Puck by Wilder Jasinda

  I couldn't stop myself. I bent over him again, guided him into my mouth and flicked my tongue over his cock as he spurted one last little drip. I tasted his seed, thick and salty and tangy and musky, and I licked again and swallowed the little bit that leaked out of him and glided my fist around him as he gasped. I backed away, and kept going with just one hand, slow, deliberate strokes to milk every last little bit of his come out of him, white droplets beading at his tip and sliding down the underside of his cock. I licked them away and kept stroking until he hissed.

  "Colbie, holy shit--Colbie."

  "Yes, Puck?"

  "Can't take any more." He was still hard, but wouldn't be for much longer.

  "Oh no?" I bent over him one more time, grinning at him. "Then . . . this would just be too much, huh?"

  I took him in my mouth and sucked as hard as I could, working him with my tongue, using both hands to jerk him faster than ever. He moaned, hips flexing so hard he left the seat entirely.

  "Ohh fuck fuck fuck, Colbie, Jesus, Jesus . . ." he groaned.

  I was laughing as I sat up. "Now we're even." I tucked him back into his pants, zipped him up, and buttoned the fly closed.

  I folded his underwear up so the come was as contained as it would get and stuffed the wad into one of his cargo pockets, which I then buttoned closed.

  "Holy hell, woman," he murmured. "That was . . . damn."

  I felt pleased with myself, because Puck was totally limp, head lolling back on the seat, eyes closed, breathing hard. I happened to glance forward, and I saw that Layla was awake, midstretch, twisting in place. She saw me, shirt open, boobs hanging out as I wiped my lips with the back of my hand. I blushed so hard my cheeks went hot and forced myself to remain calm as I fastened my bra. Layla made the international sign for a blowjob, moving her fist toward her mouth and sticking her tongue into her opposite cheek so it appeared as if a dick was poking the inside of her mouth.

  Which only made me curse under my breath. "Shit. Shit!"

  Layla just grinned and gave me two thumbs up.

  "Shit, what?" Puck asked, his eyes still closed.

  "Layla saw."

  "Saw what?" He lazily opened one eye and shot her a look.

  "Me, with my shirt open, wiping my lips." I was mortified, shaking. "She knew what I'd just been doing, obviously."

  Puck's eye closed again. "She won't judge, trust me."

  "I'm still embarrassed."

  "Don't be." He took my hand in his, met my gaze. "Hang around this crew long enough, you'll probably get an eyeful of her doing the same thing. She gives her man so many BJs it's absurd." He squeezed my hand. "She'll probably congratulate you later."

  "She just gave me a big grin and two thumbs up," I admitted.

  "See? She's happy for us."

  "Happy for us?" I asked, my voice sharper than I'd have liked.

  "Yeah, for us." He tangled his fingers in mine. "You can't say there's anything normal about this thing you and I have going on. I know I've never done anything like this before, and I don't think you have either. And then there's the fact that however you and I may both feel about this whole thing, it's sure as fuck more than either of us know what to do with."

  "I can't deny any of that, but--"

  He spoke over me. "So yeah, us, wherever that takes us, whatever it looks like." His gaze shot to mine, and his voice was just as sharp as mine had been a few seconds earlier. "And no, I'm not just saying that because you gave me a handjob so epic I'm having trouble feeling my toes."

  "There was some mouth in there, too," I couldn't help pointing out.

  "Whatever word or phrase you want to use, then. Blowjob with hands, handjob with a little mouth, whatever--it was fucking incredible. Hands down, without a doubt, unequivocally, the hottest goddamn thing I've ever experienced."

  "Including everything with what's her name . . . Maya?"

  Puck snorted. "No contest. Not even close."

  "Not even close? She was the best ever, I thought you said."

  "Best ever up until now. What you just did blows that whole week out of the water. No joke."

  "Don't bullshit me."

  "I'm not!" He sat up straighter. "You really think at this point I'm the type to blow smoke up your ass just to make you feel a little better?"

  "So what could I have done better?"

  "You're not insecure, are you?"

  "No, but I'm not sure I believe you."

  "So if I tell you it was perfect, you wouldn't believe me."

  "I'm not saying that."

