Page 14 of Puck Me Twice
Typically, I’m touch averse. I don’t like physical contact, but the feeling of her warm skin on mine is making me dizzy in a good way. Her hand slides under my suit jacket to press against my abs over my vest. She nuzzles closer, her face buried in my neck, peppering light kisses along my jaw.
I have no idea what she sees in me. Is it just a score? A hockey player to check off her list?
No, she doesn’t seem like a puck bunny. I’ve been propositioned enough at the bars to know when a woman just wants the attention. She seems like she actually wants me, regardless of what I do for a living.
Somehow, that makes me feel worse. My stomach sinks. Nobody wants me, not in that way. Nobody ever has before. I don’t know why she’s pretending to be interested.
The elevator dings and we step in. She presses the button for the seventh floor and then curls into me again. Her face presses into my neck, enveloping me in her light floral scent.
When the doors open on her floor, she releases me to swipe her key, and then she beckons me to follow her into her room.
It’s a generic hotel room. Two double beds, one with clothes layered on top of the linens. Two suitcases — both open, messily stuffed full of clothes.
Vanessa turns to me, hands on her hips. “What’s your deal, dude?”
“My deal?”
“Yeah. Are you not interested in this? You haven’t tried to, like, take off my clothes or feel me up or anything.”
“Do you know who I am?” I ask.
She scowls.
“Do you know my name?” I rephrase.
Vanessa squints. “Shawn? Scott? Does it matter?”
“It matters.” Shaking my head, I exhale slowly. “Sven.”
“Hi, Sven,” she says. “I’m Vanessa. Are you going to fuck me or not?”
It’s my turn to squint at her.
“Why do you want me to fuck you?”
The word is harsh and foreign on my tongue. Even though I toss around plenty of “fucks” in my everyday vernacular, using it in this context is strange and new.
She blinks at me. “Because you’re gorgeous, and I want your massive Viking dick inside of me. Does it have to be anything more than that?”
This isn’t how I wanted my first time to go. This isn’t what I pictured. I don’t want to be used.
“Can we just… slow down?” I pull at my tie, sitting on the edge of the bed.
She sits beside me, one leg propped between us. Her blue eyes are curious.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“I—I don’t do this. This isn’t what I do.” Running my hands over my pants, I look at her. “I don’t pick up random women. I don’t sleep around.”
Her expression softens. “Am I coming on too strong?”
When I nod, she sighs.
“This guy—” She blows out a breath. “You don’t want to hear about it.”
I do, though. Scooting closer, I set my hand on her hip.
“We went out on a date. And I thought he was interested. But it’s been a while and it’s clear he’s not, and I—I’m just a little bruised. I don’t like rejection,” she mutters.
