I Pucking Love You

by Pippa Grant

  God, her laugh is better than the crowd going wild over a slapshot buzzer beater. “And so modest. You know that turns me on.”

  “You turn me on.”

  “Why?”

  I lift my head.

  She’s still panting, swollen lips parted, eyes dark, but there’s a serious question in them.

  Why am I attractive?

  I should be furious at the world for making her doubt herself, but instead, there’s a selfish joy that I get to be the one who sees it. That I get to be the one to help her see it.

  “Because you’re strong.” I squeeze her thigh. “You have the patience of a saint. You have drive.”

  Her nose wrinkles. “Not that it—”

  “You keep trying long after people who don’t make it to the top walk away. That’s sexy.” I kiss her collarbone. “And you do it because you believe in your clients in ways no one else does. You know it’s hard. You know you’re fighting an uphill battle. And you stick with it for them. That’s fucking sexy too.”

  “Or crazy.”

  “I like crazy.” I lift my head to look her straight in the eye, lining my cock up with her wet core. “And you’re gorgeous too.”

  That nose wrinkle is getting on my nerves.

  “No—” she starts.

  “Your eyes have captivated me from the first moment I saw you.”

  She sucks in a surprised breath, and I inch into her, her swollen, hot folds welcoming my cock.

  “Tell me more,” she whispers.

  “When you wear your hair braided, I want to grab them and wrap them around my hands and hold on while I kiss you.”

  “Kinky.” She tilts her hips, taking me deeper, and christ, she’s heaven.

  Her pussy is where my cock wants to go in the afterlife. And every day before.

  “You have the cutest ears I’ve ever seen.”

  She laughs, tightening her walls around me, and I go cross-eyed.

  “And you have a magic pussy.”

  I thrust the rest of the way inside her. She gasps and arches into me, head back, hair spilled all over my pillow, looking every bit the goddess that she is. “Oh, god, you feel good.”

  “You’re fucking perfect, Muffy.”

  And you’re mine.

  I pump my hips, slowly, watching every shift in her expression, looking for the right angle to make her lose her mind while my cock strains and my balls ache from holding myself back, but I don’t care.

  I’m trapped in her gaze, wanting to kiss her but not wanting to break this spell.

  This isn’t sex.

  It’s more.

  “There,” Muffy gasps as her eyes slide closed, her hands squeezing my shoulders, her hot, slick channel squeezing my dick. “More there.”

  I’m sweating. Every thrust, every time she grinds her hips against mine, every time she tightens her walls around me or gasps my name or tells me what she wants, it all has me on the brink of blowing my load. The dam’s near bursting.

  But she comes first.

  She comes first.

  She has one foot on the bed, her knee up, the other leg wrapped around my hips, angling herself while I slam into her to gasps of yes and there and more.

  I’m holding her hand to the bed, our fingers entwined, the pit of my stomach cramping from the effort of holding back while she writhes under me, chanting my name. “Oh, god, Tyler, I’m coming.”

  “Look at me,” I order.

  Her eyes fly open as her walls clench around me so tight that dots dance in my vision, and I’m coming so fast and furious that all I can do is hold myself deep inside her, straining into the waves of release. “Muffy. Fuck. Fuck. So good.”

  “Can’t… control…” she gasps.

  “Don’t. Let go.”

  Fuck.

  I’m lost.

  Tumbling into oblivion with Muffy.

  But it’s safe and warm in her eyes. Happy. Full of wonder. Glorious.

  Exquisitely perfect.

  She squeezes my hand and sags back into the mattress, her pussy letting go of its grip on my cock. I strain into one last spasm, and then I’m spent too, collapsing on top of her.

  “So it is possible.” Her breath tickles my ear, and I’m suddenly chuckling.

  High five to Mr. Wonder Cock.

  We did it.

  I shift so I’m not completely squishing her, unable to keep myself from kissing her jaw, her neck, her ear. “You’re a goddess.”

  “Can we do that again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Today? Or do you need some time to recover? Like a week or something?”

