Page 4 of Pucked Up

He looked. Not just at my face, not just at the parts that most people found palatable, but at all of me. From the roots of my hair to the bottoms of my scuffed, ragged shoes.

Then he licked his lips again, and my cock jumped in my jeans. I fucking wanted him. I wantedto be pinned by him, ridden by him. I wanted him to bounce on my dick and stroke himself so hard and so fast that his come splattered across my face.

“Do you have a car?” he asked. I couldn’t hear him, but I could read the question perfectly off his lips in his pointed, fancy French.

I nodded, then gripped my wheels and sped out of there. I couldn’t hear well enough to catch his footsteps, but I assumed he was following me, and I was happy to be proven right when I turned around near the ramp leading to the parking lot.

He was hovering at the curb, twirling his keys on his index finger, his face questioning.

“Sandbird Motel,” I said. “On Route 66. Room one-eleven.”

“Fantastic number,” he said, like it meant something.

Maybe it did, and for the first time ever, I was curious. But I also wasn’t going to ask. It didn’t matter that my heart and my dick were getting on board with new things. I wasn’t going to change my routine for some guy—Jean-Luc or whoever the fuck he was. No matter how pretty he was.

No matter how good he fucked me.

And I had a feeling it was going to be very,verygood.

CHAPTER

TWO

BODEN

The hotel wasn’t asnice as I would have liked it to be, but it was nice for my budget, which was just a little more than zero. It wasn’t a pay-by-the-hour spot of which our cute little town had three. I tried that once, and not only did I see literal bed bugs crawling on the mattress when I walked in, but free amateur porn was playing on an old 1980s TV that was mounted in the corner of the ceiling, and two minutes after I opened the room door, the place got raided by the cops.

Apparently, there was a man and some women running a little…businessout of several rooms, and the restaurant next door reported them after several of the women had come in during their “breaks.”

So…yeah. It was worth the splurge to pay a bit more for peace of mind.

Pulling into the disabled parking space, I glanced in the mirror and saw another car following me in. It was a pearl-white Range Rover. Lord, who was Iabout to get into bed with? Dudes who drove new, pearl-white Range Rovers didn’t haunt that bar.

I shivered slightly as I reached for my crutches from the back seat. It was never worth it to try and navigate the corridors and doorways of these motels in a wheelchair. And frankly, I kind of liked to see what my hookups did when I looked even more disabled than I did sitting down.

I could feel his presence behind me—Jean-Luc. Fuck, that was such a terrible name. It didn’t suit him at all.

“Need a hand?” The question came across as genuine—not patronizing. I wanted it to rub me the wrong way, but it didn’t.

“I do this all the time,” I told him anyway.

He laughed softly. “I kind of figured.”

It was easier to be an asshole. The moment I started feeling kind about these guys, it all went to hell. Feelings happened. Need happened. The desire to have something more than a single night happened, and that would ruin my life plans.

“Do you remember the room number?”

“One-eleven,” he parroted in English instead of French.

I grunted to acknowledge him, then made my way toward the curb with my impossibly slow gait. He was behind me, matching his steps to mine, and for a brief moment, I wished I had gone with the chair just so I could have sped up. My legs would never cooperate walking like this. When I tried to run—and I had in the past, more times than I wanted toadmit—it always ended with me flat on my face, bleeding from my nose and often missing a tooth.

Which, I didn’t need the extra dental bill. Hockey was bad enough on my jaw.

We reached the side entrance, and I let go of my crutch handle to dig around in my pocket for the key. I tapped it against the black box, and when it lit green, I reached for the door handle, but he beat me to it.

“You can be as angry as you like with me, but I’m a gentleman, and I’m going to get the door for you.”

I turned my head and glared at him, but he held it open, unrepentant. “Are you a gentleman?”

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