Page 119 of Double Puck

He catches my wrist, pins it gently above my head against the pillow, and leans down until his mouth is just barely not touching mine.

"The version where I get to see you like this."

He nuzzles against my neck, sucking, nibbling and biting until I'm moaning against him, clawing at his back for more.

"Fuck, Beck."

I fumble for his belt while he kisses me again, deeper this time, slower, and the buckle fights me until he covers my hands with his and does it himself. He takes off his pants, then his boxers. My underwear disappears somewhere near the pillows. Then there's nothing between us but skin and everything we screamed at each other twenty minutes ago.

He settles over me and stops, his forearms braced on either side of my head.

"Darcy." His blue eyes lock onto mine, his hair falling across his forehead in that maddening way it does. "You know I'm still mad at you, right?"

"Yes."

"But that doesn't mean I'm not still fucking crazy about you?"

My breath catches as his hips grind against my core.

"I'm starting to get that impression."

His mouth twitches, but his eyes stay serious. "Just making sure we're working with all the available data."

"How very Madden of you."

"What can I say? I've been professionally assessed."

My palm slides over his hardness, fingers wrapping around the thick, hard length of him, and his whole body shudders above me, a sound dragged low from somewhere in his throat that he clearly wasn't expecting to make.

"Darcy—" My name comes out wrecked.

"Shh." I drag my palm over him again, slower this time, watching his lashes flutter. His eyes close as I guide his cock forward, nudging the tip against my clit, using him to swirl slick against the tip.

"Fuck…" The muscle in his forearm flexes where he's bracing his weight, like he needs something to hold onto. "That feels so good, baby."

I roll my hips just enough to coat him, slicking him with my arousal, and his eyes snap open again, dropping straight to where we're almost connected.

He looks down between us, and I see his throat bob. His fingers curl into the pillow beside my head.

"Darce." His voice is raw in a way I haven't heard before. "Don't tease me like this. Not right now."

So I don't.

Instead I pull his face down and kiss him, and he must understand, because he holds my face in both hands, looks straight into my eyes—

And slides into me.

The sound he makes isn't for anyone. It's low and wrecked and torn straight out of his chest, and I feel it everywhere. My nipples tighten, my core squeezes around his every inch working me deeper.

"Fuck, Darce."

There's no hand on my throat this time. No commands, no filthy praise. None of the delicious things he's taught my body to crave.

It's just Beck Morrison in my arms, buried deep inside me, forehead pressed to mine.

And it's different.

I feel it in every thrust — something underneath the pleasure, something that aches. His eyes never leave mine. Every time I try to look away, overwhelmed, he tilts my chin back.