Puck by Wilder Jasinda

  I laughed with him, but the laugh turned into a groan as he slid into me, and then the groan turned into a whimper as he started fucking me, and the whimper turned into a wail as he spanked me in time with his thrusts, one cheek and then the other in turn, harder and harder, until he was fucking and spanking with crazed abandon, and I was slamming back into him and I didn't need to touch myself to come. I still did, though, because I liked--loved--touching myself while Puck fucked me, feeling his cock slam into me as my fingers flew.

  He growled again, and I felt him falter, stop, and pull out. I lowered myself so my chest was on the bed and my ass was in the air for him, and I watched over my shoulder as he jerked his cock rough and hard, and our eyes met, and I grinned in delight watching his come squirt out of him. I felt it splash onto my ass, again and again, more and more and more come in thick, wet, hot, viscous puddles, dripping down my crack and tickling my asshole.

  "God, that was hot," I breathed, when he was done.

  He groaned wordlessly, holding on to my ass with both hands for balance, gasping. "Yeah, babe, it was . . . fucking intense."

  "Intense fucking, you mean," I laughed.

  He laughed with me, sliding off the bed and stumbling as if half-drunk to the bathroom, where he snagged a washcloth, wet it with hot water, wrung it out, and came back to me, wiping me until I was thoroughly clean.

  He finally collapsed onto the bed beside me. "Jesus. Twice before breakfast. I think that's a new record, even for me."

  "I'm all about new experiences," I said, grinning at him.

  "And I love that about you," he said, and then blinked at me as if realizing what he'd just said. "Um."

  I snuggled closer to him, laid my head on his chest and toyed with his flaccid dick, flopping it back and forth. "Don't take it back. Don't explain it. Just . . . let it stand."

  "Okay."

  "So did we just agree that you're moving in with me?" I asked after a few minutes of contented silence.

  "I think we did."

  I wasn't looking at him, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

  The room phone rang, and Puck answered it. "Yo . . . oh, hey boss. Yeah, we'll come down . . . news, huh? What kind of news? Fine, fine, be that way. Yeah, give us a few minutes. There's still grub? Sweet. Yeah, see you." He hung up, and I waited for the explanation. "We gotta head downstairs. Harris is gathering everyone for a team breakfast slash debriefing slash news update."

  "But he wouldn't say what the news was?"

  "Nope. Asshole. Said he didn't feel like repeating himself half a dozen times, so he was calling a war council."

  That made my heart skip a few beats. "War council? Does that mean it's not over?"

  He shrugged and then stood up. "Nah, not necessarily. But he didn't sound worried."

  "Oh."

  There was a knock at the door, and Puck wrapped a towel around his waist to answer it. I stayed hidden in the bedroom as he spoke to whoever it was, and then I heard the door close again. Puck appeared with a stack of parcels wrapped in tissue paper and tied off with twine.

  "Apparently Roth had his people get some clothes for us, since neither of us have shit. The majordomo or whatever that cat's title is said these should fit, but they could only guess at our sizes."

  He set down the two packages, handing one to me. It had my name written on the tissue paper in neat, precise handwriting. I opened it and found a new set of clothes from the skin out, everything with the tags still on. Bra and panties in a matching set, a cream knee-length sweater dress with a wide green belt, and a pair of Toms flats in a matching shade of green. Whoever it was that chose the clothes had pretty damn amazing taste, I had to say. Puck's clothes weren't exactly what I'd consider his natural style--fitted, faded jeans with a bit of stretch to the denim, and a green polo shirt, with a brown belt, and new boot socks. Not his style, probably, being far too preppy/pretty boy for his taste, but I thought he looked amazing.

  "I don't think I've worn a shirt with a collar since I left the FBI," he remarked, tugging the shirt on. "Don't miss it."

  "You probably had to wear business casual when you worked for the Bureau, huh?" I asked, donning my own clothes.

  He nodded. "Dress slacks, a button down, and a tie. I fucking hated it."

  I buttoned the three buttons of his polo for him. "Well, maybe not your style, but you look nice."

  He eyed me as I buckled the belt high around my waist. "You look positively edible."

  I swept past him toward the bathroom, winking at him. "You've already eaten me, remember?"

  "Yeah, well, I'm feeling a bit peckish again."

  I found a brush in one of the drawers and tugged it through my hair. "War council, remember?"

