Puck Money

Home > Other > Puck Money > Page 15
Puck Money Page 15

by Raine Miller


  Insanely hot. Having Talia against me…to feel and touch and kiss.

  * * *

  Talia

  * * *

  I took a chance and just went for it. I kissed Boris.

  He doesn’t seem to mind even though he does growl a little when I tug our lips apart. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” I say, looking up at him.

  “I’ve wanted to do a lot of things for a long time,” he answers, his hands traveling from the cheeks of my face to the cheeks of my ass. Umm, yeah. Domineering Boris is super hot. He pulls me hard against him like he can’t get me close enough. “You sleep in my bed and all I want is to join you there,” he rasps on a hot breath.

  “I would have let you,” I tell him as he goes back to kissing me, his lips taking a delectable walk from my mouth to my neck to my ear.

  With no effort at all, Boris sweeps me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist for balance as he walks us over to the chaise. He lowers me down and then stretches me out, kissing me the whole way. When he finally drags his lips off mine, he just stares. Looking a bit dangerous even, his eyes are dark with passion and hunger. I don’t have to wonder for long what he has in mind because his hands go to the waistband of my shorts. He raises an eyebrow at me asking permission. So I help him of course. In a matter of moments, I am divested of both my shorts and my panties. Naked from the waist down, and burning up from the fiery heat of his stare.

  Then he falls to his knees, as if he’s ready to worship me.

  “Let me see you.”

  My whole body must be blushing at his command. I can’t breathe and I can’t look him in the eye, but I allow my bent knees to part when I feel his hands nudge gently on the inside of my thighs. I’m totally bared to him and one thing’s for certain.

  He. Is. Looking.

  “May I pleasure you, Talia?”

  Yeeeeeeesssss.

  * * *

  Boris

  * * *

  She blushes an even deeper shade of pink but nods slowly several times, her long legs opening up for me even farther in invitation. It’s an invitation I don’t need to be given twice as I meet her pussy with my mouth. Tongue and lips and teeth explore her swollen wet lips and her sweet pink clit. I suck and lick and bite and tease, taking my cues from her moans of pleasure. Her hips pump against me, her hands pulling my hair. I focus for a long time on her clit, enjoying her sounds before slipping two fingers inside her tight, hot cunt.

  She cries out at me. “Yes. Yes. Please. Oh God, yes please!”

  I pump my two fingers in and out as I suck on her clit, so swollen with desire. I know she’s close and I want her to come. I want her to come on my fingers and my face. I want to taste her as she finds her release.

  She’s so close. So close. “Let go, krasotka,” I urge. “Let me feel you come. Will you come for me?”

  She moans and juts her hips, riding my face and my fingers, a wild animal. I love it. I finger her so hard, suck on her clit so hard.

  “Fuck. Yes!” she screams, and I devour her, letting her ride the wave until she finally slows the movement of her hips.

  When she stills, I pull my fingers free from the viselike grip of her orgasm, backing away, wiping my face with the back of my hand. Talia looks at me, eyes heavy-lidded and lustful. Her cheeks are red and there are red splotches along the creamy skin of her neck. I lean forward and kiss each red mark until I find her lips, letting her taste herself on me.

  We kiss and kiss, and I feel her hands on my pants, unbuttoning, pulling my cock free. It’s so, so hard as she strokes her hand up and down the length. At first, it’s slow, leisurely. But the harder our kisses get, the faster her strokes become. She moves her hand only once, to wet it between her own legs before going back to stroking me again. It’s such a turn-on. My hands move beneath her shirt, pinching at her hard nipples before pulling her shirt over her head, desperate to finally get a glimpse of the perky tits I remember from our first meeting.

  I push the thin, lace bra up on her chest, freeing her breasts, and there they are. Perfect and round and just as perky as I imagined them to be. Her dusky pink nipples are taut with want. I kiss each one, my teeth grazing over her nipples with gentle scrapes. Jutting them into my mouth, I can tell she likes the attention I’m giving them.

