The Pucking Proposal (Maple Creek)

Where the fuck is she?

I was watching Joy and some asshole dance around the floor, and she winked at me, and then I lost sight of them. I’ve stalked the perimeter of the floor three times, checked the bar, and scanned the picnic tables where people rest and talk. I don’t see her anywhere.

What’s worse? I don’t see the asshole dude-bro in a red flannel either.

She didn’t leave with him, did she? No way. She wouldn’t have done that. Right?

I replay that wink, the fire in my gut burning hotter and higher than the bonfire.

“Hey, man! Whatcha doing?” Shepherd asks as he comes up with a bottle of hard cider.

It takes effort, but I force myself to calm, or at least to appear that way. In fact, I stretch my arms overhead and fake a yawn. “Think I’m heading out,” I tell him.

“Already?” He balks as he throws an arm over my shoulders like he’s gonna keep me here by force. But then he grins evilly and looks around. “Where’d Everly go? She waiting on you somewhere?”

“Who?”

My brow furrows in confusion and Shep chuckles. “Not a love connection with the blonde, then, I take it.”

Oh yeah, the picture girl . . . Everly. I shake my head. “Nah, not feeling it.”

Don’t ask questions. Don’t ask questions. For the love of fuck, don’t ask me anything. I send the prayer up to the moon high in the sky, hoping Shepherd doesn’t pry into my personal life right now. But one way to ensure he doesn’t is to take a play from his book and go on the offensive instead of waiting and playing defense the way I typically do.

“What about you? You hunt down Joy’s friend?” I thread a heavy dose of teasing into the question to lighten the mood.

“Jealous?” he replies.

I chuckle, pushing his shoulder. “The only thing I’m jealous of is your heart because it’s pounding inside you and I’m not.”

“Aw, love you, too, bro,” he drawls, shoving me back. “See you next week then?”

I nod, mentally checking my schedule for the next few days. “Yeah, I fly home Wednesday and back on Sunday. I’ll tell Mom you said hi.”

We high-five and I escape, still searching for Joy as I get to my truck.

By the time I get to Joy’s apartment, I’ve mentally psyched myself up and am 100 percent certain I’m gonna end up grabbing Flannel Guy by his too-long hair and shoving him out the door in his underwear.

Bang, bang, bang.

Joy opens the door in a midthigh-length T-shirt and nothing else. Or at least nothing else I can see. “Are you fucking serious? Where is he?” I roar.

She leans against the door, digging a bare pink-painted toe into the floor. “Who?”

The smile on her face says she knows exactly who I’m talking about and is enjoying this.

I slam a hand to either side of the door, gripping the frame so hard that my knuckles creak. “I swear to fuck, Joy, if that guy’s in your bed, I’m gonna—” I grit out.

“You’re not gonna do shit,” she hisses, “but there’s nobody here.” She twirls around, giving me her back as she saunters sassily away. She has to be fucking with me—swishing her hips and swinging her hair to put a spell on me.

I follow, shutting the door and looking around for any telltale signs. The sweater she was wearing is draped over the arm of the couch, but that’s not unexpected for Joy. There’s no extra drink on the coffee table or any sign of the asshole’s flannel, though.

Maybe she’s telling the truth?

In the kitchen, Joy leans against the counter, watching me. “Wanna check the bedroom? Bathroom? Closet? Oh, you should check under the bed, too, but watch out for the dust bunnies.”

I stalk toward her. “What the fuck was that tonight?” I hiss. I’m angry as hell, and though I won’t let her see it, I’m hurt too.

She hops up on the counter, kicking her dangling feet like she’s not the least bit affected by my fury. “Dalton, you know what this is. Remember saying that? Both of us agreeing to it?” she reminds me. “We’re not dating. We’re not anything. I was reminded of that when I saw Blondie all up in your business, offering you her personal sucking service like her name’s Hoover. So I can dance with whoever I want, fuck whoever I want, and it has nothing to do with you.”

She glares at me as if she actually believes that.

“The hell you can.”

“It’s okay, you can too,” she generously offers.

As if that’s remotely happening. I shake my head, her words rattling around and not making any sense. “You don’t mean that,” I challenge.

“Maybe I do,” she huffs, jutting her chin two inches higher in the air.

“I don’t want to fuck anyone else. You basically own my cock at this point.” The confession passes my lips before I can stop it, and as much as I hate to admit it, it’s the truth.

I don’t know when or how that happened, and it’s probably going to be the thing that gets me killed or kicked off the team when Shep finds out. But I look forward to talking to Joy every day. She’s a bright spot in my existence I didn’t know I was missing. I want to see her, listen to her, and I sure as shit want to touch her.

I move in front of her knees, caging her in with a hand planted to the counter on either side of her hips, and lean closer. I drop my eyes to her lips, ready to taste her.

Finally.

I’ve been waiting for this. Watching her every night, talking to her, sharing with her . . . and finally, I’m going to feel her skin the way I imagine doing.

Her hand lands on the center of my chest, stopping me. “No. I don’t date athletes.”

