by Marata Eros
Puck’s eyes run over every bit of me as he stands there silently. His scrutiny is so intense a lesser woman would flinch.
I’m not lesser, though. I’m me, and even though I was seized by excruciating insecurity for a heartbeat, I’m back to being who I always am, a bulldozer with skin.
“Can I come in?” he asks with a small smile.
“Oh, sorry!” I step aside, and he walks through the doorway.
After closing the door, I pause for a sec then lock it. Got to get into the habit, I think with a touch of resentment.
I turn, and Puck is right there.
Oh.
Gently, he pushes me against the door.
“I missed you.”
I gulp.
My fingers burn with wanting to touch him, but I’m not sure where we pick up from where we left off.
He’s not confused.
His lips sear my neck with sudden heated kisses, then his head lifts. “I guess we should get going on that date.”
Puck’s lips twist.
I blink.
“Date?”
Puck nods and even in the low light of my foyer, his hair shines like deep wine.
“Your hair’s red,” I say randomly, touching the short strands.
He nods. “Sorry I didn’t text first. Took a chance you’d be here.”
I smile. “Yeah, I could’ve been out carousing.”
Puck’s face is serious. “Nah.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Wouldn’t be this serious about a girl who does that.”
My eyes search his face. “Are we serious?” I hold my breath.
Puck nods. “Kind of early to make that commitment, but sometimes the brain doesn’t choose.”
His palm rests on the door beside my head.
Releasing my pent-up breath, I take his other hand and place it above my breast.
His eyes darken.
“Sometimes the heart does,” I finish for him.
Without a word, Puck unlocks my door and walks through to the outside.
I slip on my shoes and follow him, closing the door behind me.
“I’ve been here before,” I say coyly, looking at Puck from beneath my eyelashes. As he turns around to glance at me, my arms cinch around him tighter.
We slowly crawl up the longest gravel road I’ve ever been on, the low purring drone of the big pipes of his bike vibrating beneath us, subtly heating my legs.
The old farmhouse from a few months ago rises like a stranded jewel on its own knoll. It’s utterly different than when I was here to place Calem with his permanent family.
In the distance, I see Vince and Candace Morgan’s new place. That’s where Calem lives now. My eyes lovingly caress the wonderful slice of Americana, appreciating what that place represents to the little boy, then my gaze shifts back to Puck’s renovated old house.
He’s been a busy man. Every bit of the old farmhouse looks pristine, made new.
The finer details of trim are done in such a dark navy, they appear as a soft black accent on the white paint.
The door draws my full attention, and I feel my breath catch.
It’s blue. A very particular shade of blue.
I shiver as a horrible memory struggles to surface. I beat it back down with a determination born of terror.
I can’t think about that. Not once. Not ever again. Promised myself I would move on, that I wouldn’t play the victim. Be strong, like everyone expects. For my parents. For Kendra. For Harvey. For myself.
But that door...
I force myself to look away from the brilliantly crisp representation of the most pivotal, horrifying event of my life just as Puck rolls to a stop at the foot of the broad front porch steps.
Sliding off the back of the bike, I think it’s a stroke of luck I’d braided my hair in a single, fat braid down my back.
After all, I didn’t know I would be on a date with Puck tonight. Or seeing him.
Or going to his house on the back of his Harley.
I drop on the ground with a little hop. “Whooh!” I exclaim, barely gaining my balance.
Puck turns, removing a half helmet thing, and easily clears the seat as he swings his leg over the top.
The cooling engine ticks between us as Puck holds out his hand.
I give him my helmet, and he sets it on the seat, along with his own.
“You’ve ridden before?”
I nod. “Always wanted to learn how myself, just never took the time. Been on the back of a few bikes.”
That lazy smile appears on his face again, and my heart skips a beat at the promise I see in his expression. Possession. Hunger.
I turn away before he can read me.
Although I shouldn’t be afraid for him to know my feelings are growing as quickly as what he says his are, there’s a small part of me that holds a piece back.
Always.
From everyone.
I didn’t used to do that. Before.
Shaking off the thoughts that crowd my brain, I walk toward the house. Then another structure that I didn’t see as we were driving up catches my eye.
I stop, pointing to the huge building sort of tucked behind the house. “What’s that?”
Puck saunters over to me and hauls me off the top step, holding me against his muscular body.
“Hey!” I protest but not with force. I love the way we fit against each other and the way his chocolate-brown eyes devastate me with his intent. His emotions.
Puck sets me down, and taking my hand, leads me around the house.
The building appears to grow as we draw nearer. “It’s massive,” I breathe.
“It’s a shop,” he admits almost shyly.
I turn to him. “For what?”
“Like working with my hands.” He gives a mild shrug, waiting for what I’ll say.
He sure does, I think. “I guess you didn’t have much time being undercover.”
He flashes a tiny smile, and I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking of things other than mechanics and hobbies. “Nope.”
“Do you miss it?” I ask.
His fingers tighten around mine.
“Nope.”
I laugh, turning, but it fades when I see his expression.
