I Pucking Love You

by Pippa Grant

  “Oh my god. I think I just drooled. Can we get one of those now? Oh my god. It’s like sex is marijuana. It gives me the munchies.”

  I chuckle and kiss her soft skin. God, I love her.

  Oh, fuck.

  Fuck.

  What the fuckity fuck?

  “I should offer to munch on you but I can’t move,” she says. “Can I offer to munch on you when I can move again? I’ve watched YouTube videos. I know what I’m supposed to…”

  She trails off with a yawn, and a moment later, a soft snore escapes her lips.

  Her hand slides off my head and flops to the bed.

  Yep.

  She’s out cold.

  I should move. My legs are hanging off the bottom of the bed. The cat’s climbing onto my ass. I need to rub out this boner.

  Convince myself I’m confusing oral sex with love and that Muffy’s simply a good friend.

  But I don’t want to do any of that.

  I want to stay right here. With her belly as my pillow and her breathing as my music, knowing I’m the only man whose name she’s ever screamed, the only man to ever make her come.

  Rufus kneads my ass, his claws digging through my jeans, and he hits the spot over my tailbone where Muffy clocked me with the door this morning.

  Jesus.

  That was this morning.

  Maybe that’s why I don’t want to move.

  Long day.

  But that’s not it.

  That’s not it at all.

  Truth?

  I just want to be with Muffy.

  It’s all I’ve wanted from the first time I noticed her hanging out at Chester Green’s.

  Her kind of special speaks to something buried deep inside me that I haven’t let out in years.

  Rufus hits my bruise again, and I lift my head to glare at him.

  He makes eye contact with me, misses my butt with his next attempt at kneading, and falls off me.

  Muffy mumbles something about snowplows and chicken feathers, then shivers.

  She’s completely naked except for her socks, her skin whisker-burned where I kissed her, goosebumps popping up in patches. I push off the bed, and she instantly rolls to her side, curling in, shivering.

  It’s not normal to want to take care of someone else as much as I want to take care of Muffy.

  But grabbing a blanket and draping it over her doesn’t feel like an obligation.

  It’s not something I resent.

  It’s a privilege.

  She smiles softly in her sleep, and I take that image with me into the bathroom after I kill the lights in the bedroom. That, and the memory of her face, lips parted, head thrown back, chest rising and falling as she screamed my name.

  The taste of her orgasm on my tongue.

  Yeah.

  I’m totally rubbing this out in the shower, yanking on my cock and fantasizing about driving into Muffy. Taking her bent over the bed. Fingering her while she soaks in my tub.

  Letting her tear my clothes off the minute I get home and banging her against the door.

  I want to worship her gorgeous breasts.

  I want to feel her come around my dick.

  I want her to cradle my balls and suck me so deep into her mouth that I can feel the back of her throat.

  And I want to eat her for breakfast every day for the next week.

  Month.

  Year.

  I come with a blinding force, clenching my jaw so I don’t make any noise and wake her up.

  My knees almost buckle, and my thighs are shaking.

  I haven’t climaxed in almost two months, and it’s every bit as painful as it is euphoric.

  My dick still works.

  And it’s not on a hair trigger.

  I rush through the rest of my shower, towel off, and head back to the bedroom completely naked.

  Muffy’s still curled up in the middle of my bed, so I climb in, wrap my body around her, and bury my nose in her hair.

  She sighs and wiggles her ass into my crotch. “Rhinestone panda.”

  I can love her.

  It’s like a friend thing.

  Right?

  Right.

  No biggie. We’ll be friends who love each other, quietly, without saying the words out loud.

  And have sex.

  And don’t get married or have kids.

  Perfect.

  29

  Muffy

  I’m doing my best to very quietly make myself breakfast in Tyler’s kitchen, which is proving difficult.

  One, my phone won’t stop blowing up.

