Sucker Punched (31 page)

This seems to spur Blake on, and suddenly he’s impatient. He reaches behind him and removes his shirt in one swift motion, then fuses his lips to mine as we lie back on the couch. He kisses me frantically, like he’s afraid I might change my mind. 

His lips trail kisses down the column of my neck as his expert fingers tease my nipple. I grab hold of his hair as he moves down my body and sucks the pebbled skin into his mouth, twirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh. My clit throbs each time his mouth plucks my nipple, which elicits these embarrassing shallow, gasping moans.

I think I could come just from Blake’s mouth on my tit.

Before I can find out, he sits up and rips open the fly of my jeans, pulling everything down my hips. I lift my ass to help him and he grabs my pant legs, peeling them off me and tossing them aside.

Spread out before him, Blake drinks in my naked body and I soak up his silent praise. I love the way he’s looking at me right now. Like I’m. . .precious.

His hands caress the inside of my thighs, and a single word leaves him on a pained sigh: “Duchess.”

My eyes sting as he utters my nickname like a quiet prayer, because I can feel every emotion behind it. All his heartache and grief. But there’s also a sense of relief.

I think being with him like this will do more to ease some of his pain than drowning it in a bottle of Jack ever could. Whiskey won’t take care of you, it won’t show you how much it loves you. But I will. 

I’ll show him.

My gaze flicks over all the hard ridges of his taut stomach as he kneels before me. I sit up, reaching out to tug down his jeans and boxers, and free his cock. When I slide my fingers up the silky skin, he groans low and squeezes his eyes shut. 

I can’t wait anymore. I need him inside me
now
.

Taking Blake’s arm, I pull him on top of me as he kicks his jeans off the rest of the way. The tip of his cock nudges my core as he settles between my thighs, then slides up the slick folds. I gasp as the warm, soft underside caresses me in teasing strokes. I bite my lip, turning my head to brush my cheek against his straining bicep. He nuzzles my neck, slowly thrusting as his ragged breaths hit my skin. 

I grip his arms, reveling in their hardness and sheer power, and place a kiss on the inside of his bicep as I start to rock my hips in time with his thrusts. Blake slips and slides along me until he becomes wedged at my entrance. I move my hips, trying to work him in, when Blake reaches a hand down and stills my waist.

He kisses my neck, his breathing already rushed. “I don’t have a condom on.”

I’ve never had sex without one before. That’s not something I take lightly. But I want to feel him moving inside me, skin-to-skin. Just the thought of it has me wet and needy, anxious to feel him without any barriers.

I wiggle my hips, feeling the tip of his cock slip inside me, beginning to spread me. God, the anticipation’s
killing
me. “I’m on the pill,” I breathe, growing impatient.

His breath is warm on the hollow of my neck as his fingers tighten on my hip. “You sure about this?”

I answer Blake by tilting my pelvis up and guiding his hips forward. He sinks into me, raw and hot. I gasp as he fills me completely, wholly, almost having forgotten how perfect he feels inside me. 

He stills, his hipbones pressing into me. For several seconds, the only sound is his breath in my ear. The only movements are his heart thudding against mine, along with the tiny pulses coming from where he’s buried inside me. 

When I turn my head to look at him, I see his eyes squeezed shut, pleasure and pain warring on his features. My heart breaks for him all over again. 

I reach up and wipe wetness from his spiky black lashes. Muddled hazel sears into me as he opens his eyes and kisses the inside of my wrist.

“I want to stay like this forever,” he murmurs.

My throat tightens. “Me, too.”

My lips part as he starts to rock his hips. I press an open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder, feeling every inch of him stretch and fill me, again and again. Every surge of his cock hits just the right nerves, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, no one will ever feel this perfect inside me again. We fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle.

One of his hands trails down to roughly palm my breast. He catches my cry in his mouth, sealing his lips over mine as his thumb soothes the sting with feather-light grazes across my nipple. 

I’m lost in the sensation of Blake—his kisses, his touches, each stroke and every satisfied breath it forces from his lips. His reactions ratchet up my own desire, my eyes closing as I feel the familiar tension course through me.

He holds me to him, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “I don’t want anyone else like I want you.” His confession’s so quiet I almost think I imagined it.

“I don’t either,” I murmur, stroking his hair.

I thought that would reassure him, but he only clings to me tighter. “Then be mine. Only mine.” His head drops to my shoulder. “Don’t go back to him, Macy. Please.”

Taking his face in my hands, I make him look at me. “I was always yours.” It was Blake who wasn’t mine.

I kiss him, putting in every ounce of love that I can muster, even if it means I have to borrow some from future kisses. But I’m okay with that. I know I’ll never kiss another man with this much of my soul anyway.

When I pull back to catch my breath, his beautiful, sweat-slicked face is pinched with agony as he moves atop me, and suddenly it’s too much. The sight of him watching my face as he fucks me, the punishing rhythm of his hips as he fills me repeatedly, claiming me in a way that will never be duplicated or erased—it all pushes me higher and higher into ecstasy as he drives me into the couch.

I feel myself tighten around him, my muscles tensing with the sweet burn of impending bliss, and then, nirvana. Clutching his biceps, waves of ecstasy wash over me, forcing my muscles to milk him dry. I gasp, touching my lips to the inside of his arm as he bites out a string of expletives. 

