Page 26 of Puck Me Twice

My shoes go in the closet. Unbuttoning my shirt, I deposit it in the hamper and remove my pants, leaving me in my boxer-briefs. For a moment, I debate covering up more.

She’s in the guest room. She won’t be in my room. In the morning, I’ll get dressed and⁠—

My skin breaks out into goosebumps. I don’t like having people in my space. It sets my entire life off-kilter. They’re not supposed to be inside my house. This is my safe space, the one place where I can hide from everyone in the world. Not even Hildy has been to my house; I always go to hers.

The only person who has ever come over is Brigitte, the med student who watches over Rupert while I’m gone, and we are never here at the same time; she has a copy of my schedule, so she knows when she’s needed, and all communication is handled via email.

The only reason I even have a guest room is because I needed someone to watch out for Rupert. If it wasn’t for that, I’d be fine with a studio. Okay, maybe a one-bedroom apartment. I like having the door closed while I’m asleep.

My heart is hammering. Despite my earlier shower at the arena, my skin is slicked with sweat.

Pulling my tablet out of my nightstand drawer, I turn on one of my favorite videos. Even though I’m always alone, I never watch it with sound. Hearing the actors’ faked moans and groans turns me off.

As I slick my hand with lube and draw my cock out of my briefs, I wonder about the propriety of doing this while she’s right there. It’s not like I’m inviting her to come in and help me out. I don’t even want her to help me out.

I don’t think I do.

I don’t know.

Maybe?

No. No, I⁠—

Yeah.

I do.

I really want her to.

But that’s not what we are. We’re fake dating. We’re not a real couple where we can discuss physical needs in a rational and clinical way.

My attention strays from the video, the blue-tinted light bright in the dark room. As usual, my mind drifts to one of my favorite memories.

Weddings aren’t exactly my idea of fun, and Jackson’s wedding was no exception. I was seated at the single and underage table.

And then she was there.

We drank.

We danced.

She flirted.

We went back to her room.

And then⁠—

My cock grows stiffer at the memory, and as I stroke myself, I think back to the way it felt to have her in my arms, the easy way she talked to me all night long, the way she seemed like she was actually — genuinely — interested in me.

Our first kiss was on the dance floor. She took the lead there. She initiated.

She wanted it, too.

She wanted it as much as I did.

Cupping my balls, I roll them in my hand and then slide two fingers under to my taint, the way she did that night. I’d never known I was so sensitive there until her.

She taught me more than I could ever expect.