  My mother wants to know if she should tell William to bring over his old wedding china so she doesn’t have to buy me a new set when I get hitched to Tyler, because of course she’s going there.

  Kami wants to know how Rufus is doing and when I’m going to talk to her about whatever the hell happened in Richmond.

  And four of my current clients, plus three more women who regularly join us for our support group meetings, want to know why I haven’t mentioned that I’m dating a professional hockey player, because they definitely want details, and is it true that Rooster Applebottom has some sort of magical penis that would be worth trying out at least once, even if he’s not long-term relationship material, because they would absolutely be up for meeting him if I could set that up.

  Also keeping me from getting breakfast is the fact that I can’t locate an egg-flipper anywhere, which is getting awkward since I already cracked two eggs and they are definitely at the need-to-be-flipped stage.

  “Rufus, find me a flipper,” I whisper to my cat.

  He ignores me and pushes his food bowl along the half-wall separating the kitchen from the dining room, making the scraping noise that only porcelain against tile can produce.

  My phone buzzes again in rapid succession, and I wonder if this is how Tyler feels every time one of his family group texts starts.

  It’s a lot to keep up with.

  But most importantly, I need to flip my eggs.

  Without a flipper.

  “Screw it,” I mutter to myself. I’ve watched Food Network. I’ve seen chefs flip eggs without a flipper by doing that thing with the pan, so I’m gonna shake the pan and flip the eggs that way.

  “Think coordinated thoughts, Rufus,” I whisper.

  I grab the pan by the handle, jiggle it a little to make sure the eggs are free, flick my wrist, and— “Dammit.”

  You guessed it.

  Egg all over the stove, dripping over the cast iron grates.

  “Seven out of ten,” Tyler says behind me, startling me so bad that I shriek and drop the pan, which lands crooked on the stove, then tumbles to the floor less than an inch from my bare foot, spilling the rest of the egg that wasn’t already on the stovetop.

  “Not a serial killer,” he says dryly. “You’re safe.”

  While I scurry out of the blast zone of the hot food, Rufus leaps onto the goopy eggs and slides into the oven.

  I wince. My heart’s still in my throat, my phone’s buzzing incessantly, and I’ve made an absolute disaster out of Tyler’s kitchen after he put me to sleep with the orgasm to end all orgasms last night.

  With all that exertion he put into it, I thought he’d sleep another hour or two. Especially with how very dead to the world he was when I left the bedroom ten minutes ago.

  And now that he’s awake, I don’t know how to say thank you for the best feeling of my entire life and I’m sorry I fell asleep instead of trying to reciprocate.

  Falling asleep after he went down on me feels very on-brand though.

  It’s one hundred percent something I’d do, and look at that, I did it.

  I point around the kitchen. “I’ll clean this up. And get you more eggs. I couldn’t find—”

  He steps behind me, wraps one arm around my waist, and uses the other to reach into the crock of utensils on the counter and produce an egg-flipper.

  “—That,” I finish lamely.

  Is it wron
g to feel like a disaster and not care at all because you’re suddenly realizing that the guy whose place you’re demolishing has a mighty oak in his pants that’s poking you in the butt?

  Asking for a friend.

  And yes, I’m my own friend. Most days.

  His fingers drift lower on my belly. “I’ll clean it later.”

  “Tyler?” I whisper.

  “Hmm?”

  “Are we dating?”

  “Yes.”

  I’ve never wanted to date anyone before, but there’s a grown woman inside me twirling and shrieking with joy right now.

  Play it cool, Muffy. Play it cool. “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  No, not just okay, my vagina yells. This is fucking fantastic!

  I press my ass back against his crotch. “I mean, good. Great.”

  He replies with a kiss to my neck.

  My breasts get heavy, my nipples tighten, and my clit pulses in anticipation.

  “Tyler?”

  His lips continue their path down to my shoulder. “Mm?”

  “I’m not wearing panties.”