It’s ice on the fire inside me that hasn’t cooled, but merely morphed from anger to desire. “Why?”

I expect her to say it’s something to do with her brother, or my friendship with him, but she doesn’t even give me that. “Not up for discussion,” she says firmly. “I’m not sharing that.”

“But you’ll share your orgasms?” I snap.

She shrugs, looking down between us. My hips are less than an inch from her knees. I could push them apart and plant myself between her thighs to let her feel exactly what she does to me. “If that’s what you want.”

She pushes me away and I let her, so confused that I can’t find words to argue with her. She draws out the temptation, lifting a long leg, and places her foot on the counter to spread her thighs, giving me a look and daring me to walk away. I cross my arms over my chest and pretend I’m a statue, immovable and made of stone. Part of me definitely is.

Not getting the reaction she expected, she says haughtily, “You can watch. That’s it.”

She’s wrong. This isn’t some meaningless jacking off. But if that’s all she’s comfortable with, I’m not strong enough to say no because this is progress. We’re in the same room. I never thought I’d have to go at a snail’s pace for a woman, but if that’s the game Joy wants, then I’ll fucking play along like a good boy.

I curl my lip. “Take your shirt off,” I answer roughly. “I want to see all of you.”

She traces a fingertip down the center of her chest. “You saw yesterday.”

I did. When we FaceTimed, she was nude and so was I. We progressed to that stage several sessions ago, and her body is the sole star of my dreams and fantasies. “I want both the quali-titty, and the quanti-titty.”

I smirk, impressed with my wordplay. She’s good at it, but two can play this game, though I wish the fuck we weren’t playing at all.

Her hands drop to the hem of her shirt, and she pulls it over her head. “Does that mean you like them?” She looks down at her breasts, cupping and kneading them, and then glances up at me through her lashes, pleased as hell with the way she’s driving me crazy.

“They’re perfect,” I bite out, angry about the flawlessness of her hard, pink nipples and more-than-a-handful size.

Her hand drifts down her belly to her center, brushing over her clit, and she sighs in satisfaction.

She’s fucking enjoying this. Fine, if that’s the way she wants it, so be it.

I drop to my knees in front of her, spreading my thighs wide to give my cock a little room because it’s actively being strangled by my jeans. Her glazed eyes follow me down as I put myself eye level with her pussy. “If this is all I get, I want a front-row seat. Let me see you, Joy.”

Her hand stills as she peers into my eyes.

She’s punishing me for making her jealous by talking to Everly earlier, though I didn’t give a shit about her. She was a fan who wanted a picture, nothing more. Well, she might’ve flirted a bit, but I didn’t reciprocate. Hell, I was downright surly to her, not that Joy seemed to notice. But this is more than punishment too. Joy’s putting up walls between us, even as she lets me get closer.

When I don’t budge, she begins touching herself again. Her pink-tipped fingers circle over her entire core, then dip down to her entrance, coming back up glistening with her arousal. She spreads it over her clit, moaning as she moves faster and faster, building her pleasure while I stare, transfixed.

“I want to taste you so damn bad,” I mutter.

She doesn’t hesitate in holding her fingers out to me and I suck them greedily, glad to finally have her taste on my tongue. I’ve imagined it, fantasized about it, wondered if she’d be sweet, and now I know, she’s uniquely Joy.

And I’m an instant addict.

“Mmm,” I moan around her fingers, licking every bit clean. Her mouth has dropped open, her eyes locked on where her fingers disappear into my mouth, and I take advantage of her obvious liking for it, teasing my tongue along the pads of each fingertip, nibbling gently at her flesh, and coating them in my saliva so that when she touches herself again, it’s with a part of me as her lubrication. I release her fingers, guiding them back to her pussy. “Touch yourself. Show me how you like to be touched, and let me hear you come.”

“Fuuuck,” she groans as her head falls back and her hand blurs over her clit. She’s not teasing herself any longer. She’s a woman on a mission, and she knows how to get herself there better than anyone.

I watch, memorizing every move because though she’s not ready for more tonight, eventually, she will be. And when that happens, I want to be worth the risk because whatever’s holding her back is a strong deterrent, and I’m gonna have to fight for the opportunity to get inside her defenses to fuck her.

Spasms rack through her body as she arches hard. Even her toes curl on the counter as she explodes.

“Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” I hiss. I shift my hips, trying to give my painful cock some relief, but find none. I push back into my heels, standing slowly and adjusting myself.

“Your turn,” she says with an expectant smile.

I want to slide inside her. At a minimum, I want to jack off and coat her with my cum, mark her so she sleeps with me on her.

So this is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I step away.

When Joy realizes that I’m not reciprocating but am instead leaving, she gasps in horror and reaches for her shirt, holding it over her tits. “You’re an asshole, One-Night,” she snarls.

I flinch at the name I’ve always hated, but especially hate on her lips. “Your pussy is mine, whether you admit it or not. This isn’t over.”

I sound sure of myself, but when I walk out, I pray I’m doing the right thing and haven’t destroyed any chance I have with Joy Barlowe.