Pucked Off (Pucked #6)(2)

“I can’t stay long.”

“You always say that.” She pulls me through the door, which closes behind me with a metallic slam.

Tash runs her hands up my chest, inciting the sensation of spiders crawling over my skin. She knows I hate that; I grab her wrists. “Don’t.”

“You’re so jumpy. I’m not going to hurt you, baby. I just wanted to see you. Can I hug you?”

I want to believe her, but we’ve done this so many times in the past year. It’s hard to know when she’s being real and when she’s playing games.

I release her wrists, and she wraps her arms around me, stepping closer until her hard body is pressed up against mine. I try not to tense, but the reaction is as conditioned as the sensation it inspires.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispers. “Just relax.”

I drop my head and turn my face into her hair. It smells like my shampoo. She does this every time. It’s the little manipulations that make it so much harder to walk away and stay away. She makes me believe she actually cares, and then she finds a way to take it all back again.

“I missed you.” I feel her lips on my neck, moving up my jaw.

I don’t tell her I missed her, too. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. Or maybe I’m just stupid. It doesn’t matter. When she gets to my mouth, I open for her and accept her tongue. She tastes like vodka. I wonder if she’s drunk. I’ll fuck her either way, because that’s what she called me for, and I never can say no. I ease a hand down her side until I reach the hem of her shirt and palm her bare ass. I promise myself this will be the last time.

She pulls away, that coy, devious smile turning up the corner of her mouth.

“Come. I have something to show you.” She threads her fingers through mine and leads me down the short hall to the bedroom.

And the second we enter the room, I know I’ve been duped.

In the middle of the California king is a redhead. The color is artificial, but Tash knows what I like. She’s wearing pale green satin, which, if her hair were naturally that color, would offset freckles and pale skin. But it’s not real. None of this is. It’s Tash’s way of telling me, once again, that she’s always in control. Of me. Of this thing between us. Of her emotions. Of mine.

“Lance, this is Erin. She’s been dying to meet you,” Tash says. Like this is normal. Like it’s expected when we haven’t seen each other in weeks, or sometimes even months.

My response is gritty, like the pain is coming out through my mouth. “Hi, Erin.”

“Hi.” She bites her lip, eyes darting from me to Tash and back again. Her excitement is as apparent as her uncertainty.

I’m a legend. I’m the one people whisper about, even though half of the rumors aren’t true. I’m the man women with no inhibitions want. And I fucking hate it. But it’s become an expectation.

I tighten my grip on our twined fingers and step behind Tash. Skimming her arm with my free hand, I thread my fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, twisting it out of the way until I can lower my mouth to her ear. “You want me to fuck your friend?”

“You like her?” Tash’s enthusiasm makes me want to throw up.

“She’ll do.”

“I picked her just for you.”

This is how it is between us. Me always wanting just her, and Tash always offering something else.

I brush my lips along the column of her throat, enjoying the shiver that runs through her. “Does she know she’s being used?”

“We’re all being used, Lance. Some of us just choose to acknowledge it for what it is.”

I bite her, my teeth sinking into skin enough to make her cry out, but not enough to cause damage that will last—the opposite of what she’s done to me.

“Get her ready for me, if that’s what she’s here for.”

I release Tash, and her expression is so familiar: confusion mixed with expectation. She doesn’t know how to read my mood. Which is good. I want her on edge, because that’s always how she makes me feel—on the edge. She lifts the shirt over her head, revealing tight muscles I know every inch of.

I’ve had my mouth on every part of her; I’ve been inside her, but not in the way that counts. I’ve never gotten inside her head the way she’s gotten into mine. My biggest mistake was telling her my secrets, because she uses them against me.

She saunters over to the bed and crawls toward Erin. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. I don’t seek it out. The last time was with Tash, too.

Four weeks ago she promised she would never do this to me again, but Tash is a liar.

I undress as they start making out. I don’t join them until Tash has made Erin come. And then I do what Tash wants me to: I fuck Erin. I make her come until she cries. I refuse to kiss Tash again, but I kiss Erin until she’s breathless and my name comes out on a tortured moan. And when I’m close to coming, I pull out and tell Tash to suck me off.

I cradle her face in my hands. I’m not rough with her, even though part of me wants to hurt her the way she hurts me. Instead I caress her cheek and hold her gaze as her lips move against the head of my erection.

“Who’s your cock slut?” she asks.

I close my eyes, teeth gritted against what she wants me to say. Words I hate. She knows I’ll never say them myself.