  The wetness of pre-cum dots the tip of my cock. I’m close, but I don’t want to be. Not yet. Talia, however, has other ideas. “I want to see you come,” she tells me. “I want to see your face when I make you come. Will you look at me?”

  I look up, desperate with need. Wanting her so badly. She’s so beautiful with her hair wild from my hands all in it. Her lips swollen from my plundering kisses. Her skin flushed pink from the orgasm I just pulled from her. And as soon as I look into her blue eyes, I’m gone. Lost. Undone.

  I come in her hand like a teenager. She strokes me until I’m empty, then falls forward so our foreheads rest against one another. For a long time, we just breathe together.

  Suddenly, Talia’s shoulders begin to shake, and I’m worried she’s crying, embarrassed by our tryst. But when I peer down at her, trying to meet her eyes, I realize she’s laughing.

  “What is funny?” I ask.

  “We’re a hot mess,” she says, cracking herself up even more. She sits back and gestures between us, her bra around her upper chest, tits out, my cock hanging out of my pants.

  I can’t help but smile. “We look like two people overcome by passion, I would say.”

  “You can say that again,” she says, practically wheezing as she tries to get her laughter under control. “Christ on a cracker, this was hot. I think maybe we should rethink the keep-it-professional thing. At least be friends with benefits, right?”

  She’s so forward. It turns me on. A lot. My cock twitches at thoughts of having her in my bed, spread out, ready to take all of me.

  Still, I don’t really do casual, and it’s what she’s suggesting.

  “Talia, I don’t…I am not really into doing the casual sex thing.” Someday I will need to explain to her the reason I feel the way I do, but not tonight, not now.

  “It wouldn’t be a one-night stand,” she says. “And I’m not interested in being with anyone but you.”

  “So?”

  “So, it wouldn’t be casual. It would be a consenting, mutually beneficial, exclusive sexual relationship. It’s clear we’re compatible, and it’s clear we both need the release.”

  “But I do not want you to feel used. That would be the last thing I would want.”

  “Look, Boris, I trust you. You are good and kind. I would never worry about feeling used when I’m with you. It doesn’t have to be serious, but it wouldn’t be casual either. We can just enjoy each other and see where it goes.”

  I stare at her for a good minute before standing to tuck myself back in and zip up. I run a hand through my hair and lean down to kiss her on the forehead. “I want you very badly, Talia. Do not mark my hesitation as a sign of rejection. I just need some time to think about this. Okay?”

  She gives me a shy smile. “Okay.”

  I touch her face one last time before heading out of her apartment, and up to mine.

  I don’t take a shower this night. Instead, I go to sleep wrapped in her scent, missing her already, considering her words. It doesn’t have to be serious, but it wouldn’t be casual either. But is that enough? If only I can see longer term, do I take this risk?

  Twenty-Four

  What About the Russians?

  Talia

  I get to my office building, unlocking the mailbox and pulling out a stack of envelopes. There at the top, as has been the same for several days, is a blank white envelope. Inside, I know there will be another magazine-letter threat.

  Yesterday, I was told to stop pursuing Boris as a client or have my tits cut off. The day before? Sever all ties with Boris or be gang-raped.

  It’s been ugly and scary and I’m trying hard to at least act brave, even though I’ve hardly
slept since the night my apartment was ransacked.

  Well, other than the nights I slept in Boris’s bed.

  Today’s note says to stop the transfer of funds before it’s too late. This one is less creative than the ones before it, but no less effective. When is too late, I wonder?

  I call the FBI agent who was assigned to my case after the first break-in and note. He tells me he’ll swing by the office to pick it up. I’ve installed a security system in my office like the one I have at home, and the FBI supposedly has surveillance on both locations now. Still, it doesn’t make me feel any safer.

