Page 36 of Absolutely Pucked
Feeling the scratch of his beard and the heavy weight of his body and the way his flat chest pressed into mine like he was trying to dominate me completelywith his person? God. I’d been so fucking turned on then, and I was ready to shoot my load all over his bathroom wall now.
My arm began to move, a heavy fapping sound filling the room as I jerked off to the lingering scent of him. It clung to my own skin in the thick lather from his soap, and I humped my hips into my hand at the memory of his teeth on my neck.
“Fuck, fuck,” I gasped as my balls tightened. It took another three pulls to let go, and my entire body felt on the verge of collapse as all my energy evaporated. It was next to impossible to finish washing up after that.
I had no business exerting myself when I hadn’t had a full meal in weeks and my blood sugar was through the floor. I managed to get out, dry off, and put the sweats back on, but it took everything in me not to crawl back into the bed and close my eyes.
I followed the smell of breakfast cooking instead—something savory and salty, and something sweet. My feet tapped on the hardwood floors as I headed into the kitchen and found Ford plating pancakes and sausage links.
“I hope you’re not a no-pork guy,” he said, picking up both plates and walking them to the small breakfast table. He was wearing his leg now, his limp pronounced but his gait steady as he crossed the room and looked me up and down.
I felt a little too seen and crossed my arms over my middle. “I’m an anything guy, really. I don’t want to tell you what I’ve been living on for the last several weeks.”
Something crossed his face. Pity? Something worse than that? “Do me a favor and grab me the jar ofcinnamon in the pantry.” He gestured to a door to the left of the fridge.
I appreciated that we were moving on from the way I was living. Walking over, I opened the door and froze. The pantry was stuffed to the brim with canned and dried foods. “Are you a prepper?” I blurted, then hated myself because it wasn’t fair to judge him. I found the cinnamon quickly in a rack of spices, then turned away from his hoard.
When I looked at him again, his face was pink in the cheeks. “I have a thing.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” I started, but he waved me off.
“When I was sixteen, my parents kicked me out. It was a…a whole thing. I couch-hopped when I could and slept in parks when I couldn’t. I was put in a group home for a little while after my school notified CPS that I was homeless. My parents went to court to have their rights terminated, but the judge refused, and the greatest moment of my life was watching them shamed for what they did.”
“Jesus,” I couldn’t help but whisper.
He shrugged. “I went hungry a lot back then. Like…a lot. And after they were forced to take me back in, I went hungry a lot there too. I developed a pretty bad habit of stocking up on food. I’m trying to be better, but it’s hard.”
I had to wonder what kind of lasting trauma habits this whole thing with Delia would cause me. In any case, I understood him. Except for the fact that I was a grown adult and could manage my shit, where he’d been a damn child who had no business beingthrown out.
“I’m sorry they sucked.”
He scoffed and waved a hand at me as he walked across the room and took a seat. When I didn’t move, he made an annoyed noise and patted the seat beside him. “Come on, princess. You need a written invitation?”
My entire body went white-hot at a nickname I hadn’t earned but probably deserved. Almost tripping over my feet, I hurried over and flopped down, only to have a plate shoved at me, then a bowl filled with fruit.
“Bodie would be so proud of me for this,” Ford said. “He’s always so deep in my ass about fiber he could probably play with my prostate.”
“Christ,” I choked.
Ford raised a brow at me. “Sorry. Too delicate for bad language?”
With a scowl, I picked up my fork and dug a piece of pancake out right from the center, just the way I liked. I hated crusts of any kind. I was well aware of Ford’s gaze on me. It was almost physical. “You know goddamn well I’m not afraid of dirty talk.”
He smiled around his bite of sausage, chewing and swallowing like he was doing it specifically to annoy me. “Well?”
I blinked at him, halfway through my fourth bite. “Well what?”
“Heap praise upon me. I made those fuckers from scratch.”
That…was unexpected. “Who’s the princess now?”
He coughed in shock. “Wow. Okay, kitty has some claws. I like it.”
This felt way too normal, and yet I was desperatenot to shatter the mood. “I think you knew that about me already.” I took another bite, then nodded. “These are amazing. Is that what you want to do?”
He frowned. “Make pancakes?”
“Be a chef.”
