Page 31 of Pucked Up

He closed his eyes. “I hate the sound of my name on your lips.”

I leaned into his ear, careful of the hearing aids. “No. You don’t.” I let the tips of my fingers touch his cock, trailing a teasing touch up and down the shaft.

He grunted, then groaned. His body was pulsing with heat. A word rose against his tongue and lost itself in his throat, and he made a soft choking noise.

“Tell me,” I murmured, first in English, then in French.

“Fuck, fuck,” he gasped. The war was over. He’dlost. And in that, he’d also won. “Please. Hugo, please. Make me come.”

I hadn’t expected him to say my name, and my own dick jumped. I was suddenly aware of how hard I was, how much I wanted to feel his skin against mine. And I would—next time. Gripping his cock again, I pressed my forehead to his, then began to jerk him exactly the way he wanted—the way that would send him crashing over the edge.

He opened his lips in a harsh pant, and I took advantage, dipping low for a kiss. I kept it careful, an exploration, a question. He could pull away if he didn’t want me, but his hand came around the back of my neck and held me fast as he devoured my mouth.

My arm sped up, and I could feel his orgasm cresting and his body mounting with tension because he was afraid I wouldn’t let him have this. But I needed him to know that all he had to do was ask. That was it.

Nothing more.

He gasped, and I squeezed, and then he let go.

He came in hot ropes, soiling my shirt as his entire body began to spasm. I held him tight so he didn’t fall off the desk, letting him writhe against me as he worked himself up, then slowly started to come down.

His breathing started to even after several long moments, and then he pulled back, his eyes red-tinged and almost fevered. Licking a stripe over his lower lip, he glanced down.

“You made a mess of me,” I told him.

He didn’t look up. “You’re hard.”

“I have been since you came in here.”

His hand, which was still against the back of my neck, twitched. “Should I?—”

“No.” He flinched, and my heart ached. Turning my head, I pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw. “Next time.”

“Bold of you to think I’ll be back.” But his tone was thready and weak. He knew. We both did. This might have an ending, but it wasn’t today.

Taking several steps back, I put my hands under his armpits again, and he used my body to steady himself as he slid off the desk and turned toward his chair. His muscles weren’t more relaxed, but they didn’t seem worse than when he’d come in.

“Zip me up, please,” he asked very softly.

I wished I could do more. I wanted to take him back under the shower, rinse him of his seed, make him feel refreshed and clean. Not quite reborn, but almost. Instead, I tucked him back inside his pants and did up the zipper, then the button. He leaned back against me, and I took the opportunity to do his shirt back up, then tuck it into his waistband.

“All put back together,” I said.

He swallowed so thickly I could hear it click in the back of his throat as it caught. “I want off this team.”

I stiffened as he pulled away from me, but when he sat in his chair and looked up at me, I understood what he meant. “Prove it.”

“Fuck yo?—”

“Enough,” I warned, my eyes narrow. His jaw shut slowly. “You can hate me all you want, but that won’t stop me from helping.”

“So why won’t you make a fucking call and get someone down here now?”

“Because I’m not going to show them what you can’t do. Show me that you’ve made room in your ass for better things than your head, Boden. And then I’ll make the call.”

He looked like he wanted to fight me again, but only for a moment. He relaxed back in his chair, then leaned forward and set his straps before meeting my eyes again. “I’m good at what I do.”

“Prove it,” I said again.

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