Page 18 of Pucking Unhinged
Winter walks over to me, climbs up without hesitation, and settles against my chest. She doesn’t even wait for me to start reading before she nestles in, eyes closing like she’s home.
“I know you probably won’t believe this,” she says suddenly, voice soft, “but your voice soothes me.”
The words hit me like a fucking train. I wish I could believe it, but I don’t see how that’s possible. My throat tightens, but I clear it and begin reading anyway…in Russian. I could read in English, but this is our thing. Nobody else can touch it, and that’s why I like it.
Winter’s body relaxes against mine as I speak. After a moment, she reaches up and takes the book from me. She holds it in her hands while I keep reading, her eyes tracking the page.
I stroke her hair softly, but it’s still tied back in the long braid I put in for her this morning. My palm cups the back of her head, fingers rubbing slow circles at the base of her neck. She moans, low and unguarded, as I massage her scalp, neck and shoulders.
My cock twitches at the sound. I know without a doubt that if she so much as shifts against me, I’m going to blow instantly.
I shift my hips carefully so she won’t feel how hard I am, and I keep reading. My hands find her hair again. The only thing that gives me a small bit of peace is doing things for her. That started the second I met her. It’s how I love her. Acts of service and physical touch. Making sure she’s cared for.
When I glance down at her pretty face, I realize she’s fallen asleep. It guts me that she’s comfortable enough in my arms to let go like this. I take the book from her hands and set it on the table.
Then I reach for my phone and open the recording app. Most people would think it’s fucked up, but I don’t care. I love recording her while she sleeps so I can listen when she’s not with me. It calms me in a way nothing else ever could.
I lay the phone on my chest, angling it to catch the sound of her breathing.
“Tristan,” she whispers suddenly, still asleep. She shifts onto her side, leg bending over my lap.
Her skin brushes my cock through my jeans.
I freeze.
The fabric of my pants does nothing to mute the feel of her thigh rubbing against me. I gasp quietly, sucking in a breath through my teeth. Her hand drags down my chest in her sleep, fingers curling loosely in the waistband like she’s very much in control of herself.
“Please, Tristan,” she moans.
Fuck. Fuck.
My whole body goes tight.
She shifts again, the fabric of my hoodie riding up her thighs, warm skin sliding across the thick, denim-covered bulge between my legs. I squeeze my eyes shut. Try to breathe. Try to think of anything but her scent, her slight weight on me, the sound of her moaning my name in her sleep.
But then she exhales softly, lips brushing my throat. I feel the press of her chest against mine. Her leg moves again, unconsciously grinding against my cock.
My hand fists in her hair because I need to be connected to her in every way possible in this moment.
I grit my teeth. Try to breathe through it. But I can feel my orgasm building. Pressure winding tight in my stomach, heat rising, my fucking loud ass pulse thundering in my neck.
I’m going to come. I know it. I can’t stop it.
And then her body shifts again, like she’s trying to move deeper inside the dream world she’s created. The softest whimper leaves her lips as she presses even harder against me. My name falls from her mouth like a prayer.
And that's when I lose it.
My eyes squeeze shut as I come hard in my pants, grunting low as my hips jerk just once, helplessly, against her. My muscles lock. My hand tightens in her hair. The warmth floods through me, dizzying and fucked and euphoric and so fucking wrong.
She’s still asleep. Still innocent. Still dreaming.
And I just came in my fucking pants.
Shame hits me hard. It slams into my chest like a punch, knocking the breath out of me.
I release her hair immediately, smoothing it down, trying to make up for what I just let happen. My heart pounds with guilt, but my cock is still twitching in the aftermath. It’s sticky and hot in my jeans. I’m still half hard because she’s still pressed against me, and I hate myself for that. It just goes to prove that nothing I take from her, nothing she willingly gives me will ever be enough. I will always be needy for her.
I don’t move. I just hold her tighter. Because I’m a coward. A sick, selfish coward who needs her too badly to let go.