  He frowned. "Then what are you saying?"

  "I don't know!" I threw up my hands. "I've never done this kind of thing before. On a plane, in public? With a guy I've known a matter of hours? I don't usually make out with a guy on the first date. I'm not a prude, but I don't trust easily, and I have to have some level of trust before I feel comfortable enough with a guy to let him touch me, to be naked around him. Not because I'm insecure about how I look--I eat healthy and workout and I like how I look. It's more just . . . I don't know. But there's something about you that I just . . . trust. So I don't know why I did any of that with you. Why I let you touch me, why I touched you, why I'm even thinking about having sex with you, much less feeling like I need it more than I've ever needed sex in my life."

  "I'm not a stranger to casual sex, you know that about me at this point. But this is different for me, too. When I'm working, I'm normally laser-focused. This is a job for me, and also more than a job. Getting Layla and the girls back safe to their men, who happen to be not just my coworkers but my friends, my brothers in arms . . . it's more than a job--it's personal. So for me to get distracted? That's never happened. Not since that shit with the madam. I learned my lesson. After that, I avoid temptation while working no matter what. Work is work, a job is a job, and I do not allow myself to be distracted. But you . . . you're not a distraction. You're . . . fuck, I don't know, Colbie. I don't fucking know. I can't not do this with you--shit, that sounded stupid. I just mean . . . I could no more stay away from you than I could just stop breathing." He palmed my cheek, and his hand was big and rough and warm and comforting. "Hear me when I say this: I need this more than I've ever needed anything or anyone, too. I absolutely have to feel you, naked and pressed up against me. I have to be inside you. It's imperative. I don't care what it takes to make that happen, I'll fucking do it."

  I heard the sincerity in his voice, and I believed him.

  And that scared the bejeezus out of me.

  We landed at a tiny airport that Ivar informed us was several kilometers outside Prague--this one at least had an actual paved runway. A new Mercedes-Benz passenger van was waiting, with several men standing around it, each armed with a submachine gun, a larger version of the one Puck had used in the Range Rover, with an actual barrel and stock.

  "They are friends of mine," Ivar reassured Puck, as we descended. "This airport is secure."

  "Secure from Cain?" Puck asked, sounding skeptical.

  "Even from him, ja." Ivar pointed at the control tower, and I could see several figures dressed in black on the roof. "Snipers. Two of them, one with eyes on us, one with eyes on the approach. Another with an RPG, in case of breach."

  Puck seemed impressed. "Red carpet, huh?"

  Ivar shrugged. "Precautions." He gestured at the waiting van. "Bitte."

  "What's the plan, Ivar?" Puck asked.

  "My associate operates in Prague. The plan is simple. We drive to her flat, she removes and deactivates the tracer in Miss Kennedy, and then I deliver you to Mr. Roth."

  "I like simple plans," Puck said.

  Puck climbed in, and I followed and somehow ended up sandwiched between Puck and Layla, the other women behind us, Ivar in the front seat, and two of the armed guards in the very back. Once we were in motion, Layla leaned close to me and whispered in my ear.

  "So . . . you and Puck, huh?" she asked, for a third time.

  I felt my cheeks redden. "Layla, what you saw--"
<
br />   "Colbie, if you apologize or say some stupid shit like 'I don't do that sort of thing, normally'"--her voice took on a whiny, simpering tone--"I swear to fuck, I'll punch you, and take away any and all cool points you've earned with me up till now."

  I eyed her. "But--"

  She put her finger over my lips. "No buts." Her voice was pitched low enough that only I could hear her. "Puck is a cool guy. Not my type physically, but that doesn't mean I don't recognize the fact that he's sexy. He's a badass, and I'd bet any money he'll rock your motherfuckin' world."

  I snickered, a sound awfully close to a giggle. "He already did."

  "So don't you dare try to explain that shit or make it seem like you have something to hide." She bumped me with her shoulder. "Sister, when you decide you like a man, you get to choose what you do about it, and you don't owe fucking anybody any explanations. So what if you just met him? If you trust him, you decide you want him, then you jump on that dick and ride him like a goddamn rodeo champion. That's your right as a woman, as a person, and as a responsible adult. And when you're done, you're done. That's it."

