Pucked Love (Pucked, #6)(25)

“You’re so beautiful.” I meet her heavy, needy gaze. There’s something else there, not the anxiety and anticipation that comes with wondering what’s next, but a different kind of wanting.

A small smile curves her pouty lips. “So are you.”

“I think only to you,” I mutter, then dip down to pepper kisses along her jaw and neck and then lower until I reach the swell of her breast. I capture her nipple between my lips, tonguing the barbell before I tug it between my teeth.

Charlene arches and moans, that delicate sound sending a bolt of heat down my spine. The ache in my balls is damn near violent, but I’m accustomed to delayed gratification and determined to make good on this morning’s promise.

I lick and suck and kiss one nipple and then the other, moving back and forth between them until Charlene’s fingers are fisted in my hair and she’s grinding aggressively, fighting her way toward an orgasm. I wrap my hands around her waist and lift so she can’t achieve friction.

She whines my name.

“I’m pretty sure I said I was going to kiss you for hours before I let you come.”

“It’s been long enough, don’t you think?” she pleads.

I glance at the clock on the wall, ticking away our evening. We’ve been making out for far longer than I realized. I pull her closer and kiss the space below her navel, and along the waistband of her leggings. I plan to kiss every inch of her body—eventually—but I’d like to play with her a little longer.

I settle her ass on my thighs again, but away from my erection so she can’t rub on me. Her expression is pained, desperate, her need for release overwhelming. I keep one hand on her hip but slide the other palm up her stomach, between her breasts, until my fingers drift over her throat, tracing the edge of the pearls. Moving higher, I curl a finger along the shell of her ear and follow the curve of her jaw with my thumb.

As soon as I release her hip, Charlene tries to slide forward. I tip my head to the side, and she stops.

I follow the waistband of her leggings with a single finger. “I like these. Why don’t you wear them more often?”

“I wear them all the time,” she says breathlessly.

“I would like it if you wore them for me.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

I trace the outline of a donut that ends conveniently at the apex of her thighs. She sucks in a raspy breath as I run my knuckle over the bump of steel piercing her hood.

“I bet I can make you come like this.”

“I’m sure you can.”

I find the steel with my thumb and press gently. Charlene’s grip on my knees tightens, and she rolls her hips. I decide this is how I want her tonight: in my lap, close like this, so I can see every emotion as it crosses her perfect, expressive face.

I keep circling the piercing, slow and gentle, aware that softness pushes Charlene to the edge the fastest, and that the lack of direct contact is going to make her even needier.

And just as I predict, she comes, body shaking hard, nails digging into my knees through my jeans. Her elbows give out, and I have to tighten my grip on the back of her neck to keep her in place as she rides out the waves of pleasure, her soft moans growing louder as the orgasm drags her under.

When she’s over the crest I pull her close again. She’s drunk on her orgasm, uncoordinated and fumbling as brings our mouths back together.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, tongue already in my mouth.

She grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it roughly over my head. Her satin fingertips drift down the sides of my neck to my chest. Charlene comes back to suck on my bottom lip as she circles my nipples, but when she attempts to go lower, I stop her. At her questioning expression, I grip her by the waist and lay her out on the couch.

“I want to taste how much you need me,” I explain.

I drag her leggings down and toss them to the floor, then pause when I hook my fingers in her underwear. Most of them are some combination of lace, satin or leather. Sometimes it’s all three, and occasionally there are buckles and chains and metal clasps—those are her choice, not mine.

But her panties tonight are different and nothing I’ve ever seen on her before. They’re cotton—that boy short style I’ve never been particularly fond of. Until now. These are lace trimmed at the waist, with tiny polka dots. Sweet and sexy, just like Charlene.

“Do you have a lot of these?”

“A few pairs.” Her cheeks flush.

“I can buy you more,” I offer.

“They’re not expensive. I get five pairs for twenty-five dollars.” She lifts her hips, possibly encouraging me to remove them.

“We could shop for them together. Do they come in different patterns and styles?”

“They do. I can show you my other ones after.”

I shimmy them over her hips and drop my head, pressing my lips to the crest of her pubic bone before I remove them and drop them on the coffee table.

I shoulder my way between her legs and make her come with my mouth. She smells like need and tastes like want. By the time I’m done, the ache in my stomach is damn near killing me. I let Charlene pop the button on my jeans and drag the zipper down. I shove my jeans and boxers over my hips and down my thighs. Charlene stands between my legs and pulls them off the rest of the way, then pushes the coffee table back and sinks to her knees between my parted thighs.