Page 19 of Her Puck Daddies

And damn, if I weren’t already too far gone, I might have wrapped my lips around him instead—tasted him, swallowed every last drop instead of letting it go to waste on his body.

Only after all of that—after his muscles tremble and his breath comes in ragged pants—is he finally spent.

He’s lying on my table panting, his limbs limp and boneless, his frame covered in sweat, and his face transported with pure joy. I smile at him because I’m the one who’s responsible for that. I made this possible by treating him the best way I knew how.

Once he’s completely still, I pull out a fresh towel and clean him up, even dabbing at his face like some feverish patient in the ER. He glances up at me through sleepy eyelids, and we smile at one another.

After that, I wash my hands and arms, scrubbing away any lingering evidence before filling my palm with more massage oil. I smooth it over his body, kneading the tension from his muscles, ending with him face down once again. His body is warm, pliant, completely relaxed, and it makes my job easier.

He doesn’t speak as I work, and neither do I.

But there’s something gnawing at the back of my mind, a creeping unease that tightens with every silent second. At first, I push it away, focusing on the rhythmic glide of my hands, the deep pressure working out the last stubborn knots. But by the time I peel off my gloves, wash up again, and edge toward the door, the sensation is undeniable.

I’m buzzing with anxiety.

My thoughts race, my heart pounds, a restless need to get out clawing at my chest. I don’t linger. I don’t look back. All I know is that I need to leave—now.

“I’ll step out so you can get dressed,” I mumble, my hand already gripping the doorknob.

“Hottie?”

I freeze, my back still to him.

Technically, we didn’t have sex. But I just gave him the happy ending Sven had so casually joked about. And now, a new dread coils inside me. What if he tells Sven? Or Levi? Or—fuck—the entire team?

Shit.

“My name isn’t Hottie,” I remind him, trying to be stern. I’m not sure if I pull it off or not.

“How about Good Girl, then?” he drawls, and my knees quake at the term. Not with weakness but with need.

Dammit. “Not that, either.”

“Well then, Ava, I suppose I should thank you for helping me out.”

I huff out a laugh that has no levity at all. “Helping you out. Well, that’s one way of putting it.”

What the fuck have I done?

And, as if reading my mind, Eric promises, “I won’t say anything.” He says it solemnly like making a vow in a church. “I won’t. It’s no one else’s business, for one thing. And for another, it helped. I wasn’t joking about that. Sorry if I made it… weird.”

But it wasn’t weird. As my drenched undies can attest to.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I twist in place to peek over at him. He’s covered his groin with the towel, any evidence of his erection either gone or hidden. He no longer appears like a lover in my bed, but like the client he was when he entered, only less tense. A lot less tense. So… mission accomplished.

I guess.

But too bad I’m the one who’s a wreck now.

I don’t speak anymore because I can’t. Instead, I twist back around and run away, glad that he’s my last appointment of the day.

Chapter 8

LEVI

When I stalked by Sven yesterday, I knew he was right there, but I didn’t care. I didn’t need to feel his eyes on me or catch a glimpse of his smug “I told you so” stance. Normally, I would head straight to the gym to take my frustrations out in sweat equity, but I’m too sore to even consider it. And this morning? Even worse.

My shoulder is killing me.