest words I’ve ever heard. Who doesn’t want to be seen? Who doesn’t want all the little parts of them to be bare to the world and accepted? And that’s what this is. A complete and utter acceptance in the most perfect way.

“I see you, too,” I whisper.

He drives inside me harder, faster. Sensory overload has my body shaking until I’m trembling beneath him.

It’s a different sensation—more powerful in some ways—the reaction he has to me. The furrow deepening in his brow. The way his muscles tense. The moan that escapes his body like it was dragged out of him from the depths of his soul.

Knowing I’m doing that… No feeling can compare. “Zaiah.”

He drops his forehead to mine. Our breaths mix in heady pleasure.

I run my palms down his muscular arms, then back up, threading my hands around the sweat-dampened nape of his neck.

We move against each other in earnest, my brain switching off and letting my body takeover while we eke out every pleasure we can. We’re joined for a long time. A steady state of connectedness, of acceptance, of chasing after the next sigh and the next, our moans a chorus of contentment.

My third orgasm builds and builds until, at the exact perfect moment, it throws me over while he buries himself inside. Igasp, clinging to his back. It takes control of my whole body. I have no say in the noises that fly from my mouth or the movements of my limbs.

He makes one more short pump until he, too, follows, his cock pulsing inside me. His whispered words into my skin fill me, bolstering me like a therapy session I didn’t know I needed.

Once we both come back down, I rest my head against the pillow, closing my eyes, savoring the last remnants in utter bliss.

Zaiah stays seated there for the longest time, comfortable in silence. When he finally pulls out, a groan sounds straight from his chest. He cups my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. “Perfect.”

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