Page 14 of Her Puck Daddies (Game On Daddies #2)

AVA

I ’ve never seen the usually cool-headed Sven Hinter with such wide eyes and pale features. He looks like he’s just seen a ghost. As if I’m the ghost.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his hands gripping my shoulders. His tone is one of pure horror. “Ava, you’re… oh my god…”

I glance down at myself to see the t-shirt and sleep shorts I put on covered in goopy red. The aroma of garlic and tomato sauce surrounds me, too. Leave it to me to make a mess of everything, even something as simple as carrying a pizza box.

“I dropped it,” I tell Sven. “The pizza box. Well, after I opened it to get a quick sniff.”

Pizza is my comfort food. Always has been. And while I had a flute of champagne and nibbled at some of the finger foods there at the party, it wasn’t really what I wanted. Not that I mention that to him. Not now that he seems so shaken with worry.

“The pizza box?” he repeats in disbelief.

But why would I lie about something so basic?

“Yeah. The guy delivered it, and I was bringing it in to lay on my bed when I tripped and…” I trail off as Sven literally grips his pec right above his heart. “You okay?”

“Me?” He looks even more disbelieving now. “You were acting strange in the elevator earlier, and then I walk in to see you covered in all this.”

He shakes his head as he scrutinizes my chest. But he’s not leering at me.

No, his forehead is crinkled with concern as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

But he’s still too pale. I peer down at myself, and suddenly, it hits me.

The pattern and color of the sauce… I think he assumed this was blood.

Conflicting emotions roll over me, stifling how I react.

Inappropriate gallows’ humor lands first at the idea that he thought the tomato sauce from the pizza might be blood, but even as the giggle rises up my esophagus begging to get out, my next thought muffles it.

Because Sven’s right. I was losing it earlier since we’re so close to Dean’s stomping grounds.

While I’d like to believe my ex would never lay a hand on me, there’s a reason I fled the moment I left those divorce papers on his desk.

A reason my heart pounded as I walked away, and a reason I haven’t been able to shake this lingering fear since.

The truth is, I don’t know what he’s capable of when his pride is wounded this deeply.

I don’t know if his anger and humiliation will spiral into something more violent.

As much as it felt like a small victory, I probably shouldn’t have left that bold message on the front of his business for everyone to see.

It was impulsive, and now I’m left wondering what consequences I might have set in motion.

It could very well push him over the edge, make him come after me for the way I left.

Now, I’m left looking over my shoulder, constantly nervous. A new side of being a victim I never saw coming.

The instant I remember that, the apprehension I felt earlier surges back to the surface, more intense than before.

Despite Sven being here, I can’t help but sit on the edge of my mattress, burying my head in my hands.

I close my eyes, hoping to block it all out, but I can’t.

I can’t think about the pizza I plunked off the floor after falling on top of it, or the fact that a man I barely know is in my room, standing too close.

I feel torn in two directions: I need to be alone, but at the same time, I need not to be. It’s a frustrating contradiction I can’t seem to shake.

I don’t know if it’s how overwhelmed I am by the weight of everything crushing me all at once or something else, but a sob rises up from deep inside me without my permission. I’m not a crier, though, even if this is the second time tears have fallen in front of these men.

Whenever I wept around Dean, it pissed him off, so I always made sure never to show emotion in front of him. Besides, crying doesn’t help. I know that. Yet, despite it all, I can’t seem to turn off the faucet.

I do my best to stifle the sound, but, like so much else tonight, I fuck that up, too.

A noise like a hiccup shimmies up through me, making my whole body shudder and forcing its way out even with my mouth closed.

It’s mortifying, and I brace myself, fully expecting Sven to race out of here like his hair’s on fire.

Whoever might be up there in the heavens, please just let me suffer this most recent embarrassment in peace.

But that’s not in the cards either. Before I can process what’s happening, a heavily muscled yet surprisingly light arm wraps around me, and that familiar, spicy scent of Sven’s cologne fills my senses.

His warmth presses against mine, and instinctively, I should pull away, but I don’t.

His closeness shifts something deep within me, something fragile I hadn’t even realized was there.

And before I can stop it, another sob breaks free from me, raw and uncontrollable, as if the floodgates of everything I’ve been holding back finally give way.

Sve n begins to rock me gently, pulling my head to rest against his broad chest. I can’t remember the last time someone held me like this.

It should bring me peace, should help calm the storm inside me, but instead, the tears come harder, faster, flooding my chest and spilling over like a broken dam.

I don’t understand why he’s here, why he’s chosen to stay with me through all this, but the warmth of his presence is a comfort I never knew I needed. I find myself grateful, inexplicably grateful for him.

It’s only after a few long minutes that I realize he’s been speaking to me all along, his words a steady hum of reassurance.

“You’re safe, Ava. I’m right here.”

I think about how Dean never did this for me, even when we first got together. But honestly, I don't think I would have trusted him to anyway.

Eventually, all the turmoil slows and comes to a stop as Sven cradles me in his arms. Wiping my eyes, I glance up at him. His face is so close to mine that parts of it are either invisible or out of focus. I want to apologize, but I don’t have it in me.

