Page 17 of Puck Me Twice

Being touched on the ice doesn’t bother me because it’s part of the game. But off it? Mingled with the general population who have no reason to touch me? No. No thank you.

Vanessa pulls away and shucks the rest of her dress, leaving her in a tiny pair of black satin panties, and then slides up the bed to rest her head on the pillow opposite mine. Her hand lands on my chest, sticky from touching me.

I curl toward her, setting my hand on her hip and pulling her body into me. She smiles at me, her face hesitant.

Lowering my mouth to hers, I kiss her, and even though she tastes like me, I actually really like it. She softens, becoming pliant, and as I sweep my tongue into her mouth, she melts against me, half pulling me on top of her.

Her legs wrap around my waist, and I push up slightly to look at her body pressed intimately to mine. Even through her panties, I can feel the wet heat of her pressing against my spent cock, and it sends a bolt of need through me.

She pins her shoulders to the bed, pushing out her chest. “Like what you see?”

I close my palm around her breast, my thumb rubbing over her nipple, which tightens beneath my touch. “Yeah. A lot.”

As I lean down, I draw her other breast into my mouth, sucking gently. Based on the way she runs her hand through my hair and pulls me closer, I’m thinking she likes this. Kissing and nibbling, I memorize the taste of her skin, salty and sweet, a flavor I will never get enough of.

Her hips tilt up into mine.

My eyes flick to hers, and as I trail a hand down her side to her waist, she nods quickly.

Sliding her panties over her hips, I’m treated to my first up close and personal look at a pussy. It looks different than in videos. It smells good, too—my mouth waters; I need to taste her.

She’s waxed and hairless, her skin warm and smooth. I trail my hands up her thighs. When my skin doesn’t prickle at the feeling of hers, I do it again, and I duck my head, hiding my smile in her pussy.

Vanessa lets out a soft pant, running her fingers through my hair.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I tell her honestly, trailing my finger through her wet seam. “You’ll have to tell me if this is what you like.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says with a confident grin. “I will.”

seven

. . .

Vanessa

Sven brings a turkey pesto sandwich to my desk. He stands outside my cubicle, staring at me until I turn to face him.

“Can I help you?” I look away from my spreadsheets for a moment.

He thrusts the sandwich at me. “We need to talk.”

“Now?” Jacky’s in a meeting with Coach Turner—she’ll be back soon.

I don’t know what came over me. Why did I say it? Why did I lie to Robby?

Why did Sven play along?

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I think we’re starting off on the wrong foot. I’ll go back down there, tell him it was all a misunderstanding. I can have coffee with him or whatever.”

“You were together.” It’s a statement, not a question.

I nod. “We… right after you and I… we started dating. And then two and a half years later, we broke up. I haven’t seen him since.”

Sven winces. “Ouch.”

Shrugging, I try to play it cool. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

He snorts. “Yeah, okay. And I’m neurotypical.”