Page 129 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

He kisses the top of my head and waits for me to get down to the curb. Oliver puts the helmet on for me, buckling it under my chin.

“Well, he didn’t kill you.” I smile. “That’s a start.”

“Let’s hope he never sees the hickeys,” he replies.

thirty-six

sydney

The thing about Penn’s kink…

I don’t usually wake up while he’s fucking me.

Several times this week, I’ve woken to cum between my legs and a new hickey somewhere on my body. Breast, collarbone… lower.

But now, with sunlight streaming in through my windows, there’s a distinct movement behind me. An arm slung over my waist, the hand cupping my breast. And the heat of arousal is impossible to deny.

“Good morning,” Penn breathes, kissing my neck.

He’s fucking me gently from behind, his hips rolling forward and sliding his dick deeper into me. He pinches at my breast, tugging my nipple, and I let out a long sigh. My hips automatically move to meet him, to help the angle…

To take him deeper.

“This is new,” I manage.

“This is round two.” He kisses higher, up behind my earlobe. “I wanted to wake up with you.”

Something stirs inside me, and I find myself smiling. “Oh. Good.”

Good.

I’m not starting the day off alone. Isn’t that something?

He rolls me onto my stomach, nudging my legs open wider. He never loses contact with my core, even when he grabs something from the floor and shoves it under my hips.

A fallen pillow?

“Don’t freak out,” he says in my ear. His weight presses down on me.

“About?”

“You started your period.”

My stomach twists, and I immediately try to rise. He grabs my wrists, pinning me to the bed.

“I said not to freak out.”

“You’re—”

“You feel good like this,” he argues, a sharp thrust punctuating his words.

Now that he says it, I feel it. The difference. The dull ache in my breasts that I just assumed was from them. But, no. Fucking hormones.

I close my eyes. His hand slides under me, and his fingers go straight to my clit. He seems to be an expert in how to work me up, twisting my insides and sculpting me like fucking clay.

“Carter will probably eat you out later if you ask him nicely,” Penn groans. “He likes blood, doesn’t he, princess?”

“Y-yeah.” I press my forehead to the bed. “Don’t stop.”