Page 9 of Absolutely Pucked
“I mean, it’s not unreasonable to ask when you say something ominous, like there’s something you don’t know about me,” I pointed out.
He sighed. “That’s not what I mean. I just want you to know that whatever you think I am—whoever you think I am—I’m not the person you should be sleeping with right now. Trust me, if you knew me, you’d be out the door before I could beg you to stay.”
My brows flew up. “Would you beg me to stay?”
His eyes narrowed. “That is not the point I’m trying to make here.”
I bit my lip to hold back a laugh. This was obviously a serious moment, but something about him made me feel…light. Safe. Different. “Okay, okay. So what’s the big secret? Drugs?”
He laughed, but the sound was bitter. “Sometimes I think that’s a better lie than the truth, but no. My home fell apart. My wife—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.
“Oh my God, did she die?” I leaned in toward him.
His tiny grin turned into a grimace. “No. She…fuck.” He ran both hands down his face. “She found a better offer than what I could give her. So she tore our life apart, and now I’m here trying to figure out what the fuck I’m doing. I’m in town because I…there’s a guy…” He glanced away. “Someone I used to know really well was here, and I thought he could help, but me being here will make his life so much worse, so I decided to leave. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have let you bring me up here.”
I reached for him before he could move, clamping both hands around his wrists. His eyes met mine again, and he looked almost scared. “You didn’t hurt her, right? Your wife?” He shook his head. “Or anyone else?”
“The person I used to know? I hurt him pretty badly. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it’s too late to fix things.”
I looked into his eyes. “I’m asking if you’re a shitty-ass, abusive?—”
“Oh,” he said very quickly. “No. Not like that.”
“So you were just a dickhead in your past life?”
“I tried not to be, but apparently, I failed pretty spectacularly at that. I’ve learned I’m really good at self-flagellation in the process.”
“Okay, we can table that for another time,” I said, trying not to get interested in that because he was not trying to be sexy right now. “Do you have any STIs or anything?”
“Not last time I checked.”
“Cool, so I’m failing to see why two people feeling pretty shit about life can’t have a night together. It doesn’t have to mean anything, you know? We can eat this bar food—which probably tastes like shit now that it’s cold, but whatever. We can drink these drinks and have some nice, consensual, mutual orgasms and call it a night.”
“I want to say yes,” he murmured.
“But?”
“But I think if you knew me—really knew who I was—you’d spit in my face and walk away.”
“That sounds very much like a man who has been traumatized by shitty people who want him to feel like crap about himself. I know a lot of those guys, okay? I have been that guy. But if you really don’t want me?—”
He interrupted me by taking my hand and placing it over his pants-covered dick. He was hard and a little damp from the thick precome that had pooled out of him. “I want you. I just…don’t want you to regret me. You’re the first person who’s been nice to me in a long time, and I don’t think I want to lose that.”
“Then we can just have tonight,” I said. I was too turned on to care now. Something in me ached to askfor more, to promise that nothing could ever make me feel differently than I did right then. But I wasn’t a fool. I knew better. “No last names, no phone numbers. One of us will leave before morning. And there will be no regrets.”
He held my chin between his fingers, then pulled me into a kiss, sealing the promise with lips and tongue. It was warm, a little awkward with his hesitation, but no less amazing than it had been the first time.
My chest was hot, and my cock began to thicken again as he wrapped his hands around my hips. Then, as I expected him to—as they all usually did—he froze.
“Tell me how to do this so I don’t hurt you.”
Not what I was expecting him to say.
I swung my leg over him, leaving my prosthetic planted on the ground, and pressed my flesh knee into the cushions beside his hip. Meeting his gaze, I held it firmly. “You could throw me up against the wall and fuck me that way if you want. Trust me, I’m not fragile.”
“I never thought you were. But I’m not really into pain, so…”
Snorting, I shook my head and cupped his cheek. His beard was rough against my palm, and his familiar eyes became unfamiliar with the way he was looking at me. No one had ever stared at me with such blatant want before.