  That tree trunk in his pants twitches against me. His hand momentarily stills, then slips into my sweatpants.

  Okay, his sweatpants.

  I totally raided his closet.

  And that’s my last coherent thought before his fingers find my clit.

  He circles the nub while sliding his other hand up my shirt to tease my breast.

  Sensations rocket through my body, ecstasy skating over my skin while he strokes my pussy and caresses my breast. I gasp and grab the counter for support. “Oh, god, you’re good at this.”

  “Spread your legs for me, Muffy.”

  I do, and he slips a finger inside me. “Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes in my ear. “So hot and wet.”

  I’d reply, but words have once again abandoned me.

  Instead, I close my eyes and find a rhythm with my hips, riding his finger and pressing my butt into his morning wood and arching into the hand fondling my breasts.

  “You snuck out of bed,” Tyler says in my ear as he matches my rhythm with his hands. “I wasn’t done with you.”

  And just like that, another orgasm rocks through my core.

  I throw my head back. “Tyler!”

  “That’s it, Muffy. Squeeze me. Come harder. Let it all go.”

  He pinches my nipple and all the sensations crash higher and faster. I’m pushing my ass so hard into his crotch that I’m probably damaging his lovely thick length, gasping for breath, gripping the counter tight enough to leave marks, and I don’t want to stop.

  I don’t want to let go.

  I want to live in this pulsating bliss of orgasming around his fingers for a few more minutes.

  Or hours.

  Or days.

  Just me and Tyler and my cat, naked and touching all the time.

  Laughing. Talking. Sexing.

  Like a real relationship.

  A full-body shiver races through me as the last vestiges of my orgasm fade away.

  I open my eyes and almost shriek again.

  Rufus is sitting on the counter, and we’re nearly eye to eye.

  Oh, god.

  Tyler probably thinks I was making eye contact with my cat while he was fingering me.

  “My eyes were closed,” I gasp as I sag against him.

  He kisses me on the top of my head. “Mm-hmm.”

  I twist to face him.

  He’s grinning. It’s a smug, self-satisfied, amused, sexy as hell grin that should be obnoxious and off-putting, but it’s so Tyler. “Told you I could do better.”

  I glance down at his tented pajama pants, then lift my eyes slowly over his bare stomach and chest. Insecurity rockets through me—I will never be as fit as he is—but he strokes my ass and pulls my belly against his hard cock, leaning in to capture my lips as my gaze lifts to his face, and nothing else matters.

  Just this bone-deep desire to be closer to him.

  I’ve had two life-changing orgasms in a matter of hours, and I want more.

  I want all the orgasms.

  But more—I want him to get all the orgasms too.

  And the idea of giving him as much pleasure as he’s giving me—that’s every bit as much of a turn-on as he is.

  So I take charge of this kiss. And I slide my hands down his pants to squeeze his bare cheeks.

  He growls low in his throat, a raw, primal sound that has my pussy aching in anticipation already again.

  He likes me.

  He wants me.

  It’s time for me to step fully outside my insecurities and show him I feel the same.

  30

  Tyler

  I can do this.

  I can use my magical peen to give Muffy the orgasm of her life.

  Me and the Wonder Stick are in this together. We’re not panicking. We can do this. We’ve climbed this mountain before.

  But never with the stakes quite so high.

  She’s kissing me like she’s found the meaning of life, one leg wrapped around my hips. I grab her ass and boost her all the way up so she’s cradling my dick between her thighs, and fuck, she feels good.

  She tastes good too.

  And the scent of her arousal?

  Fucking intoxicating.

  It’s game on. Performance of my life.

  I can’t do her against the wall. Tried that last time. Didn’t go so well.

  Although, was it really a wall?

  She thrusts her hands into my hair and her tongue deeper in my mouth, and my brain short circuits.

  No wall.

  Table.

  Counter.

  Dog biscuit.

  Dog biscuit?

  She’s grinding against my boner, and even through both our pants, I can feel how wet she is.

