Page 47 of Dirty As Puck
I sip my champagne and watch, savoring, as she attempts to focus on her notepad, jotting down notes for some report or article. Her hand shakes slightly as she writes and I see her trying to keep it together. The way she presses her lips together, the faint flush crawling up her neck, it’s all a reaction that’s caused by me. Every little flinch, every swallow, every glance in my direction is fuel to her already burning flame.
When I lean toward the redhead again, I laugh just a little too loud at a joke she tells, whisper something in her ear that’s just suggestive enough to pull her closer. I know Rochelle’s pulse is spiking across the room. She hates it. She probably hates me too. She hates what this does to her and, knowing her, she’s trying to maintain a professional distance while every muscle in her body is screaming otherwise.
The best part? She can’t look away. Her gaze follows me, and I can practically feel her blood pressure rising. She’s territorial,but she’ll never admit it. And I? I’ll never stop testing it. Every movement, every laugh, every tilt of my head toward her is designed to draw her in and push her buttons.
I raise my glass just slightly, catching her eye for a fraction of a second. Her glare is sharp, almost lethal, but it doesn’t hide the warmth in her eyes, the undeniable pull she feels. I smile, just the hint of a smirk, letting her know I see her, I know what she’s feeling, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.
This is fun. Dangerous and heated. And I plan to milk it for all it’s worth.
She’s mine tonight.
I press the elevator button, waiting for the doors to slide open, my mind still buzzing from the gala. The crowd, the flirting, the teasing. All of it leaves a fire burning low in my chest, coiled and ready. I step in, thinking I finally get a moment to breathe.
Then hands stop the doors from closing, and I freeze when Rochelle steps in. Just like it’s like fate or bad luck. She’s stunning in the dim elevator lights, hair slightly mussed from the gala, her expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement. My pulse jumps.
“Enjoy your fan club?” she snaps, voice sharp, eyes flashing.
I tilt my head, smirk teasing, letting the corner of my lips curl just so. “Why, were you enjoying watching?” My voice is low, deliberate, and I watch her reaction closely.
Her glare is fiery, but her body betrays her. I notice her shoulders tense, her chest rising and falling slightly faster than normal. She presses her bag closer to her body, as if trying to shield herself, and I can feel the electricity crackling betweenus, pulling us toward each other despite every rational thought screaming otherwise.
“I… I mean––” she stops herself, her words faltering. I can tell that she hates that she’s rattled, and I love it.
I step closer. Just enough. Close enough that the heat of my body brushes against hers, the scent of her perfume intoxicating. The elevator shrinks, the sound of the motor fading into the background, leaving nothing but us and the tension hanging in the air.
Her eyes flick to my mouth. Damn it. I catch the motion, and it makes me want to close the last few inches between us and see if she’ll finally give in. Her hands fidget at her sides, betraying the fight she’s trying to maintain. I let my fingers ghost along the small of her back. It’s a touch that could be accidental, but we both know it isn’t.
“This,” she whispers, voice low but fierce, “has to stop.”
I laugh softly, almost a growl. “Then stop looking at me like you want more,” I murmur, leaning closer so my lips are just shy of her ear. Every word, every breath against her skin, is a test.
Her breath catches. I can feel it, taste it in the electric space between us. Our eyes lock, and we’re both acutely aware of the pull, the desire, the frustration and the fire that refuses to die no matter how hard we tell ourselves it should.
The elevator dings, a reminder that we’re moving, but we barely notice. Nothing else matters except the proximity, the heat, the inevitability of the next move. Her lips press together tightly, trying to hold back the unspoken words, but her pulse tells me everything.
We don’t touch. Instead, we wait to see who breaks first. But the air between us is thick, charged, dangerous. The silence after my words feels louder than any shout. We’re both holding back, barely, not knowing what awaits us beneath these doors, but for these few moments, we’re the only two people that exist, and I can’t resist enjoying every second of it.
The elevator doors open, and without a word, we move through the hotel corridor like two predators drawn toward the same prey. We’re each other’s prey tonight. My hand finds the key card, sliding it into the lock with a fumbling urgency that mirrors the heat coiling in my chest. She’s right behind me, her eyes burning, lips pressed into a tight line, like she’s trying to maintain control, but I can see through it. God, I can see through all of her right now.
My hotel room door clicks shut behind us, and the sound is like a trigger. There’s no space for pretense now, no polite words and no teasing. I grab her wrist and pull her close before she can even react, pressing my body into hers desperately. Her breath hitches, soft and sharp, and I feel the familiar surge of heat tighten inside me.
“Don’t,” she starts, but it’s weak. I cut her off with a hard kiss, teeth scraping her bottom lip. She tastes like fire and frustration, and I want more…more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Her hands tug at my shirt, ripping at it just as fiercely as I tug at her dress. Her zipper comes undone in seconds. The sound barely registers over the rush of blood in my ears.
We’re both trying to dominate, trying to take control, and neither of us is willing to give in. Her nails dig into my back as I press her against the wall, hips grinding instinctively, and I let out a low growl. She bites my shoulder, hard, leaving a mark thatsends a jolt straight through me. I respond in kind, teeth grazing her neck, leaving trails of red that make her gasp.
Her hands roam, grabbing, pulling, demanding as much from me as I do from her. My fingers twist in her hair, tugging gently enough to provoke a sharp intake of breath but hard enough to assert dominance. Every kiss is aggressive, rough, claiming and every touch is both a punishment and promise.
She presses herself against me, legs wrapping around my waist without hesitation, and I can feel the desperate rhythm of her body as if it’s been waiting for this exact moment. I lift her effortlessly, backing toward the bed, letting her weight drive me as much as I drive her. Our clothes are torn in a frenzy, shirts, jackets, buttons, straps. Everything comes off instantly and we give into temptation we’ve been fighting all night.
We move together like fire and gasoline. She shoves me, and we scrape each other’s skin with each bite, each rough kiss pushing us higher, further. She scratches, she bites, she pulls, and I respond in kind, my hands roaming all over her body, teeth claiming her skin and my lips leaving a mark all over her. Every gasp, every moan, every grunt we let out is an affirmation of the need that neither of us can deny now.
Her nails leave red lines on my chest and my hands leave prints on her back and thighs. We trade control in rapid, heated bursts. One second she’s pressing me against the wall, the next I’ve spun us onto the bed, pinning her just enough to steal her breath, just enough to make her plead silently for me to give her more.
We don’t pause to catch a breath. There’s no tenderness, no softness, only the raw movement of hunger, lust, and desire. I cup her breast, running my fingers across her hard nipples. She gasps, tugging at my hair.
Rochelle’s hands slide down my chest, all the way down until she loosens my belt and unzip my trousers, letting my bulging dick push through the fabric of my shorts.
I let out a grunt as she strokes me, her hands cupping me at the tip.
