Page 83 of Puck Lust

The air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat as our bodies grind together, desperately chasing release. My lips part, a scream bubbling in my chest as Carter hits my spot. But he covers my mouth with his in a kiss so deep, I don’t know where he begins and I end. This connection between us is so powerful, so consuming, it sizzles my ability to think, to breathe, to move.

I cling to him, trembling as the orgasm electrifies my insides, blasting through me like a laser, every cell aflame, every nerve alive. A flash of white light explodes behind my eyelids, my body quivering uncontrollably as ropes of cum shoot out of my cock, covering our chests.

Carter jerks and thrusts a couple of more times, his body stilling as he fills me.

The sound of our panting fills the air as the bubble of post-coital bliss settles over us.

He raises himself up on his elbows and runs his hand down the side of my face. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he penetrates my soul with those piercing eyes.

My stomach clenches under his heavy stare as the seconds tick past and the silence deafens me.

But he still doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t tell me what I want to hear…what I need to hear…that he won’t ever let me go.

TWENTY-NINE

jack

“You worthless piece of shit,”my father growls as he winds his fingers tight around my t-shirt. “Think you can come here whenever you want and use me for everything I have? How’d you even get here? Did your boyfriend drive you?”

The way he says the word “boyfriend” makes my skin crawl.

I pull away, my stomach roiling at the sharp scent of liquor on his breath. “I didn’t come here to take anything from you. I just needed to grab something from my room.”

“It’s not your room anymore,” he slurs. “I don’t have a fucking son anymore.”

“Well, I never had a father so it looks like we’re on the same page for fucking once,” I hiss, pushing past him to get to my room. I quickly rummage through my drawers until I find what I need and stuff it into my back pocket.

My heart pounds, echoing between my temples as I run down the short hallway toward the front door. It was stupid to come back here but I needed that letter. Somehow, I’d forgotten to pack it when I went to hockey camp this season, and since I never plan to come back to this shithole, it’s my only chance to get it.

A strong hand grabs me by the back of my neck and yanks me backward. I stumble into the side of a chair and grab onto the flimsy table next to it. Then something hard strikes me against the side of my face. I fall forward, the table collapsing under my weight. An overflowing ashtray crashes to the floor, ash and cigarette butts spilling over the cracked linoleum.

I put a hand to the side of my face and wince at the searing pain that shoots through my jaw. Slowly, I turn my head up. My father’s maniacal smile makes the blood in my veins turn to ice. My gaze drops to his hand and the gun he’s holding.

“You think you’re just gonna walk away from here and be a superstar without remembering who took care of you all these years?” He sways on his feet, waving the gun in front of my face. “You owe me, you bastard. And don’t think I’m letting you get away until I get exactly what I want.”

“Fuck you,” I yell, pulling myself off the floor. “You deserve to die a horrible death for what you put me through. I hope you fucking choke on your own vomit, you asshole.”

I stagger toward the front door, my jaw on fire from where he cracked the gun against it.

“You’re not going anywhere, boy,” he rasps, lumbering toward me.

The crack of a bullet explodes, the fierce sound rattling my brain. I fall forward, covering my head with my arms.

My chest is tight, blood rushes between my ears as I grab for the front door knob.

Another shot fires and I yelp, pulling the door open.

“You don’t get to leave,” he bellows, following me as my sneakers skid down the concrete steps. I slip when my foot hits the last one, tripping over the uneven lip in the sidewalk that he never bothered to level out. I crash onto the ground, my jeans scraping against the pavement when I land on my knees.

He grabs me by the hair and tugs my head toward him. Then, he points the gun between my eyes.

“You’re the one who doesn’t deserve to live anymore.”

With a sharp gasp, I shoot straight up in the bed. My skin is slick with sweat, heart thundering so hard against my ribcage that my entire upper body shudders from the force.

I scrape my hands down the front of my face, swallowing hard.

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