Grabbing me behind the knee, he spreads me wider. His head drops to my neck, burying his face as his hot breaths wash across my skin. Blake increases his pace, his thrusts rough and jarring as he takes his frustration and anger out on me. 

I can tell he’s getting close when his body tenses over me, so I whisper in his ear, “Come in me.”

My hands run down his sides, feeling the powerful muscles clench and release. His steady rhythm falters as he tenses above me, moving his hand to grip my hip as he stills and groans into my neck. 

Warm wetness floods my insides as his fingers dig into my hipbone so hard they’ll probably leave bruises, but I don’t care. I’m too busy nuzzling his hair and lazily running my fingers up and down his back as he shudders. He manages a few more strokes before his big body relaxes and we’re both left melted piles of sweaty skin and satisfaction.

Blake rolls off me, but he doesn’t go far. With one arm draped across my stomach, he lies beside me, his head on my chest. 

I play with his hair as our breathing levels out, unsure of what to say or do now. We stay like that until the sweat starts to chill our skin. “Are you hungry? I can make you something.”

He shakes his head and instead surprises me by getting up and hovering back over me. Nudging my knees apart, he settles between my thighs and kisses me. 

It’s slow and unrushed this time, his mouth exploring mine with gentle licks and soft grazes. It starts a slow burn in my belly that travels the length of my body, burning hotter as it settles into my core.

I’ve just had this man, and yet I want him again. I’ll
always
want him. So when his hard cock glides through my wet, sensitive folds, ready for another round, I do the only thing I can: sigh contentedly and pull him inside me.

This place gives me the creeps. It’s not the stuffy decorations or the slightly weird smell they’re trying to mask with air freshener and scented candles. Hell, it’s not even the room full of empty caskets I can see out of the corner of my eye. It’s the
stillness
.

This funeral home is too damn quiet. It’s like a tomb in here.

I shift in the uncomfortable chair that looks like it belongs in some grandmother’s living room, suddenly feeling too big for this lobby. Was the ceiling always this low? Or am I just now noticing it?

Sweat dots my forehead. I need. . . I need some water. Or a fucking drink. I lick my lips, feeling antsy.

I should go outside. Get some fresh air. But the funeral director’s droning on about the difference between metal and wood caskets, and it seems important. I should probably pay more attention.

Declan is. Him and Savannah are seated on the loveseat next to me, hunched over a casket catalogue as they flip through the pages. His brow’s drawn, listening to the soft-spoken, middle-aged man tell him about how their caskets are “hand sculpted and meticulously polished to a high gloss or satin finish.”

I look down at the same catalogue in my hands, scanning all the options, but all I can think about is how fucking expensive these are.

It’s a box, for god’s sake. A box we’re going to
bury
, not display in our front yard for the whole world to see.

I close the book, wishing I were anywhere else. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to deal with this. But it’s not fair to let it all fall on Declan’s shoulders. 

He’s my dad, too.

Was
my dad.

My throat tightens. It’s like I forget that he’s gone and then all of a sudden I remember, and the onslaught of pain begins again. It’s a vicious cycle.  

The only bright spot in the last twelve hours has been Macy. 

I lost count of how many times I had her last night. Any time I’d wake up, I’d roll her over and slip inside her. Then afterward we’d fall back asleep in each other’s arms, naked and sated. Those minutes when I was inside her—when she’d take all my pain away and replace it with brief bursts of bliss—were the only thing that got me through the night.

I didn’t want to leave her bed this morning, but this shit had to be dealt with. 

Time stops for those who die, but the people they leave behind aren’t so lucky. They have to trudge through their grief while the rest of the world spins on, uncaring.

Clearing my throat, I set the catalogue on the side table next to me. “I need a minute.”

Savannah places her hand on mine, her watery eyes full of pity. “Take all the time you need.”

I can’t fucking deal with this right now. I can’t deal with people walking on eggshells around me because of “my loss” and I certainly can’t deal with picking out a goddamn box that my dad’s going to rot in for the rest of eternity.

I get up and head for the exit, pushing the glass door open as the cold air hits me. I feel like I can finally breathe. Walking over to my car, I sit on the hood and pull out the flask from my jacket’s inside pocket. 

If this isn’t a time to take the edge off, I don’t know when is.

What should’ve only taken a couple of hours turned into an all-day thing. After leaving the funeral home, Declan and I went to my dad’s place. We needed a suit to bury him in and started going through his stuff. Naturally, going through a dead person’s things brings up feelings, memories, etc. So we did what any grieving person would do.

We drank.

Before I knew it, the whole day was gone and so was our bottle of Jack.

It was actually kind of nice hanging out with Declan like that. I think today’s the most time I’ve spent with him since Pops died and he moved out.

But I’ve missed Macy all day and I need to see her, which sucks, since her car’s gone when I get home. 

She was asleep when I left this morning and she looked so peaceful lying there, that I couldn’t bring myself to wake her. I’d done that enough during the night.

Closing the front door, I pull out my phone and text her, asking what we’re doing for dinner. It’s almost dark out and I’m starving. 

Ten minutes pass without a response, so I heat up some leftover pizza and text her again.

Where are you?

After I’m done eating and I still haven’t heard from her, I begin to worry. I pick up my phone and pull her number up, calling her. Macy answers on the fourth ring.