Page 81 of The Puck Bunny

His face softens and he kisses me deeply this time, like he wants to know and possess every part of me down to my soul.

I grab onto his face and open myself up and take him and give him everything in me because that’s all I can do with this man. No matter what the consequences.

Meanwhile as his face softens, another part of his anatomy hardens against my belly and I reach down to squeeze.

He groans, lifts his mouth from mine and grits his teeth. “Jesus, sweetheart, don’t do that unless you mean it. I don’t know how much more restraint I have.”

“We can’t leave you in this state.”

He laughs, a real, eye-crinkling, full-dimpled laugh, the one that gets to me with a pang so strong that my chest tightens and I’m worried my heart will pop from the pressure.

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of remaining… pent up.”

It’s my turn to smile. “What do you have in mind?”

“Seriously?”

I don’t know if it’s mild alarm I see in his eyes, but I renew my squeeze of his cock. “You want a hand job?”

He covers my hand, stopping me from moving it. “That’s not what I had in mind,” he says. Then he reaches for his nightstand drawer and removes a foil packet. He turns back to me and holds it between us so that I can see very clearly what he has in mind.

I gulp. It’s not that I don’t want to go all the way, it’s just that he’s so big and it’s been so long and my experience is so… not good—okay, disastrous—that I don’t know if this is a good idea.

“What is it, sweetheart? You know your expressions are like reading a children’s book on your face, right?”

I swat his arm as a flush of embarrassment heats my face. What do I tell him?

The truth and don’t be such a chicken all of a sudden.

“It’s just that you’re so…” I wave a hand, losing nerve.

“Big?”

I nod and look away.

He cups my chin and forces me to face him.

“I’ll go easy. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

“That’s a big promise.”

He gives me a big smile.

I laugh and let go of him as he hands me the condom. I don’t want to tell him that I’ve never done this before. The last thing I want to do is disappoint him. Besides, how hard could it be? I can handle this.

I rip open the packet and pull out the condom, praying to my statue of the Virgin Mary—and not caring how ironic that may be—that I’m up to this, and that this thin film of latex will hold up.

He turns onto his back and lifts me on top of him so that I’m straddling his hips, sitting squarely on the cushion of his balls.

My pussy screams back to life with a vengeance, prodding me with a jolt of dizzying need to get on with the show.

“Roll it on from the tip, sweetheart,” he says, his cock tall and solid, jumps when I look at it and lick my lips.

Holy mother. When I figure I should be bone dry, my pussy leaks more lust honey and I make my move.

With shaky hands and his intense sex-starved eyes watching, I roll the condom down his shaft. I don’t mean to be painstakingly slow, but I guess I must be because he covers my hands and helps me with the few couple inches. It was a long freaking way to go. I don’t know if I should gulp with trepidation or wipe the drool from my mouth at the prospect of him inside me.

“I’m ready,” I say and do a mental sign of the cross, a flash of my family’s bathtub-enshrined statue coming to mind.