Page 94 of Two Guys One Puck
“Correct. It’s fine, though. They love guests. I don’t have to ask. I just have to explain.” Why did I have to think with my dick last night? I’m still glad he’s here, but I really should have come up with a story. “Let me pull out the bed.”
I bend over, and he comes up behind me, pressing his dick into my ass. “Nice view.”
I awkwardly get the trundle out, then turn on him, grabbing his jaw while backing him into the wall. He reaches between us, but I take hold of his wrist and pin it to the wall above his head. “Be good and settle in while I go talk to them.”
“You haven’t even kissed me yet. I’m starting to think you don’t like me.” He searches my face. Is he being vulnerable? I like it.
“You know I… Are you fishing for compliments?”
“Maybe. You neglected me the whole train ride.” He rubs his nose over mine and all the need from the train comes rushing back.
I crush my mouth to his and kiss him deeply. He sucks my tongue, rubbing up against me.
He grabs my ass, dragging my body to his.
“I’ve missed you.”
“Show me how much,” he says into my mouth.
“Fuck.” I force myself back. “First, I need to go talk to them.”
“I have a question before you go.”
“What?”
“What was that little wave you did to your family? Is this some American family greeting?” He’s fighting a smile.
“You’re such a dick.”
“It was cute and awkward. I want to know if is cultural. I am here for cultural exchange.” Ktytor is full on grinning now.
“You know it’s fucking not.”
He shrugs. “Might be. Americans are weird.”
“Everyone is fucking weird. Get settled. Let me go talk to them.”I step around the trundle taking up most of the floor space.
“You’re so screwed.”
I glance over my shoulder. “So screwed.”
“Have you at least come up with a story yet?” he asks on the verge of laughing.
I glare but finally say, “No.”
“Tell them we met at camp. Duh.”
“Why are you so much better at this?” I ask.
“I had to lie to survive growing up. It makes me good at it.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head. “Because Ukrainian parents are strict and I don’t like to follow directions.”
“No kidding.” I walk out, exhaling as I close the door behind me. “Can you guys not be fucking weird?” If I start out abrasive, they’ll back down. My family’s love language is sarcasm.
“We’re just confused. Isn’t that the guy you were punching out on the ice last season?” my dad asks, knowing damn well it was.
