Page 4 of Absolutely Pucked (Punk as Puck #3)

CHAPTER

THREE

FORD

The first press of his lips was tentative. Even with his extreme overconfidence, I could almost taste the hesitation on his lips. It was bitter and sour, nothing like the sweet man who had given me space to be open in ways I hadn’t been in…

Shit. Maybe ever.

But his hands were strong as they gripped my sides, and he twisted, putting one knee on the sofa as he pinned me to the cushions and gently urged my lips apart. His tongue was warm and tasted like fryer oil and spices.

He kissed like he knew exactly what he was doing.

I felt my toes curl in my shoe, and my dick thickened, throbbing, almost desperate to be touched. It was probably the most awkward first kiss in my entire life, but it was also maybe the best.

I broke away to catch my breath, my fingers curling in the front of his shirt. Our gazes connected, and once again, I felt the strange familiarity—like déjà vu. “Have we met? We haven’t done this before, right?”

His brows lifted. “I thought you said you didn’t do this a lot.”

“I don’t. That’s why it’s freaking me out. I feel like I know you, but…”

He backed up, looking suddenly afraid. “Where do you live?”

Don’t tell him. Don’t. He could still be a serial killer. This might be how he baits his victims. Say nothing.

Say nothing!

“Turenne. I live in a little condo right on the corner of Fifth and Stone.”

He let out a heavy breath and shook his head. “Shit.”

“Why? Do you know me? Are you a stalker?”

Staring down at his lap, he took a deep breath, then said, “There’s something you don’t know about me and probably should.”

My heart rammed against my chest. That was not what I was expecting him to say. “So…a serial killer who goes after amputees, or…”

“What?” His gaze snapped up to mine. “No.”

“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 ask for 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.

“Get my dick out,” I told him.

His gaze flickered down, and then his hands followed.

My ass felt bereft of his touch, but that was quickly overshadowed by the way he unzipped me, then spread my boxer slit apart and curled tender fingers around my cock.

It throbbed, my entire body going white-hot with need as he took me into his palm and squeezed.

His eyes were locked on my face, like he was reading me, and his pink tongue darted out to touch his lower lip. I rocked my hips into his hand, and he let out a startled groan. “You like that?”

I almost laughed. I would have, if the question hadn’t been so goddamn sincere. “Yeah. Yeah, I like that.”

He gripped me harder, then stroked from the base of my dick all the way to the tip, twisting his hand slightly as he went. It was so simple, something I did all the time, and yet it was the best thing I’d ever felt. Ever.

“Fuck me.”

“Wouldn’t mind that either,” he murmured, his hand speeding up.

My vision started to blur around the edges, and I pressed my hands to his shoulders, staring down at him. “I’m gonna come. But you can fuck me after if you want.”

His pupils dilated. His eyes, in that moment, were a sort of hazel-brown, but I could only just make out a thin ring of color. “Yeah? You sure?”

“More than sure. Fuck, I want to feel you inside me.” I closed my eyes and began to thrust into his hand, faster—faster, until I was aware of nothing except the warmth of his palm and the tightness of his grip.

My hips were aching, but then he moaned like he was the one getting jerked off, and without warning, I exploded.

Come shot from the tip of my dick, pooling on his shirt as I hunched forward and rubbed myself on his chest. His free hand came back around my ass and kneaded my left cheek as I chased the last vestiges of pleasure.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, his voice hoarse.

I blinked down at him. “I’ve seen myself orgasm in a mirror once, and I know for a fact I am not one of those guys who can look pretty when they come.”

He moved his hand to my cheek and rubbed his thumb over my lower lip. “I didn’t say pretty. You’re rough around the edges and really fucking raw when you let go. I love it.”

My body heated, and my dick gave a feeble twitch like it wanted to try again. Ian laughed and rubbed my softening cock with the palm of his hand. “More,” I begged.

His brows lifted, but he kept going until I hissed and pulled back, unable to take the sensations. He let go immediately, pressing both hands to my sides, fingers gently touching my ribs. It wasn’t light enough to be ticklish, but not firm enough to make me feel closed in.

I glanced at his face again, and he tilted his head to the side. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes.” God, that was the easiest answer I’d ever given. Yes, yes, so much fucking yes . I felt a sudden and almost desperate need to be filled by him. “Do you have a condom?”

He let out a puff of air. “Yeah. I do. And a small packet of lube. It’s not much, but…”

“That’s okay. I like it a little rough.” I wasn’t trying to be sexy or alluring. It was just true. I didn’t like the pain, but I didn’t always want it to be tender. My therapist would probably try and equate that to my shitty childhood, but I wasn’t about to bring my crappy parents into this.

“You’re going to have to undress,” he said carefully.