  I lift my head.

  She’s grinning.

  She knows I don’t need a week.

  But Muffy teasing me while she’s naked and satisfied in my bed?

  I’m good with that.

  I’m perfect with that.

  I don’t know what it means for tomorrow, or next week, or next month, but today?

  Now? In this moment?

  I’ve never felt more at home.

  31

  Muffy

  Tyler gives good shower.

  He’s shampooing my hair, his body slick against mine, his fingers massaging my scalp, steam rising all around us and jets shooting out of the walls at all angles to keep us both warm. His lovely cock isn’t hard, but it isn’t soft either—it’s like he has the same body organ hangover that my pampered pussy is dealing with.

  How can my vagina feel so very satisfied, so very tired, so very overstimulated, and so very eager to do it all again, all at the same time?

  “Did your sisters teach you to do this?” I ask him as I arch into his touch.

  He snorts. “Yes, Muffy. I shower with my sisters all the time.”

  “I thought so. You strike me as the type.”

  He leans left, and I get a face full of water from the overhead spout that he’s been blocking. But I’m still laughing as I sputter and spit suds out of my mouth.

  I totally asked for that.

  “Any more questions?” he asks.

  “Ten thousand.”

  His face relaxes into a smile. “Good.”

  Rufus yowls on the other side of the shower glass. My bathroom back at Mom’s house has a tub with a shower curtain, and my cat is freaking out at seeing me naked and wet, which he doesn’t usually have to endure.

  Pretty sure he wants to save me from the evil water. Or possibly he’s having a panic attack on my behalf and needs me to save him from himself.

  “Have you ever had a cat?” I ask Tyler.

  “Nope. Just a dog. Boots.”

  “That’s adorable.”

  “He was Staci’s, really. But I taught him to beg for bacon, and he stayed with us when she went to college.”

  “You went to college?”

  “For two years. Then I got drafted.”

  “What were you studying?”

  “Underwater basket weaving.”

  I laugh, and suddenly he’s kissing me. I’m completely stark naked and wet, with bubbles sliding down my face, soft and pliant everywhere he’s solid muscle, and I’ve never felt so safe.

  He knows I’m a walking disaster. He knows my biggest secrets. He knows I faked it the first time we were together, that I can be mouthy and argumentative, that I stress eat, that I’m not conventionally successful, and he’s still here, kissing me like I’m the queen of sexy lady land.

  “Come to the game tonight,” he murmurs against my lips.

  “Can’t. Shift at Cod Pieces.”

  He growls. Like, he actually growls. I’m showering with a mountain lion who wants to suit up and take on an armored fish for me.

  “It’s not for the money. One of my clients is the head manager, and she’s struggling to find anyone else to fill the night manager shifts half the week.”

  Those electric blue eyes land on me.

  “But I want to be at the game,” I whisper. And I do.

  I love watching him play. I’m one hundred percent
in over my head right now, and I know it, because I want to spend money I don’t have to get a jersey with his number on it and sit right at the glass cheering for him and telling anyone who’ll listen that he’s my man.

  I’m not supposed to have a man. I’m not supposed to want a man.

  But Tyler is different. And not because he’s not a man.

  He shakes his head. “You…”

  I wince. I know what comes next.

  Are crazy. You’re crazy, Muffy.

  “Do they know how lucky they are to have you?” he asks.

  “They?”

  “Your clients.”

  Okay. Not what I expected. “I’m not exactly having a lot of luck finding most of them men worthy of their time, so I don’t know that I’d call them lucky.”

  He turns us so the water’s spraying behind me, and tilts my head up, rinsing the shampoo out, still massaging my scalp. “You don’t owe them everything, Muffy. You owe them your best effort to find good matches. The rest of it—”

  “Muff Matchers isn’t only about finding true love. It’s about helping my clients love themselves enough to be able to recognize a partner worthy of their love. So the rest of it is important. If I’m not willing to fry some fish and clean a grease trap or two to demonstrate what a good partner is willing to do, and to validate that all of who they are is important no matter their job, their family, or their life mission, then all I’m doing is taking their money like any other matchmaking service would.”