I should be blushing and ashamed, but I don’t have that in me, either.

All my walls have been knocked down, and as he leans far enough away to grab a box of tissues for me, I feel like he’s the first person other than Leighton to see me in such a vulnerable state.

And like her, he’s not leaving. He’s not abandoning me to run for the hills.

He’s staying, and I’m not about to question why anymore.

Instead, I feel an overwhelming urge to give myself to him in a way he hasn’t seen before, my sadness giving way to a fierce, burning passion.

He moves from the bed to the floor, kneeling in front of me, his large hand gently wiping the last of the tears away.

There’s something deep, possessive, in the way he brushes them away, as if he’s claiming the right to console me, to hold my pain.

He doesn’t speak, our murmurs fading into stillness, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breath and the intensity of his gaze.

Neither of us says a word, but our eyes meet with such force that it feels like the air between us is charged. And all I can feel is the undeniable pull, the rawness of the moment, and the heat simmering beneath the surface of our silence.

It's hard to tell who makes the first move, but the second our lips collide, the world around us ceases to exist. This isn’t just a kiss; it’s a clash, a desperate attempt to fuse into one another, to erase the space between us like it never belonged there in the first place.

My mind scolds me, to heed the warning bells blaring in my head. But in this moment, with his mouth devouring mine, with heat surging through my veins like wildfire, those warnings are easy to ignore.

The kiss deepens, shifting from hunger to pure, unfiltered need. Hands are roaming, gripping, tugging, claiming. My fingers are already working to slide his shirt off, my mind barely registering what I’m doing as I reach for his buttons.

But then— rip .

The unforgiving sound of fabric tearing fills the air, and it’s only then that I realize he’s already yanked my shirt over my head.

No bra. No panties. Just bare, exposed skin and the breath he takes at the sight of me.

The heat between us crackles, tangible, electric, making me forget everything—where we are, what this means, who I’m even with.

All I know is that I want it. And I’m done denying it.

“God, yes…”

Why he hasn’t stripped down since stepping back into his room is beyond me. Too much clothing. Too many damn barriers. All I want is to see this man naked, to feel him, taste him, have him against me with nothing in the way.

I pull his tie off in one swift motion, and finally, his perfect torso is in front of me.

For a moment, I just stare, drinking him in.

Sure, I see his body—and every other player’s—on a regular basis, but when they’re on my massage table, I force myself to keep that professional distance. I have to.

But right now? That professionalism is long gone.

I lean in, dragging my tongue in a slow, wet line across his collarbone, tasting his skin as the heat of him melts on my tongue.

“Fuck, Ava…” he mutters, voice thick, raw.

And god, hearing my name spill from his lips like that makes me weak in the knees.

But at the same time? It makes me feel powerful. And I have no intention of wasting it.

I yank him closer by the waist, urging him to stand, and he does, but not without pulling me up with him. His hands explore me, his gaze raking over every inch of my body like he’s starving for it, for me.

“ You’re so fucking perfect,” he growls in my ear, pulling me flush against him, my bare tits pressed against his solid, heated abdomen. “I’ve wanted you again since the second I stepped into your massage room.”

If I had panties on, they would’ve melted right off.

“I need you,” I whisper, and the moment the words leave my lips, his hands trail down my back and grabs a handful of my ass with a force that makes me crave him even more.

He squeezes it harder, pulling me against him, letting me feel just how hard he is, his thick length pressing against my belly, hot and demanding beneath his pants.

I reach for his waistband, fingers grazing his skin as I undo his trousers with torturous slowness, dragging out every second, savoring every inch of anticipation.

When the zipper slides down, I peel the fabric away, let it drop, watching as layer by layer, I strip him of everything that separates him from me.

And then, damn. My gaze drops to him. Long. Thick. Exquisite.

Even though I’ve seen him like this before, the sight still makes my breath hitch.

He’s devastatingly gorgeous, every sculpted inch of him radiating raw, masculine power.

Sven’s dick is the biggest of the three—the one that stretches me to my limit, fills me to the brink of delirium, and leaves me unraveling from the inside out.

I ’ve relived the memory of him inside me countless times since the last time we were together, but nothing—nothing—compares to seeing him like this again.

Hard. Ready. Mine.

He twists me around, pressing my spine against the unforgiving ridges of his chest, his hands going straight to my tits. He palms them, squeezes, rolling my nipples between his fingers until they’re achingly tight, little buds straining for more.

I let out a ragged moan, head falling back against his shoulder. “Mmm—yes.”

“Yes, what?” he demands, his grip tightening until I gasp, until the sharp pleasure and anticipation of what’s to come has me arching into him, panting against his throat.

“Yes, Daddy…” I rasp, barely able to get the words out before he snaps.

Whatever restraint he had is gone. With a rough shove, he pushes me onto the bed so that I’m on my belly, and when I glance over my shoulder at him, his smile is nothing short of feral.

“Are you ready to be my good girl?”

I don’t hesitate. I don’t beg. I command.

“Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me now.”