  "Yeah, yeah. And breakfast."

  I emerged from the bathroom and took his hand, and we exited the room together. "So, war council and breakfast, then we go for a ride or a drive out in the countryside, and then we come back here and fuck each other's brains out." I bumped him with my shoulder. "Sound like a plan?"

  "Yeah, except you forgot one part."

  "What's that?"

  "We go for a drive out in the countryside, and we fuck each other's brains out in the grass somewhere, and then we come back here and fuck each other's brains out again."

  "Oh," I said, laughing. "That's a lot of fucking. We might need a picnic in that case. To keep our strength up."

  Colbie and I found the dining room after more than a few wrong turns, and we were very obviously the last ones there. Most everyone was nearly done eating already, although it looked like no one had gotten any more sleep than Colbie and I had, and for the same reasons.

  With all the fucking happenings under this roof last night, it was a wonder the whole place didn't just collapse.

  We'd barely sat down when two staff members brought plates piled high with food and set them in front of us, and then returned to pour us each coffee. There were plates of bacon, plates of pancakes, plates of scrambled eggs, English muffins, toast, bagels, fruit . . . a shitload of food.

  While we were eating, Harris stood up, tossed back the last of his coffee, and then set it on the table. "Listen up, y'all. I've been in contact with Lear and Anselm. Our boy Cain is in the wind again. Lear tracked him down to a high-rise in Belgrade, but by the time Anselm could get there with his rifle, Cain was gone, and now he's gone dark. Anselm and Ivar collaborated with Interpol and tracked down what was left of his trafficking setup. There was a warehouse in Marseilles full of women, another in Istanbul, and a third in Marrakech. There were a good three or four hundred women between the three locations, and the capture of the assholes running the warehouses led to hits on various other smaller depots and safe houses. His shit is shut down for now. That's the good news."

  "What's the bad news, then?" Duke asked.

  "Cain is still out there," Harris said with a shrug. "Gone to ground for the time being, and I don't think there's any immediate chance of him popping up, since between us and Interpol we've taken down most of his high-ranking payroll members and freed all his so-called merchandise. But . . . he's still alive, and we know he doesn't forget."

  "So is it back to business as normal?" Thresh asked.

  "Pretty much. We'll keep our ears open and stay sharp, because that's just how you stay alive in this business, but I think we're in the clear. I know Ivar and Anselm both have a serious hard-on for taking Cain out, so I'm pretty sure between them, if that fucker can be found, they'll find him and put a slug in his skull."

  He cast his gaze from person to person around the table. "Doesn't mean go lax on the personal security measures, boys. You know that, but I feel compelled to remind you. Especially now that most of us have women to protect, just make sure you're staying sharp. But I think, for now, we can put this whole stupid business behind us."

  "I wouldn't exactly call it stupid," Layla pointed out. "If I were y'all, I'd almost thank Cain--thank him, and then kill him, but still thank him."

  "Thank h
is ass for what?" I demanded.

  She smirked and pointed at Colbie, who was practically on my lap, and then at Temple and Lola, who were both pretty much straddling their respective men. "All of y'all. Thresh got Lola out of this whole thing, Duke got Temple, and you got Colbie. Sounds like a win all around, since all of us walked away intact."

  Duke, his arm in a sling, snorted. "Speak for yourself."

  Thresh laughed. "I second that."

  Layla rolled her eyes. "Oh, whatever. Don't be pussies. You'll both be back to deadlifting Volkswagens in no time."

  I acceded her point with a tilt of my head. "She has a point, fellas."

  Both Duke and Thresh glanced at me, at each other, and then at the women on their laps, and then at Layla.

  "Yeah, well, still. I may be thankful, but the only thanks I'm gonna give Cain is a potshot," Duke said.

  "Leave that to someone else," Temple said. "I'm taking you home with me to Beverly Hills. Mom is gonna flip when she meets you."

  Duke frowned. "You do realize I'll fit in like a pit bull at a cat shelter in Beverly Hills, right?"

  Temple just laughed. "That's what I'm looking forward to." She stroked his ridiculously chiseled jawline. "I wouldn't be surprised if you get offers to model or act or both."

  I laughed. "That'd be the funniest shit in the world, if you get a gig moonlighting as an underwear model."