  He’s quiet while he rinses the rest of my hair.

  And since I’m feeling weirdly exposed again, I distract myself with the sight of naked wet Tyler.

  There’s nothing like being in an otherwise spacious shower to make a girl realize how broad her boyfriend’s shoulders are, or how solid his chest is, or how thick his thighs are.

  Boyfriend.

  He said we’re dating.

  Does that actually make him my boyfriend?

  Do I want a boyfriend?

  I want Tyler. He’s somehow managed to sneak past every barrier and booby trap that I usually lay for the men who come into my life, and it’s not nearly as terrifying as it should be.

  “You owe it to yourself to treat yourself as well as you treat your clients,” he finally says.

  And that is exactly why it’s so easy to let him in.

  He’s not trying to get back in my pants.

  I mean, he probably is, but that’s not all he wants.

  Is it?

  “Have you ever had your heart broken?” The question slips out before my filter can engage, but really, do I have a filter? Do I want a filter?

  My mother might be her own special brand of annoying, and often accidentally insulting, but she holds nothing back, and god knows I do the same when I’m on a mission.

  His gaze flicks away for a second, but he looks back at me and nods. “Once. College. I hooked up with a teammate’s sister. Fell in love. Head over heels. Completely gone. Told my family. And then my teammate found out…”

  I cringe. I have no idea what Tyler was like in college, but I know his reputation here. Women. Parties. Fun. “He made you break up?”

  He snorts and reaches for the conditioner that his doorman delivered with the cat supplies. “You could say that.”

  I snort too. “Well. You showed him. Bet he’s not showering naked with a woman right now before spending the day getting ready for a professional hockey game.”

  “Oh, he probably is. Asshole’s the one who gave me the concussion in the playoffs two seasons ago.”

  I squeak.

  He laughs.

  Rufus yowls and tries to dig a hole through the glass to get to us.

  He squeezes the conditioner all over my head. “My mom got the last laugh. She put him in her show.”

  “No.”

  And now he’s wincing. “Not my favorite bit of hers, but she’s got a point. We were best friends before he dumped me for liking his sister. What’s it say about any of us if I was good enough to be his friend, but not good enough to date his sister?”

  That’s a question I don’t really want to ponder. “Does your mom make fun of you a lot in her shows?”

  He shakes his head while he gets back to rubbing my scalp and pampering the hell out of me. “Nope. I mean, she still does her zombie grandpa skit from time to time, but in her defense, I hadn’t been to a funeral in twenty years, so it’s not like she knew it still bothered me.”

  “If you’ve skipped funerals for twenty years—”

  “I haven’t known that many people who died.”

  I blink at him, and then we’re both cracking up. I have no idea why it’s funny, but I don’t actually care.

  Seeing him laugh is like being in on the world’s best-kept secret.

  Tyler Jaeger, tough-as-nails hard-ass hockey player, has an amazing laugh.

  The door bangs open, and two large figures burst in. “Jaeggy! Breakfast time!”

  “Your apartment’s got egg all over it, Jaegs. What’s up with that?”

  I shriek.

  Tyler shoves me in the shower corner and spins toward the door, blocking my view, but his hands are covered in conditioner and there’s enough on the floor that everything’s slippery and I’m suddenly sliding to the ground.

  “Get out,” he snarls.

  “Whoa. Didn’t know you weren’t alone.” Is that Rooster? Oh my god, is that Rooster Applebottom? Can he see my muff? I’m squatting on the shower floor, knees up, peering through Tyler’s legs, which are spread because that’s what men do.

  They spread their legs and widen their shoulders and glare and look terrifying, except I’m peering at Rooster and Connor Klein and can’t entirely make them out because Tyler’s dangly bits are a little in the way.

  Related: I’m probably not supposed to be turned on by this angle of Tyler’s anatomy, but I can’t look at his package at all without hoping we make it back to the bedroom before my morning dates.