  "What if . . ." I wasn't quite sure if I could even formulate the question out loud.

  "What if you don't wanna be done?" Layla filled in, her voice more normally pitched, and I nodded. "Then go with it. I was scared shitless when I realized Nick and I were a thing. But if what you got feels like it's worth it, then you hold on and you don't let go. When it stops being worth it, then you know it's over. For Nick and me, it won't ever not be worth it, so I keep holding on."

  "You make it sound simple."

  "Simple, yes. Easy, no." She laughed. "Nick is an asshole. But he's my asshole, and I love him, and his qualities far outweigh the fact that he can be a dick, that he's a little controlling, a lot bossy, and super protective."

  "Controlling, bossy, and protective don't seem like bad things."

  "When you're a badass boss chick, it is. You seem a lot like me--independent to a fault, with a hair-trigger temper if anyone tries to make you do something you don't want to do, or tries to keep you from doing what you want to do."

  I giggled, and yes, this time it was a stupid girly giggle. "You got that right."

  She nodded sagely. "When your man is used to giving orders and being obeyed but you're the kind of chick who thinks it's funny to defy orders just for the hell of it . . . things get tricky. And when that same man is bound and determined to make sure you never so much as chip a goddamn nail, much less see any real action, and you've developed a bit of an addiction to the thrill of danger and feeling like a badass boss chick . . . it gets even trickier."

  "He didn't like you wanting to be part of the team?"

  "The stupid caveman tried to order me to stay home."

  "What happened?"

  "I ran off. Shook the tail he'd put on me, hunted his dumbass down." She grinned, remembering. "He has an office on the West Coast, doesn't go there a lot. But the op he was on required him to be in LA and I knew it, so I let myself into his office. Stripped down to my birthday suit and waited till I knew he was about to walk in, and made sure he caught me diddling myself."

  I snorted. "Wow. And that worked, did it?"

  She blew a raspberry. "Fuck no, it didn't work. Backfired completely. I thought I'd tease him until he agreed to let me go on the op with him."

  "But--?"

  "But he turned the tables on me. Zip-tied me to his office chair and teased me with his cock until I was begging him to let me have it. I've got a weakness--I see his dick, I want his dick. He was all hard and kept putting it in me and touching my lips with it, and I was all hot and wet and shit, and he wouldn't fucking give it to me. So I ended up agreeing to stay put."

  I couldn't help laughing. "He must have a magical dick."

  "You have no idea." She said this deadpan, no hint of irony or sarcasm.

  "So you don't go on ops?"

  She shot me a look. "Of course I do. What kind of pussy do you take me for? I had no intention of actually staying home, I just wanted his dick and was willing to say anything to get it into my mouth."

  "Oh." I wasn't sure what else to say, because this girl clearly had zero filter, which was equal parts funny and disconcerting.

  "Circumstances became such that he didn't have a choice but to let me go with him, and I ended up proving that I was game--not that he should have needed more proof at that point anyway. I'd fought my way out of a previous situation, but that is a whole other story. Point is, I proved I could handle myself in a shootout and could follow orders when it really counted. And now I'm an active member of Alpha One Security's core task force." She leaned forward and glanced at Puck. "Ain't that right?"

  He held out his fist, and they tapped knuckles in front of me. "Hoo-rah, motherfucker." He winked at me. "This bitch is stone-cold."

  I laughed. "No kidding. I've seen her in action." I shook my head. "I think you're all a little nuts. You crazy assholes seem like you actually enjoy this shit."

  Puck shrugged. "Eh, I guess we do."

  "Some people like sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll," Layla said, "well, I prefer sex, guns, and gangsta rap."

  I laughed and shook my head, then turned to look out the window. I'd always wanted to see Prague, and so far I hadn't seen a single thing, having been caught up in the conversation with Layla. I needed to let her advice and my own thoughts and feelings on the subject percolate a little, so I watched the scenery. We'd entered the city proper already, which meant we were on a narrow two-lane one-way road, with the buildings close by on either side, squat four-or five-story buildings with lots of windows and shops on the street level--the unmistakable look of old-world Europe. We took a twisting, looping series of turns, often doubling back or circling the same block more than once, and I realized the driver--a taciturn older man with salt-and-pepper hair underneath a flat cabbie cap--was making sure no one was following us. Eventually he must have been satisfied we weren't being tailed, because he made an abrupt left turn and drove straight for half a dozen blocks, then circled another block twice before finally pulling into a parking spot in front of an apartment building. It was four stories, flat gray, squat and square and imposing, and pretty much identical to all the other buildings I'd seen so far.