  Muffy Periwinkle, sex goddess.

  I’m getting her a damn medal. A championship ring.

  A cup.

  She’s getting the sex cup.

  She breaks the kiss with a gasp. “I’m so mad your shirt’s already off. I want to rip it.”

  My dick violently agrees that that would be awesome, and the smile blooming on her face tells me she felt his reaction.

  “I’ll rip yours,” I promise.

  Closet.

  My box of condoms is in my closet.

  She pumps her hips against my straining cock and leans in to kiss me again, and I go cross-eyed.

  I cannot make it out of the kitchen, much less to my closet.

  I want to be inside her more than I want to play hockey, more than I want to eat fried fish when I’m stressed, and more than I want to retire on a tropical beach to spend the rest of my days swimming with sea turtles and stingrays.

  Fuck it.

  I’m getting us to the bedroom.

  I turn, slam her into the corner of the door, and we both jolt.

  “Sorry,” I gasp.

  She tightens her legs around me. “Bedroom.”

  I don’t know how we make it, but we do. Muffy’s still kissing me. I’m hard as petrified iron. I want to touch her skin everywhere. I want to sunbathe in the glow of her smile. I want to drown in her gaze.

  I settle her on the bed, and I’m about to leave her to make a mad dash to my closet when she produces a condom from her pocket and shoves it in my hand. “Later I’ll tell you how much I hate that your sweat pants have pockets and mine don’t. But right now, will you please do me?”

  Her hair’s a crazy mass of curls. Her cheeks are pink. Her lips are swollen and parted, her breath coming fast, her eyes dark and hungry but also happy.

  The happy was missing this weekend.

  And the idea that she’s happy to be here, with me, is lighting up my soul.

  She is what I’m here for.

  It’s heavy and freeing all at the same time.

  “One rule,” I growl.

  Her brows furrow and she shrinks for a split second before she forces a smile back. “Rules, hm?”


  “No faking it.”

  “Oh,” she whispers.

  “Deal?”

  She answers by grabbing me by the cheeks and kissing me, and suddenly, nothing else matters.

  Nothing but kissing her back.

  Touching her.

  Learning her curves.

  Stripping her out of my pants and T-shirt.

  Looking at her, naked against my sheets, a blush creeping over her skin, but making no move to shield herself as I study her body, my gaze following my hands from her shoulders, down her arms, over her amazing breasts, down her gently curved belly, to that adorable belly button, the trimmed patch of hair hiding her sex from me until she parts her legs, letting me take in all the wonder of her womanhood.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous.” And I’m hoarse. Desperate to drive into her. But equally desperate that she know how badly I want her.

  She’s not some quick lay in a dark corner in a club.

  She matters.

  She raises up on one elbow, legs still parted, and tugs at the strings on my pants. “I want to see you too.”

  Far be it from me to tell her no for anything. I shuck my pants and toss them somewhere, fumble through rolling on the condom, and then her greedy little hands are grabbing my cock, sending sparks of ecstasy through my entire body.

  “He’s not broken.”

  I swallow hard and reach for control before her easy touch sends me over the edge and ruins this for both of us. “He was. But he likes you.”

  And that’s all I have to say about that.

  So I drop back down to claim all the kisses, my hands roaming, her fingers exploring, her legs hooking behind my back again.

  I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to scare her. I don’t want to say something I’ll regret. I don’t want to scare me.

  I want to show.

  I want to show her she’s worthy. And beautiful. And sexy.

  The Muffy I saw in Richmond? Haunted, hesitant, and hiding?

  I want that Muffy to fade into the background behind a Muffy who knows she’s queen of the world, and who owns it.

  And if I have to use sex to give her that confidence, I’m willing to make that sacrifice.

  “I shouldn’t still be this horny,” she gasps when I move my lips to her neck.

  “Yes, you should. I’m a sexy beast.”