Page 116 of Pucked Up Plans
“Much as I enjoy being filled by you, if you don’t move?—”
My actions cut her off.
Seated all the way inside, I pull out, only to piston my hips forward and shove back in.
“Yesssss,” she drawls, her head falling back and exposing her neck. Like a beacon, it draws me in. But I don’t shower it with the affection it deserves. I’m afraid I won’t be gentle and whatever I do will leave a mark.
Instead, I focus on not blowing before she finishes, though it’s all I want to do. I’m so close to exploding. And it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It’s not like she hasn’t had an orgasm yet tonight. But no. Still wrong. Tate comes first. Always.
Her fingers grip my shoulders, the tips leaving marks. I wish this pain would lessen the one below, but it’s the opposite. She’s got me so hard up, the explosion’s going to be earth-shattering, a reaction I only feel with Tate.
“Babe, I’m on edge here. You close?” My words are clipped, an unintentional sharpness to them. But I can’t hold back much longer. Not when her vagina clamps around me like a vise, holding me hostage and squeezing with its movements. It’s heaven and hell.
She snakes her hand between us, giving her clit a rub. “I’m com?—”
The sign I need, the word isn’t out of her mouth as my orgasm pummels me. I don’t let up the pounding into her. I can’t control the speed and power as I pump myself inside her, chasing the high of letting go.
And damn, is it euphoria. An intoxication unmatched anywhere except maybe scoring the winning goal in a championship game. It’s something I don’t want to come downfrom, a feeling I don’t want to let go of. A feeling passing way too quickly as I pull out and topple onto Tate’s limp body. My breaths are heavy and fast, my stamina needing time to recover. As much as I want to move, I’m sated and comfortable. I hope she’s not crushed under my weight.
“Give me a minute to recoup, and I’ll clean you up.”
“I thought last time might have been a fluke.” Her timid words dribble in slowly.
“A fluke?”
“Yeah, like how could it be that good, you know?”
She’s mentioned having sex with Aubrey’s father. Back when we were teens, I thought sex with Megan was good. And for most of my years, it was better than most.
Until Tate.
So, I get where her head’s at.
I peel myself off her, peering into her satisfied gaze. “Not a fluke. Simply that great.” I leave a chaste kiss on her forehead before getting up.
When I return with a washcloth in hand, Tate’s glassy eyes land on Lennon’s blanket, and she queries me with a raise of her brows. “Kinda old for a blankie, aren’t you, Walsh? And a pink one.”
“Lennon brings mine to Megan’s house, so I’m stuck with hers while she’s gone.”
My comment takes a while to sink in fully. “I have so many questions.”
“I’m an open book, if you haven’t figured that out already.”
I wipe her legs, gently washing away the evidence of our fun. She sits up, her legs crossed in a pretzel position. “This is Lennon’s blanket?” She points to it.
“Yep.”
“But doesn’t she need it to sleep?”
“She has mine.”
Her eyes slide sideways to me. “Your blanket?”
“Yeah. Because it smells like me.”
“So you get hers?”
“Yes. It’s a trade-off. When she comes home, we exchange back, each sleeping with our own.”