  The same internal argument wages war inside me. Do I call and tell Boris about the notes? Do I break ties with him as a client? I’ve asked Harold for advice and he says to stay the course. If I give in, the bad guys win and all that. Of course, he’s told me not to be a hero, not to be stupid. If I sense danger, run. But it seems like madness to take on Russian criminals all on my own, right? It’s not like I have friends here in Vegas, or even colleagues. I’m all alone here and I’m risking my life, potentially, for one client.

  A client I care about. A client who doesn’t deserve to have his hard-earned wealth held hostage, taken by the people charged with investing it for him.

  I’ll stay the course for Boris’s sake—even though I haven’t spoken to him since our heavy-duty make-out session last week.

  It’s been days since we got each other off, since I invited him to be friends with benefits. Days since he kissed me on the forehead and said he would think about it. The same number of nights where I’ve wished I was in his bed…with him. If only to sleep by his side and feel safe.

  I feel like I’ve been ghosted, and if I’m honest, it’s the last thing I expected from Boris.

  I stalk the Crush website and social feeds for signs of him, and they are there. There are photos of him at practice, fiercely competitive in his uniform. There are casual photos and Q&As throughout social, with him telling the interviewer about his career to date and his hopes for the Crush this season. With the season about to begin, the hype around this dream team is getting serious. Las Vegas is getting ready to bring the Cup home, and Boris is at the center of those plans.

  I’m totally down the rabbit hole on the Crush social feeds when the bells on my office door chime. I nearly jump out of my chair, but it’s just Ally.

  “Hey there.” She smiles brightly. “Sorry to interrupt you. You looked like you were in serious thought.”

  I close my browser and give her a tight-lipped smile. “No bother at all. What brings you in?”

  “Oh, my first paycheck? I think we worked out a weekly schedule, right? And I did the online hours the way you told me.”

  I shuffle in my seat and try to get my head in the game. “Of course. Yes. Let me take a look.”

  After pulling up the online form I developed, I see her hours listed and they seem legit, so I send the total over to the little QuickBooks application I set up for Boris and have a check printed.

  “So how have things been this first week?” I ask.

  “Good,” she says, her face brightening. “He’s a really sweet guy. We got most of his regular bills set up for ACH debit. We figured it was best since the amounts can fluctuate. We also went through all of his paperwork and got things at least into piles so I can set up files. He wanted a fireproof box for important documents, so we’ve got one on order. I’ll make files once it arrives.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been super productive already,” I say. What I want to say, but don’t is, “Sounds like you spent a lot of time together. Alone.”

  “We have. I think we’ll work on a calendaring system next week, if he doesn’t get too distracted by the beginning of the season.”

  “Hard not to. That’s his job.”

  Ally nods. “I’m so excited to watch him play. I never cared much for sports but knowing an athlete has made me more interested in watching now.”

  “I’m sure it will be an exciting season.” I can barely keep the sarcasm out of my tone.

  “He’s just such a sweet guy,” she says again. “I can’t believe he doesn’t have a girlfriend or wife.”

  It’s a lot of effort to keep my face neutral when I want to scowl and tell Ally Armstrong to stay the hell away from my man. He’s not my man, of course, but he’s also not hers. And I’d fight her for him if it really came down to it. She’s gushing all over my office and it makes me want to throw up. As it is, I want to toss this woman out on the street and tell her she’s fired just for saying he’d be a catch. Christ, am I jealous much, or what? I’m guessing so, as I’ve never felt this level of antipathy before.

  I take a breath and say, “Anything else you need, Ally? I’ve got a lot of work to do here.”

  My tone is icy and unwelcoming. I can hear it and Ally sure as hell hears it because her face falls and she just shakes her head. “Sorry to interrupt. Thanks for getting this printed so quickly for me. I’m a poor grad student, so every penny helps.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry to be short,” I say, realizing what a jealous hag I’m being. “Have a good week, okay?”

  She gives a little wave and heads out, and I feel like a total and complete jerk, which is what I am.

  I sit, trying to work, for about an hour before I realize how twisted up I am. I need my best friend, so I call Parker.

  “Hey, Tallie,” she answers on the second ring.

  “Hey, Parker,” I say, without the usual gusto.