  Ivar exited the van, opened the sliding side door, and gestured at Temple. "You. Come inside." He glanced at the men in the back. "Blieb hier. Wenn es irgendwelche Probleme gibt, gehen Sie."

  The men both nodded. "Jawhohl."

  Temple reluctantly, nervously, climbed out, glancing back at us, and Ivar sighed in irritation. "You wish a friend for courage, ja?" Temple nodded, and Lola slid out after her, and the two women held hands. Ivar rolled his eyes. "It will take ten minutes, and you will not even feel it, probably. Like a finger prick, at most. Then done. Chin up, ja?"

  Temple nodded again, and took a deep breath, and then lifted her chin high, following Ivar into the apartment building. Puck was standing outside the van, leaning against the frame of the door, and he had the little submachine gun in his hands, although I wasn't sure where he'd stashed it up until now--certainly not in his pants; I nearly laughed out loud at my own lewd joke.

  He must have caught my stifled laugh, because he glanced back at me. "What's funny?"

  I indicated his gun. "I was just wondering where you'd stashed that, and thought, certainly not in your pants." He blinked at me blankly, not following the joke. "Because I did a rather--ahem--thorough search of that region, if you'll recall."

  Layla couldn't stifle a laugh, and a grin spread across Puck's features.

  "Yeah, no gun hiding in these pants," he said.

  I rolled my eyes at him. "You ruined the funny."

  "You wanna check again? Make sure I'm not hiding any more . . . firepower?" He winked at me. "Could be worth double checking."

  I laughed. "Hmm . . . yeah, I'm good. Pretty sure I wouldn't find anything this soon anyway."

  "Ohh, shots fired," Layla howled.

  Puck just mad
e a droll face. "Sure about that, darlin'? You might find yourself shocked how fast I can reload."

  I felt my face heat up, knowing both Kyrie and Layla were listening, and probably the driver and both guards, though who knew if they spoke English. None of Ivar's men seemed to be paying attention, one standing near the hood, and the other near the rear end, their big fuck-off machine guns in plain view. Clearly, Ivar wasn't worried about attention.

  "Oh fuck off," I said, because I didn't have a better comeback. Mainly because I was pretty sure he'd be ready and raring to go, and I couldn't deny that I'd sure as hell like to find out.

  "Can't take the heat, don't dish it out, babe."

  "I can take the heat, asshole."

  He smirked, and I wanted to smack the smirk off his face as much as I wanted to kiss it off. "That's not all you can take, sweet thing," he said, with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

  I choked on my own shock, then growled, and slapped him across the cheek, hard enough to count, but not hard enough to really hurt. "You're a bastard, Puck Lawson."

  He let me hit him, and when I went to smack his arm he caught my wrist and yanked me out of my seat and against his chest. "And don't you forget it," he said. But then, more softly, meant just for me, with a thumb grazing over my cheek: "I'm just teasing, Colbie. I didn't mean anything by it."

  I gave him a lazy smile. "I can take a joke, Puck."

  He laughed. "Well good, because I've got jokes."

  "Yeah, just not funny ones."

  "Ooh, now that's what you call shots fired," he said, brushing his lips against mine.

  Ivar appeared with Temple and Lola in tow. He shot Puck a frown. "Can it not wait? We are on a timeline, you know."

  Puck lifted me into the van. "Hey, I'm ready when you are, bro."

  "Just do not be so distracted you miss important things."

  "Not a problem."

  Ivar nodded. "Now we go to another airport, and this time to a larger aircraft for the journey to the States."

  We were loaded into the van again and winding through Prague. Temple was touching a spot on the back of her head, right at the hairline at the base of her skull; she twisted in the seat and lifted her hair up to show us a small square bandage.