Page 101 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
By the time I come down, he’s got his arms around my waist. He’s more holding me up than my legs, and I blink. I will my brain to work again, but all that’s there is fuzz.
He fucked my brain out. His pace is frantic. Waves of residual pleasure linger between my legs, and I push back against him weakly.
His teeth bury in my shoulder, right through my jacket and sports bra. He bites hard, and I whimper under him. He’s holding me in place with arms and teeth and cock, and it just feels right.
He stills, his groan vibrating through his chest and teeth, where he’s still locked on my shoulder. It’s animalistic in nature.
And when he slowly releases me, first his teeth and then his bear-hug, and then his cock slipping free, I sink to my knees in the snow.
He kneels behind me, hugging me from behind. His hands wander my front, one sliding into my jacket and cupping my breast. His other goes to my throat. I touch his wrist and arm, leaning back against him.
With him, there’s no trauma of being choked. I don’t get the panic that rises like nausea. Just this weird trust between us.
“You wear my necklace when he fucks you,” he says in my ear. “If you ever take it off, I’m going to solder it on.”
My head falls back on his shoulder. “That’s fine,” I sigh. “Better to be sure the clasp won’t break.”
Pause.
His lips touch my cheek. “You’re fucking insane, princess. I think I might love it.”
You know what’s not fun?
Finishing a run with cum between my legs and a sore, bruised ass. Penn smirks the whole way back, running so close our arms occasionally brush. Never mind that the path back isn’t really built for two. He seems content to avoid the branches and foliage and snow on the edges of the trail.
But even when we get to the road, and there’s space to separate, he sticks close.
At the top of my street, I slow to a walk.
“How did you know Carter sneaks in?”
I had to replay our conversation or else my mind would be turned to mush by the pain and tingling pleasure between my legs. I had to focus on something, and I want to know how he knows.
“Because I fucked you while you slept last night.” Now that we’re walking, he snags my hand and threads our fingers together. “And when I came out, the psycho was standing in your living room waiting for me.”
My mouth drops open.
Penn’s gaze slides to mine. “I told him I wouldn’t tell you, but since you now know I have a somnophilia kink, you may as well know he rented an apartment across from your brownstone to spy.”
I stop moving. “What?”
“Carter Masters.” His brows furrow. “What part is confusing?”
“The apartment.”
“Oh.” He resumes walking, pulling me along. “I’ll show you. I don’t think he’s there right now.”
“Why?”
“Because I watched him leave for class.”
I don’t have one stalker—I have two.
“When I feel like someone’s watching me, is that you or him?”
He lifts one shoulder. “Probably him. I know where you’re going to be, I don’t usually follow you. You have two classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. One with your friend and one with me. You have three classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Your first class is the only one where you fly solo.”
I stop again.