“Didn’t tell you I was undercover.”
My heart stutters. “Just assumed, since Candace was undercover fed.”
“Oh.” He’s frowning.
“It’s wonderful,” I say. “There’s so much space.”
“Matches the house.”
“It’s so much bigger.”
Puck nods as he watches me. “A house is a place to be. The shop is more of a place to create, I guess.”
The lull in our conversation is comfortable, then he tugs at my hand. “Come on...” His smile returns. “I cooked you supper.”
“You did?” I laugh, thrilled. A guy who cooks is so sexy.
He nods. “I’m an older man.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’ve got some skills.”
That he does.
I feel the heat of my blush, and his eyes linger over the color suffusing my cheeks.
Suddenly, Puck steps forward, gently cupping my chin and lifting it.
A soft breeze kicks up just then, blowing strands of loose hair between us, and he bends low, brushing the softest kiss across my healing eyelid. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again, Temp.”
I want to believe that. So much. I want to sink into that promise of protection like a living cloud.
But that small part of me resists the genuineness of his words. I don’t examine why I hold back. It’s automatic.
Puck doesn’t press for words. He kisses my forehead then moves to my lips, traveling over the flesh there like he owns every bit of my mouth.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and he chuckles.
“If I don’t get you inside...” He kisses my mouth again, leaving me a little breathless. “My food won’t taste very good.”
“All right,” I agree softly, and my b
elly chooses that moment to rumble. My snack was beer, and my supper was a whole lot of nothing.
Puck lifts me until our faces are level then carries me just like we are. Moving through the front door, he sweeps me into his arms like he’s bringing a bride over the threshold.
I don’t notice the color of the door nearly as much that time.
Chapter 18
Puck
I take a long pull from my third chilled beer and eyeball Temp.
Even with the healing bruise, she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
She pushes the empty bowl of my homemade chili away, placing her palm on her flat stomach. “I’m stuffed.”
I cock an eyebrow. “I doubt it. You’re what—ninety pounds? You need to fatten up.”
Her lips tweak. “Hardly, but thanks.” Restlessly, Temp begins to peel the label from her bottle of dark imported Mexican beer. “How’s Calem?”
“Couldn’t be better.” I’m as happy as I’ve ever been. Our eyes meet, and I know she has the same void I do. The same secret. Different people. I wonder if people who've survived similar trauma are unconsciously attracted, though neither is the wiser.
Denni seemed to think that was true. She also believes I can help Temp.
And in theory, Temp could help me.
But how do I bring up what I know without looking like an absolute nosey fucking Parker? Thing is, none of the brothers even think about property without thoroughly looking into the female of interest. And man, am I interested.
That gorgeous peachy-pink color rises at Temp’s cheeks again, and I realize that I’ve been silently staring at her. “Sorry,” I mutter, sliding my eyes away.
“No,” Temp says.
My eyes snap back to hers.
Scooting one of my kitchen chairs back from the small nook table beneath the kitchen window, Temp stands, eyes steady on me. “I like it.”
“Which part?”
“The part where you’re not guarding yourself with your eyes. The part where Puck the man looks at Temp the woman, without caution.”
Though still cautious, for the first time ever, I’m letting my emotions out. For this woman, whom I’ve just barely allowed to hold my trust.
Temp strolls the three paces to my side then lightly places her hands on my shoulders.
I set my beer down. A trick of the light teases her features as the last of the day sinks through the divided panes of glass. The tangerine light of a dying sun strikes her healing eye, turning that aqua iris to liquid glass. It appears almost colorless, making the fading bruise seem disturbingly darker.
I pull her onto my lap, vanquishing the disquieting image, and Temp winds her small arms around my neck.
My hand twines in her loosened braid, and I urge her forward to my mouth. Temp braces herself against my shoulders, and I kiss her hard, begging entry with my lips. She opens hers to mine, and our tongues intertwine. When Temp’s breaths are ragged, I stand with her in my arms.
“You do carry me a lot.” Her tone is amused.
My eyelids sink halfway; my answer is simple. “I like to.”
Her breath hitches, amusement fading to desire. “I like it too.”
Moving fast through my house, I glance at my couch and dismiss it. I’m eager, but worshipping Temp’s body with every part of mine takes priority over easy access.
I take the steps two at a time, all the while those ocean eyes trace my face and the emotion I leave there.
Temp
There’s nothing romantic about us tearing off our own clothes and crashing into each other.
Puck is so much taller that I only come to his chest, but I rise on my tiptoes as his fingers encircle my upper arms, steadying me and nearly lifting me all at once.
I groan with the synchronicity. And that’s where the romance of our instant connection lies hidden.
Nothing about being with Puck is work.
This is how loving someone should be.
Puck kisses me feverishly, his lips moving to my collarbone then working toward the curve of my shoulder then back again. A tender onslaught of heat and breath.
He moves as though he’ll flatten me on the big bed behind me, and I slide a palm to the center of his chest, deliberately brushing my thigh against his erection.