  Temple laughed. "It wouldn't be underwear he'd be modeling," she murmured under her breath, and then dissolved into giggles.

  Which set off the rest of the women, and left us men staring at them like the slack-jawed mouth-breathers we all were.

  "I feel like we missed a joke, Duke," Thresh said.

  Duke was suddenly studious about adding cream to his coffee, even though the dumb-shit took his coffee black, the only real way to drink coffee. "Speak for yourself," he mumbled, shooting a grin at Temple.

  The penny dropped, and Thresh just stared. "Dick models? Is that really a thing?" He eyed his own crotch dubiously. "I could probably do that."

  Lola choked on her orange juice, and once she recovered, patted him on the chest. "Yeah, you'd break the Internet if you did that. Maybe leave that to men with something to prove."

  Duke glared at her. "What exactly do you think I have to prove, woman?"

  Thresh's voice rumbled threateningly. "Don't call her woman, jackass."

  "Don't call me jackass, jackass."

  Temple and Lola exchanged men are so stupid looks as Thresh and Duke decided to resolve the matter with an arm wrestling match, even though both of them had an arm in a sling. It was funny to watch, though.

  Layla stood beside Harris's chair, leaning against him, running her fingers idly through his hair, watching the whole thing with an expression akin to a mother happily watching her grown boys horsing around.

  Which wasn't far from the truth, it seemed to me. She was the boss lady, after all.

  "Yo, Layla," I said, and she glanced at me. "You kicked ass out there, by the way. Not too many people in this world I'd trust to have at my back, and you're at the top of the list. "

  She grinned at me. "Oh, go on," she said, waving her hand. "No, really, keep going."

  I laughed. "And so humble, too."

  She shrugged. "I mean, you did see that shot I took in the Rover, lying across two people, one-handed, didn't you?"

  "From one moving vehicle to another moving vehicle. Yeah, I saw. Badass boss lady shit right there."

  She patted herself on the shoulder. "Hey, what can I say, I was born for this shit." She glanced lovingly down at Harris. "Plus, I had a good teacher." She squeaked, jumping, and I realized Harris had pinched her ass. "Okay, okay, a perfect, amazing, wonderful, patient teacher. The best teacher."

  Harris didn't give away much with his expression, but I saw the glint in his eye. "I think the teacher is ready for another lesson."

  Layla winked at me, which was an inside joke now, after Colbie's explosion about my winking. She took Harris by the hand and led him out of the dining room.

  Two by two, the rest of the team dispersed, Duke and Temple to make arrangements for a flight to LA, Thresh and Lola to go house hunting in Denver, apparently. Which left Roth and Kyrie, and Colbie and me.

  "Hey, Roth," I called out. "You got a ride around here Colbie and I can borrow? We wanna go for a spin out in the countryside."

  Roth had been watching the whole proceeding silently, browsing his phone now and again. He nodded at me. "Nigel can show you the garage. Take your pick."

  I stood up and lifted Colbie to her feet. "Well, thanks for the room, the Scotch, the hospitality in general, and . . . just for everything. You guys are awesome."

  "It has been my privilege, I assure you," Roth said. "And if you're ever in need of a vacation, I know a rather nice place in the Caribbean."

  Colbie nudged me. "I do have a lot of vacation time saved up. I've never been to the Caribbean."

  I grinned at her then pointed at Roth. "Sounds like we'll be taking you up on that," I said. "We'll hit you up when we have plans made."

  It was weird to be talking about we already, but damn if Roth hadn't nailed it on the head: when it makes sense, it just makes sense, even if it doesn't make any fucking sense.

  Colbie and I made our way out of the dining room and through the maze of hallways, getting turned around more than once in our quest to find Nigel, who Roth said would be in the kitchen.

  We stumbled past a courtyard at one point, just a few square meters of green space and open sky tucked into a corner created by the layout of the mansion. There was a profusion of trees, a little fountain, and a wrought-iron bench. On the bench sat Harris, his arms stretched out to either side, his head tipped back, his eyes closed. Layla was on her knees in front of him, her hands and mouth moving.

  I nudged Colbie and pointed, whispering. "See, what'd I tell you?"

  Colbie covered her mouth. "Oh my god! Right there in the courtyard?"

  "Shameless," I said. "And relentless. Like I said, that man gets a crazy amount of head from that woman."

