Page 45 of Puck, Marry, Kill
My patience is a battle I’m losing by the second. Sitting this way, every breath we share drags me closer to claiming her. Her smile is pure magic, bewitching me even further. I can see that she’s having second thoughts about stopping, but I know her heart, so I do it for us. One last painfully pleasurable grind against her for us both, and then I pick her up, setting her back on the couch.
“When it’s right,” I tell her firmly. “Because it’s not gonna be a quick fuck on the couch. I want to take my time with you. All night, maybe all weekend if we can.”
“Yeah, right,” she says, “that’s some big talk only to be done in a few minutes.”
She has a point given I just told her I’m about to come in my underwear like a two-pump chump. But more importantly, I think she’s hinting at what it’s been like for her—all talk, not enough action. I catch her jaw, turning her attention back to me. “All night,” I emphasize. “All weekend. I want to worship every inch of you.”
“Oh!” she squeaks, and that pink blush deepens to red.
I think she believes me now.
Chapter 16
Briar
“Someone looks a bit extra glowy today.”
Trina’s appraisal includes about a thousand insinuated questions as to why I’ve been literally singing to the animals all day. I’ve usually got a bit of the Snow White thing going on, with animals flocking to me like ... well, animals. But, even by my standards, today has been unique. Our grumpy old koala, who growls at everyone, even came right to me for his morning checkup before going out to his exhibit space.
“Must be my new face cream,” I reply, though we both know I’m a wash-n-go girl and the only thing on my skin is sunscreen.
“Yeah, cream de Dominic.” She grins like that’s the funniest thing she’s ever said and then cups her ear. “Tell me all about it. Don’t leave out a single. Filthy. Dirty. Detail.”
“Trina!” I scold. I look around to make sure nobody heard her, though we’re the only people in the kitchen, her chopping carrots and me pulling lettuce leaves apart for the morning food prep. We’ve got dozens of animals to feed and not a lot of time to do it. “It’s not like that. We’re—”
She interrupts to declare, “If you sayfriendsone more time, I’m going to lecture you about the birds and the bees. And I’m not talkingabout pollination.” She gives me a warning glare, signaling that she’ll do it if necessary.
I press my lips into a thin line, trying to hide it, but a smile breaks through my resolve and steals across my face. “We kissed.”
“Aaand . . .” she prompts.
Wind knocked out of my sails by her lackluster reaction, I blink. “And that’s it. We kissed.” A bit more reluctantly, I admit, “Well, I was straddling him when we were doing it, but all we did was kiss.”
All we did? Kissing Dominic felt like a huge leap into the unknown, one that has me confused, sexually frustrated, and giddy. I swear my lips have been tingling all day, like they remember what Dominic’s mouth pressing against mine felt like, and all the while, the hard ridge I felt pressing against my core growing thicker and larger. And him saying he was on edge just from me sitting on him? I was at first shocked by his admission ... and then, flattered? Maybe that’s an odd thing to feel about his response to me, but I’ve never been the sexy vixen that makes men go wild. It felt strangely powerful to be that with Dominic.
“Ooh, girl! Look at that blush. That’s not a ‘we kissed’ pink. That look is more ‘I want that man to lick me from head to toe and then have his babies.’” She makes a smacking noise as her tongue appears and disappears.
“It is not!” I hiss. But I press my cold fingers to my cheeks, trying to cool myself off because I am suddenly feeling a bit overheated. “I’m not having any more kids.”
“It’s an expression, Briar. I don’t mean literally. Unless you mean it literally?” Her brows climb up her forehead and she tilts her head in question.
“Not that. It’s just that ... I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about the kiss.” That’s true, but what I’m really trying to figure out is ... “Do you think a man like Dominic could actually like someone like me?”
I slept for approximately zero hours after Dominic left last night. But while I tossed and turned, I kept coming back to one thing ... Whyin the world would Dominic, an objectively gorgeous, smart, kind, sexy man, want to hang out with a weird, broken single mom? He says he wants friends, but I’m pretty sure he could find quite a few of those that wouldn’t come with a kid and the constant, faint smell of fur, not to mention the strange obsession with animal trivia that has never once come in handy for anything beyond a game of twenty questions.
Trina narrows her eyes, staring at me like she’s trying to choose her next words carefully. “Someone like what exactly?”
I sigh, dropping my eyes to the lettuce in my hands and ripping it a little more roughly. My nails are short and scrubbed clean, though the faint crescent scratches on my wrist are a leftover from Caprice this morning, our first interaction since her baby was born.
“You know ... just a regular woman. A mom.” I swallow as the reality of my life and Dominic’s comes into clearer focus. “I’m not one of those pretty girls who’s into makeup and clothes and all that stuff. Once upon a time maybe, but now? I’m just not.” I shake my head woefully, not exactly regretting my beauty product–free bathroom cabinet and lack of designer clothes, but for the first time, feeling like it’s odd compared to most women. Or at least compared to the puck bunnies Dominic is probably used to.
Trina comes over and turns me to face her. Looking into my eyes, she asks, “You’re gorgeous, Briar. Now where’s this coming from?”
I shrug, but slowly say, “I’ve seen the women that flock to the players, and the women they choose to ... ahem ... see.”
“Sleep with,” Trina corrects. “Or fuck, if we’re being perfectly blunt.”
“Yeah. And I’m not remotely like that. I don’t flirt and have casual sex and date.” That’s putting it mildly. I’m not a man-hater exactly, but I’m a man-don’t-need-er since, in my experience, they come with more problems than I have time for.