Puck hisses an inhale, eyes sharpening on my face. Voice strangled, he says, “Temp...”
“I want you in my mouth,” I say. I’m experienced in that—going down on a man allowed me to be in control. An absolute must.
He shakes his head. “I want you there, but I might come too fast.”
“You can’t get it up again?” I ask in challenge, thinking about the rep Kendra told me about. That he’s famous for his stamina.
His brows lower. “Fuck yes I can,” he growls.
I grasp his hard, silky length. “Then there should be no problem.”
Puck bends over me, strong hands sliding to my lower back. Then he jerks me forward, taking one of my nipples in his mouth.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, my head falling backward. Puck captures it with one hand, pressing my pelvis closer with the other. The man doesn’t make it easy to pleasure him.
Moving from one breast to the other, Puck twirls his tongue around the nipple, making sure to give each breast equal attention.
My legs begin to tremble, and Puck finally lifts his head.
The corners of his mouth turn up. “Now you can suck my cock.”
Sinking to my knees, I lightly caress the insides of his thighs. Puck’s balls are high and tight. I handle them lightly, stroking the underside.
He shivers.
Rising to my knees, I take just the mushroom-shaped tip of his velvety skin inside my mouth.
Puck’s head tips back, his fingers driving into my hair and fisting it carefully. As he guides my head for speed, we get a rhythm, and I relax my throat, locking down my gag reflex and tossing away the key.
“God, Temp, you’re like a porn star.” His laugh is shaky. His gaze is slack with need, desire deepening his brown irises to an almost-perfect black within the gloom of the space.
I smile around the tip of him, thinking I’m not doing too bad, considering how he’s built. I sink my lips to the root, and Puck stops me, holding me there, and I groan.
This is the most I’ve ever been able to do with a man.
Puck was my first. I don’t know what internal switch was flipped to make me choose him when I did, but going down on a man I’ve given a piece of myself to is easier than on one I have not.
I know my need for control isn’t healthy, but finally, with Puck, I can let it go.
I was a virgin before him, not a saint.
Puck eases me off him, and we gaze at each other for a moment. “I want to be in you. I don’t want to wait until my pillar of readiness is available again.”
A laugh shoots out of me. “Nice.”
He gives a tiny shrug. Lifting me by my arms, he kisses me on the lips that were just on him. “You’re so good at being bad, Temp.”
I lean back, giving him a quizzical look.
“Love that you’re skilled”—he touches my chin, his thumb stroking my bottom lip—“when you’re an innocent.”
If he only knew.
He hauls me to the bed and pushes me forward.
I palm the mattress, arresting my fall onto the soft surface, my back to his front.
Panic swells. It’s just automatic.
I turn, sighting him over my shoulder in the waning light.
Puck grips my hips, and I grab his wrist. “I want to be on top,” I say.
I know I can’t stop him if he wants to have sex with me from behind.
The panic beats against my insides like steel feathers, even though I know that Puck’s no rapist. Never.
My body doesn’t seem to agree.
Just when I think I’ll freak out, he bends over the top of me, curving protectively around my body, and says softly, “I’d love that.”
Re
leasing my hips, he walks along the side of the bed, trailing a hand from my naked hip to my breast, penis bobbing.
My fear turns to arousal. Puck, in all his naked glory and allowing be to in control, kicks that fucking terror trigger to the curb.
He lies on the bed. The linens are crisp and neutral beneath him, making his deep-red hair look like burnished embers.
Twilight has snuffed out the day, and only the barest amount of light hangs in the room from the west.
It’s enough to illuminate his beauty. And the scars.
His tattoo doesn’t fully cover them, but I know what I’m looking for.
Restraint scars decorate his wrists. They’re faded after this many years, but I’m observant.
Knowing he’s also been abused gives me courage when I had none before.
My pussy is wet from the foreplay I performed on him. My fear hasn’t stolen my natural arousal. I crawl up his body.
I want to be loved more than I want to be a prisoner to my fear.
Swimming between his legs, I place my warm wet center over the top of his rigid length.
Puck palms my butt cheeks, pressing us tighter and splitting my sex.
Sliding my body back and forth across his cock, simultaneously rubbing my clit. My juices slick him. Puck is performing his own torturous foreplay, and before I know it, I’m doing the dance with him.
He brings me forward, and I slide back.
“Puck,” I whisper frantically, my body begging for the orgasm at the golden edge of my consciousness.
“Getting close, baby?” he asks softly, eyes hooded as they explore my face.
All I can do is nod.
I’m not as in control I thought I would be, but I don’t give a damn.
With an abrupt upward motion, Puck brings me forward, releasing his cock from my weight.
He kisses me deeply then shoves me backward.
My knees automatically bend, widening my stance as his cock spears my moist entrance, and we groan together at the perfect contact.
He fills my entrance just right. But he doesn’t move forward. The instincts of a god.
Our eyes lock. “We good?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He tilts his hips forward as he presses my pelvis down.
Puck’s Adam’s apple plows down then up. “Fuck, you’re tight.”