Page 49 of Absolutely Pucked
My friends were studious nerds and the occasional outcast. The people who stood in total opposition to the man my brother was becoming.
Back then, I could feel myself losing him. Our parents put more pressure on me to perform up to their standards, and showed more open disdain for every choice Tucker was making.
The cracks were obvious, and they were deep, but I ignored them until it was too late.
And now I was here with him, closer than he’d been in almost a decade, and yet the furthest I’d felt from him our entire lives.
Ford and I ate in total silence. His body was so warm, his breathing even, his throat emitting tiny little happy noises with every bite he took.
My ego puffed a little—what I had left of it, anyway. He scraped the last bite out of his bowl, then handed itto me, and I swung my legs off the bed so I could take them to the kitchen, but he caught my arm.
“Stay.”
I hadn’t planned on leaving just yet. Well, I’d thought about it, but I wasn’t ready to stop being selfish. “Just going to put these in the sink.”
He cleared his throat and held on tighter. “Okay, but…stay. You can take them to the sink later.” It was almost like he was afraid that if I left the room, I wouldn’t come back.
And hell, maybe that was true. Maybe halfway to the kitchen, I’d lose my nerve and hide in the guest room once more.
My hands began to shake as I set the bowls on the nightstand and turned back toward him. The blanket was pooled around his waist, and his eyes were heavy-lidded as he looked at me. He seemed tired—a little haggard with his hair barely hanging on to the bun at the nape of his neck and dark circles under his eyes.
“Would you like a massage?”
Ford’s eyes went wide. “Seriously?”
“I’m good at them.” I was. Delia had trained me very well in the art of getting out all the knots in her shoulders. “I can also brush your hair.”
Ford let out a tiny groan, then waved a weak hand toward his dresser. “I have a comb over there. And in the first drawer is oils. Don’t judge me for whatever else you find. And don’t snoop if you don’t want to know about me.”
My brows lifted. I wanted to know everything, but I wasn’t ready to take more than the inch he was offering me. Dislodging my arm from his grasp, I walked overand grabbed the comb from the corner by the mirror, then opened the top drawer.
There were several boxes that were very obvious sex toys and three bottles of what looked like oil. Two of them were lube, and the third was a cinnamon-scented body oil. I couldn’t help but wonder who he’d used these with, and jealousy rose hot and thick toward the base of my throat.
I had no right. At all. So I choked it down and composed myself before making my way back over.
“How do you want me?”
Every single way you want to give yourself to me, I thought. “I’ll get behind you, if that’s okay.”
He hummed his assent, then scooted forward, making space so I could press against the wall and fit him between my legs. We’d been that intimate before. Just the once, but I hadn’t stopped being able to feel it in my dreams.
He was just as warm now, his skin soft as I helped him take his shirt off. He groaned when I ran exploratory hands down his back and leaned into me as I found a couple of hard knots and several bruises.
“Hockey,” he murmured.
“This one is in the shape of a puck.” I pressed my thumb over a very round spot. Then just above it, a slash. “This one?”
“A stick. Pads only do so much. You should see what I look like after someone crashes their sled into me.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” I said, setting the oil down, then pulling the hair tie from his hair. It fell in loose, coarse waves over his shoulders, and I got a whiffof his shampoo. “I’m such a baby when it comes to pain.”
“I love it.” He groaned when I began to comb out his tangles, leaning back just slightly so his ass was pressed right against my dick. There was no way I was going to be able to hide the fact that I was getting hard, but I think he knew what he was going to do to me. “Pain kept me grounded after my accident.”
His hair quickly untangled, so I tied it back up, then poured a dollop of oil on my palm and rubbed them together. The scent was rich but not overwhelming, and I began hard, sweeping motions over his back.
As I swept my hands down lower, near his hip, I saw scars. Big, jagged scars with dots where stitches had been. Clearly, the accident that had taken his leg had been worse than just that. I wondered if he was afraid of horses now.
“Did your parents get rid of the horse after it trampled you?”
