Page 75 of Revenge Puck

It steals the air from my lungs.

This isn’t only pleasure—it’s consuming. Every slow thrust feels amplified, like my body is lit from the inside out. I hadn’t expected it to be this intense. Hadn’t expected to feel so completely full of him, so aware of every shift, every drag, every controlled inhale he takes above me.

My fingers curl into his shoulders.

He wasn’t prepared for this either.

I can see it in his face—the crease between his thick brows, the way his eyes darken to black, confused like he’s trying to understand what’s happening inside his own body.

“Look at me.” His voice is gravelly when he whispers to me.

I shyly glance up at his face, into an expression that isn’t just displaying arousal.

It’s awe—as if he’s stumbled onto something he wasn’t prepared for. Which makes two of us. But he’s had sex before; surely this is nothing different?

Why is he looking at me like this?

“You feel that too, right?”

I mean. Of course I feel him—he’s buried to the hilt inside of me.

When I move, raking my nails over his spine, he inhales, eyes squeezing shut. The muscle in his neck flexes, and I want to kiss the pulse I see beating there.

I move again, and he lowers his lips to my hair.

“Jesus, Juliette.” He rasps out my name and it’s like a drug. The power is intoxicating; hearing my name on his lips in the throes of this moment is…it’s…

Heat floods my face when he moans, “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet.”

Another slow thrust and he’s moving again, kissing my temple. The corner of my lips, murmuring, cords in his biceps straining. Flexing as he pumps in and out.

I moan, too, hands roaming his backside.

Fingers pressing into his ass.

I didn’t think it could get more intense, but I was wrong.

“God, I want you on top,” he moans into my nape, and I’m suddenly aware that perspiration dampens my hair. “I want to watch your tits.”

He moves, rolling to his back. One second, I’m pressed into the mattress, the next I’m riding him, still joined, still full of him—his hands go to my waist before migrating up, teasing the underside of my breasts.

I gasp at the new angle.

He does too. “Fuck me, Juliette.”

I swallow and lean forward experimentally, lifting off him, letting him slide almost out, before sinking back onto the tip.

His head sinks into the pillow.

“Don’t tease me,” he grinds out through gritted teeth. “Please, don’t tease me.”

But now that’s all I want to do.

I roll my hips as slowly as I can, finding a rhythm that makes his jaw clench and his abs flex beneath me.

I can feel every inch of him from this angle.

The stretch. The drag.