  Appointments.

  Not dates.

  Appointments.

  “We’ll go wait in the living room,” Connor offers.

  Mist is raining down on me. I’m hiding my boobs with my thighs and my vagina with my hands and ankles, which might not be all that effective.

  Plus, Tyler’s giving them a full frontal through the foggy glass, but then, they’re probably naked together all the time.

  And now it’s getting very hot in here as I contemplate an entire team of naked Thrusters.

  Not that it’s not already hot.

  Hello, Tyler’s ass. I really could bounce a quarter off his cheeks.

  “Leave,” he says to our unexpected bathroom guests.

  “But breakfast,” Connor replies.

  “And bunnies,” Rooster adds.

  Tyler makes one of those growly noises that has me getting damp between my legs again, and not because we’re in the shower and I’m sitting in a puddle. “Drop the keys on your way out. Why do you even have keys to my place? I don’t have keys to my place.”

  “Fourth of July?” Connor says.

  “We’re keeping the keys,” Rooster announces. “Might need us to rescue you from the demon cat one day. Or to have that threesome.”

  “Out!”

  “C’mon, Jaeggy,” Connor says. “It’s not like you ever have women here. We didn’t know you meant she moved into your bedroom. We just wanted breakfast.”

  The door shuts, but neither of us moves.

  At least, not for a minute.

  I do take the opportunity to give Tyler’s ass a test squeeze.

  Kinda want to bite it, if I’m being honest. I think I could from this angle.

  He turns, and hello, Tyler’s penis.

  It really is lovely. And it’s growing before my eyes.

  “Muffy—”

  His voice is strangled like me looking at him is making it hard for him to stand up. I wrap one hand around his thickening cock and stroke it, my other hand cupping his balls, and he m
akes a noise that might be a fuck, but it’s not fully intelligible.

  He’s literally growing in my hand, and it’s making my pussy throb.

  “Time—skate—go—” he grunts.

  Yeah, and I have things to do too.

  But I don’t want to do things.

  I want to lick him.

  So I do.

  I’ve watched movies. I’ve seen GIFs. I know how blow jobs are supposed to go. But it’s not like I’ve ever practiced.

  Stick a guy’s dick in my mouth?

  Gross. No.

  Suck on Tyler’s magnificent cock?

  Yes, please.

  I wrap my lips around his head and flick my tongue over his salty tip, and he makes one of those delicious noises again.

  My breasts are tingling. My over-exerted vagina is complaining she’s empty.

  “You don’t have to—” he starts, and I silence him by sucking him deeper into my mouth while mist swirls around us and the spray off the shower dusts us.

  It’s a little awkward at first, but he’s making all the right fuck, that’s good noises, wrapping one hand in my hair, which can’t be easy since it’s all slicked up with conditioner, but Tyler Jaeger is an achiever.

  I want to be an achiever too.

  I want to give him the best blow job of his life.

  I’m bobbing on his cock, sucking and licking, and it’s turning me on so much that I’m spreading my own legs a little as I go up on my knees, stroking myself too.

  I don’t care if Rooster and Connor come back in and find us like this.

  I don’t care if they’re still right outside the door and can hear us.

  All I care about is getting Tyler off with my mouth.

  But the idea of having an audience?

  I jerk my fingers faster inside of myself while I squeeze his balls and take him as deep as he can go without me gagging.

  “Fuck, Muffy,” he gasps. “Feels so good.”

  He’s pumping his hips into my mouth like he can’t stop himself.

  Like I drive him wild.

  And I love it.

  I love every bit of this in ways I never thought I could.

  I hit my clit as I suck harder on his dick, and suddenly I’m coming all over my fingers while he groans my name and strains into my mouth, his thighs quaking. “Muffy, I’m there. I’m—”

  He wrenches himself out of my mouth, hauls me up by my armpits, and he kisses me, a punishing, bruising, delicious kiss, while his cock pulses and spasms against my stomach, a groan emanating deep in his throat.