Page 51 of Pucked Up

“Fuck you.” It was a reflex, damn it, and I hated that he winced. But he didn’t yell at me this time. No, he seemed very…subdued. He walked like he was tired as he led me further into his apartment, which was disgustingly nice and also strangely empty.

He had furniture, but everyone I knew filled all the corners of their homes with things that represented who they were. Hugo’s seemed like a shell. Like he’d forgotten the man he used to be before he came here.

I wanted to know more, but I wasn’t about to ask.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No.” I made my way to his sofa, set my crutches to the side, then parted my legs. “I want my cock sucked.”

His brows flew up, and he stared. His cheeks were slightly pink, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. Then he walked over and knelt down in front of me.

I swallowed heavily and reached my hand out,faltering at the last minute. Hugo wasn’t about to let that happen. He seized me by the wrist, used his thumb to spread my fingers wide, then set my palm against his jaw.

It was rough with unshaven stubble and so fucking warm.

“What do you need?”

“Your mouth. My dick.”

“Alright.” He laughed softly, a huff through his nose, and then he dug his fingers into the waistband of my sweats and tugged them down. It was hard to wriggle my ass with the use of one hand because I would be damned if I stopped touching him, but I managed it.

My cock was still flagging. It was maybe a little harder, but not much. I felt oddly numb below the waist.

He stared down, then stroked a finger across my length. It was rough with my foreskin still soft, and it felt good, but…not the way I wanted.

My whole body burned with something that felt a bit like shame. This had happened to me in the past, but not with Hugo. And normally, it was the other person’s fault. They said or did something that pissed me off beyond recovery, but not Hugo. This? It was all me.

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

“Maybe you need to talk.” He looked up, leaning his cheek into my hand.

“Fuck talking. I want to come.”

He held my gaze so firmly it hurt. “Doyou?”

My anger started to rise, but my dick stayed useless and limp, a sort of ruddy brown and nestled in my dark pubes. The fucking traitor. It was making me look weak. Like I had feelings. Which I did. I was a person. But I didn’t want Hugo to think about those sorts of things.

I wanted him to associate me with a fat dick in his ass, with come dribbling down my chin, with unquestioned obedience. With a man who just needed to get all his anger and frustration fucked out of him.

“I have Viagra.”

“Oh, up yours, dickhead,” I snapped.

He sighed and pulled away from me. Shame coursed through my body, molten hot and terrible. “I use it sometimes. I’m not that old, but after…well.” He licked his lips and once again held something back I desperately wanted to know. “I need it from time to time. If you want to come that bad, it’ll help. It’s a low dose.”

I didn’t trust it with all the other shit I had to take. I shook my head, and he looked almost relieved. God, I hadn’t even asked if he was in the mood. I just…demanded.

“I should go.”

He looked up at me, almost panicked, and swallowed. “You could stay. I could put on a movie—I know how to make the captions work. We could just sit quietly if you don’t want to talk.”

“I should go,” I repeated, but this time, there was nothing behind my words except a hollow ache for him to make me sit right there and not move.

After a short forever of feeling my breath heaving in and out of my chest, he got up. I thought maybe he was going to escort me out, but instead, he moved my crutches over, then gestured for me to scoot. It was awkward as fuck to do that with my pants down and my dick out, but I managed it.

He snagged a blanket from the back of the cushions and draped it over me. It was heavy—not weighted but weighty. The comfort was immediate and intense.

“Tea?” he asked.

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