Page 96 of The Pucking Date
“Go on, sugar. You were sayin’?” I tease, thrusting slow and deep. She looks down at our bodies joining, and I follow her gaze, increasing the pace.
“It feels so good,” she moans. “Own me, Finn. I need you.”
“I’m taking what’s mine, darlin’,” I growl, cupping the soft, heavy weight of her breast, brushing my thumb over her hard nub. I feel the delicious heat of her core, her nails digging into my back, her hips rolling against me.
“Look at what you’re doing to me, Finn,” she moans, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, my cock sliding in and out of her pussy, her watching me claim her. She’s breathing hard, and I can feel her tightening around me as I increase the pace.
Bzzz.
She ignores the ring. And so do I. A few more thrusts, and the tension in my body releases in short, quick bursts, just as I feel her clenching around me, waves of orgasm rolling through her.
I collapse on top of her, burying my face in her neck, still rolling my hips in slow, lazy thrusts to catch that final wave. Her legs wrap tighter around me, her breath hot against my ear. I kiss her—slow, open-mouthed, like I can’t get enough. Because I can’t.
When I finally still inside her, I don’t move. I don’t want to. But the thought sneaks in anyway.
“I know it’s a little late to ask,” I murmur against her lips, “but we kind of skipped the condom. You on anything, Red?”
She freezes just slightly. Then tilts her head back, wide-eyed, looking like she just got busted sneaking out of the kitchen at midnight.
I blink. “Wait—no?”
“Uhh…about that?—”
Bzzz.
The phone again. Demanding. Relentless.
She groans beneath me. “Shit. I really do have to take that.”
I rest my forehead against hers. “Tell Joy I’m filing a formal complaint.”
She laughs, breathless and flushed, and slips out from under me. My come glides down her thigh as she moves, her legs bare, hair a wild mess. She snags my boxers from the floor and wipes herself with a shrug that’s almost sheepish.
“Sorry,” she says, grinning, and tosses them aside.
I prop myself up on one elbow, watching her move. Watchingusmove, like it’s something we do all the time.Like she lives here. Like this is normal. She crouches next to that oversized tote she drags everywhere—her whole life shoved in there, always ready to vanish at a moment’s notice.
I need to get her a smaller purse. Something impractical. Delicate. A bag that says,I’m staying.Not one that doubles as a getaway plan.
“Hang on,” she murmurs, digging through it one-handed. “Phone’s in here somewhere.”
I watch as the contents start to spill—lip balm, a crumpled receipt, a charger, a pair of red lace underwear she clearly forgot was in there. She chuckles under her breath, batting it aside.
“Jesus, this bag’s a disaster.”
She finally snags the phone from the bottom and stands, distracted. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Her call connects, and I watch her pace—animated, amused, completely absorbed in whatever Joy’s telling her. There’s a lightness in her words I haven’t heard in weeks. Joy in her movements. Like she’s celebrating something. I love watching her like this—free, unguarded, mine. Everything I never thought I’d have.
That’s when I notice the contents scattered around her bag. A white bottle. She didn’t see it tumble out. I sit up straighter and frown as I lean over to pick it up.
Prenatal vitamins.
The world tilts. I sink onto the edge of the bed, the bottle shaking in my grip like it might explode. The label blurs, then sharpens.
Prenatal vitamins. Real as the woman laughing across the room. My fingers tighten around the bottle, and everything else in the room dulls.
Jessica is talking now, voice bright, animated. She’s pacing slowly, back turned, tangled in her own joy.
