Page 60 of Puck Wild


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Jake's lips were soft, the taste of Earl Grey still lingering there. His hands—hesitant at first—slid up the sides of my neck, holding on in case I might vanish. My arms locked around his waist and pulled him flush. He was warm, alive, and real.

We broke apart briefly. He was panting, just a little. After a gentle laugh, he kissed me again, hungrier this time, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I let him in. My knees went weak.

I was not a person whose knees went weak.

Jake's right hand reached around to the small of my back, slipping under my t-shirt, fingers splaying there, anchoring me. I pressed harder, feeling his body's wiry muscle.

For a second, I worried he would stop, make a joke, and turn the moment into another bit for the highlight reel of his life. Instead, he pulled away and searched my eyes.

"I've wanted to do that since—"

I cut him off with my mouth because the last thing I needed was to hear him say how long he'd wanted to do that. I was already bracing, worried I might not meet his expectations.

The next thirty seconds were a blur of hands and motion and the faint, sickening suspicion I would never be enough for this, for him, and how his body seemed to race ahead and mine lagged behind.

Jake's knees banged into the coffee table. I nearly tripped over a chair. We crashed into the fridge and the counter before Jake somehow steered us down the hallway.

We stumbled into my bedroom. Two hours ago, I'd made my bed, with hospital corners sharp as usual. Jake landed on the mattress face-first, then rolled onto his back and yanked me down by the waistband of my jeans. A giggle escaped him.

"Sorry." He didn't look sorry at all. "Didn't mean to tackle you. Unless you're into that."

My lips were at his mouth, kissing, before words could roll out of mine. I unspooled under him. His hands navigated my body like he ran a breakaway: all instinct.

The first time he tried to get my shirt off, he got it stuck at my shoulders and nearly dislocated my elbow. I had to help, and that made me laugh.

We managed to get our pants off without injury, and then Jake rolled me over and knelt beside the bed in his boxers, a massive grin on his face.

I'd had sex, dark, shadowy, and fueled by lust, but not like this. It was never anything that counted, and I didn't do it with the lights on and a person in my bed who could make me forget to breathe.

Jake leaned in, his mouth on my jaw, and made a noise between a moan and a laugh. It vibrated right through me.

The following minutes were a tangle of elbows, knees, and uncoordinated enthusiasm. His teeth nipped my lower lip (too hard), and then soothed it with his tongue. I gasped and tried to say his name, but all that came out was a squeak.

"Relax," he whispered. His hands, big and callused, slipped inside the waistband of my briefs.

He yanked once, and they were around my knees. He started nosing down my chest, kissing everywhere except the places that made sense.

I should've felt ridiculous—twenty-six years old, naked except for socks, and aching so hard I could barely see straight—but instead all that registered was the heat of Jake's breath and the sharp, perfect focus of his hands.

He had one palm on my hipbone, steadying me like he needed me not to levitate. I braced my hands on the mattress, and then, Jake had my cock in his mouth.

My first thought: he was aggressive. It wasn't a gentle, exploratory blowjob. It was a full-on assault: no finesse, only heat, suction, and a constant hum in his throat.

I tried to keep quiet. I really tried, but a strangled noise ripped out of me, and Jake made a satisfied, obscene sound and doubled down. He was sloppy, wet, and determined.

Jake's mouth popped off and, without warning, he licked a stripe up my shaft and circled the head with his tongue before taking me back in. He acted with enthusiasm that could've been reckless if he didn't know precisely where he was going.

I saw a tan line at the base of his neck, a scar from a skate blade above his eyebrow, and a hint of a smile breaking through as he worked. I reached for his hair and then raked my fingers through it.

The need to control, organize, and direct was gone. I was limp, powerless, boneless except for the places where it counted.

His mouth was hungry and relentless; he was going to make me come in two minutes or less, and we both knew it.

He sucked hard, sliding down until his nose pressed into my pubic hair, and I swore so loudly I was sure the upstairs neighbor heard it. Then, he came up for air, grinning like he'd just scored on a penalty shot.

"Good?"

I could only nod. My tongue malfunctioned.