  “Uh-oh. I know that tone. That’s either the boys-are-dumb or the I-messed-up tone. So which is it?”

  “A little bit of both, to be honest.”

  I tell her every detail. The break-in, my stay at Boris’s apartment, the night we jacked each other off. She listens and makes appropriate noises at appropriate times, but when I stop talking she literally says to me, “Talia, stop being such a fucking dumbass.”

  “Me? I’m being a dumbass?”

  “Get your head out of your ass. If you and Boris like each other so much, you should just go for it. You’re literally inventing reasons why it can’t work, when clearly it could.”

  “Am not.” I pout.

  “Just be an adult about it. If he were here, I’d tell him the same thing. You’ve gone seven days without talking to each other after a hot night of sexy fun times. Because why? He’s Mister Moral High Ground and you’re Miss Not Making the Same Mistake Twice?”

  “That’s…I don’t even know what to say to all that just now, Parker.”

  “Well, seriously. You got burned by a married asshole. So what? Tell me, do you like Boris more or less than you liked Cameron?”

  “More. Way more.”

  “And Boris isn’t married, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And he’s as much as said he wants to date you, and not in a casual way, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So you’ve got a hot, unmarried professional athlete who wants you and only you and the best you can do is say let’s be friends with benefits?”

  “It’s more complicated than that, Parker. He’s my client. My first major new client since moving here. And we’ve got this weird situation with these Russians—“

  “And that man would probably go to the ends of the earth to protect you, let’s be honest.”

  “I mean, I guess…”

  “You guess? He let you stay in his apartment. He installed a security system for you. He would, Talia. I know this in my bones.”

  “So what should I do, then?”

  She sighs. “Natalia Wentworth. You are so clueless. Seriously? You call him right this instant and tell him you care about him and want to give it a go. Like, for real, not some dumbass friends with benefits thing. You want to be his girlfriend.”

  “Really? I just call him and say I want to be his girlfriend? I mean, why not pass him a note and make him check the yes or no box?”

  “Don’t be a jerk.”

  I groan. “I don’t know how to do this, Park
er. I have next to no experience with men and the first serious thing ended up with me leaving town to avoid the crushing mortification.” I will never forget the look in my coworkers’ eyes after his wife walked out. I could barely breathe. Could barely see past the well of tears—

  “Forget Thompson. Thompson is dead to you. He will never be the poster boy for healthy relationships. So you fell for the wrong guy? It happens to the best of us. But from everything you’ve said about the Ice Dragon, he’s the right guy for you. And you better find a way to not blow it.”

  “What about the Russians?”

  “You leave them to the FBI, but I’m sure the wheel will turn, and it’ll all shake out. And bonus, you’ll feel safer with two hundred plus pounds of hockey god at your side, regardless.”

  We talk for a few more minutes and then hang up, a plan forming in my mind.

  I text Boris the next night.

  Talia: Good luck in the home opener!

  He texts me right back. Like, right back.

  Boris: Good to hear from you. Thank you.

  Talia: I’ve got my Crush shirt ready. I’ll be there to cheer you on.

  Boris: Oh? I’ll leave a ticket at Will-Call for you, then.

  Talia: That’s sweet, thank you.

  Boris: Only the best for my friend and financial advisor.

  Talia: Ouch.

  Boris: Sorry. I meant to say I’d love to take you to dinner tonight. We can talk. Meet me by the locker rooms after the game?

  Talia: Of course. I’d love to see you, too.

  Boris: I’ll make us a dinner reservation and text you the details.

  Talia: Sounds good. Make sure there’s meat on the menu.

  Boris: ;-)

  I realize after sending that last text that it sounds a bit dirty. But maybe that’s okay, considering I have big plans to wear my heart on my sleeve and ravage him completely until he says he’ll be my boyfriend. In the back of my mind, I read his texts as a bit cold and worry that he’s about to tell me he’s done with whatever this is between us, but screw it, I’m going all out, even if I fall on my face.

 

‹ Prev