  Layla's eyes flicked up, and she saw us as we kept moving past the courtyard. She winked over the top of Harris and returned her attention to what--or who, more accurately--she was doing.

  "What would you consider a crazy amount?" Colbie asked, a few minutes later, after we'd found Nigel and had been shown the garage.

  I shrugged. "Like, all the time. Just about every time I see them, she's either obviously just blown him, or will after the meeting."

  "Are you challenging me?" Colbie demanded.

  I eyed her. "I--"

  "Challenge accepted."

  I blinked at her. "Um. Okay?"

  She glanced around the garage, empty except for about twenty automobiles, from restored classics to utility vehicles to a brand-new Hypercar. Then she pushed me to a nook between a Wrangler kitted for heavy off-roading duty and a giant Silverado 3500 geared for heavy hauling, shoved my back against the wall, and fell to her knees.

  "Oh." I watched as she undid my jeans and pulled me out. "Challenge accepted, huh?"

  She had me hard in seconds. "Not really. But I should point out that when I decide I like something, I get kind of addicted."

  "A-DICK-ted, huh?"

  She smirked up at me as she jacked me. "Penis-based puns. My favorite." She leaned closer to me. "Yes, you might say I'm quickly becoming a-DICK-ted to your cock. Which is probably good for you, and your chances of receiving . . . how'd you put it . . . a crazy amount of head from this woman."

  "I'm on board with this addiction."

  "One caveat, though."

  "Name it."

  "Don't be shy with the cunnilingus."

  I laughed. "Babe, just try and keep me away from your pussy."

  "Why would I do that?"

  "Good point--oh . . . ohh. Holy shit, babe . . . Jesus, you're gonna make me come in thirty seconds flat if you keep that up--"

  Which seemed to be her goal, and one at which she
succeeded.

  Followed by me returning the favor, which meant we didn't end up leaving for our spin in the countryside for quite a while.

  And yes, we fucked each other's brains out in the grass beneath a spreading oak tree.

  And again in the car, on the side of the road.

  And again when we got back.

  And again in the back of Roth's private jet on the way to New York.

  And again in her apartment in DUMBO, which was a gorgeous little loft full of sweetness and light and tasteful decorations.

  And again, and again, and again that night.

  You get the point.

  Epilogue

  I tried to stifle my nerves, but it was no good.

  "Yo, relax, Cole. It's fine. Harris could land this bitch in the dark in a windstorm without instruments." Puck took my hand and squeezed, speaking to me over the private channel between his headset and mine. "Don't freak."

  I gulped hard as the helicopter Harris was flying swooped low over the water, nose down, skimming barely fifty feet above the waves. "Can he . . . slow down at all?"

  Puck thumbed a switch that looped Harris into our headsets. "Harris, quit showing off, you asshole," I heard him say.

  Harris, up front behind the controls, chuckled. "Aww, you ain't scared are you, Colbie?"

  "Maybe a little," I squeaked. "You're flying like it's a fighter jet."

  Puck, Harris, and Layla all laughed.

  "Don't tempt him, hon," Layla said.

  "Too late," Harris said.

  "Shit." Puck cinched his five-point harness tighter and then reached over to cinch mine so tight I could barely breathe. "Keep your eyes open, Cole, and keep breathing."

  "Ready?" Harris said.

  "NO!" I shouted.

  "Too late."

  I watched his hands shift gently forward, and I felt a corresponding increase in pressure on my chest as we accelerated. That wasn't so bad--

  And then he hauled backward on one of the controls, and our nose lifted abruptly, forcing my stomach down toward my toes. We climbed like a rocket for what felt like a full minute, though I knew it was far less, and then instead of merely leveling out, Harris tilted us to the left and tipped our nose downward, and now my heart was in my throat and threatening to pop out of my mouth, and I felt dizzy and fought darkness at the edges of my sight. We dove and dove and dove, arcing around and down in a long, steep curve, and I could see water through the windscreen up front and beyond the window on my left, water rising toward us at a terrifying pace, a brilliant azure. Harris banked the helicopter over to the other side so now I was totally suspended in the air, only held in the seat by the harness Puck had tightened. I glanced to my right, and Puck was gripping his knees with white-knuckled fingers, but he had a wild grin on his face as we soared tilted sideways, nose down, toward the Caribbean.