SWNOVELS Pucking Sweet: Chapter 22
I wake up in a dark hotel room and I know without checking that it’s ten minutes to six. I know because that’s my fun little party trick. My body always jolts awake about ten minutes before my alarm is set to go off. I’ve been this way since I was a kid. It doesn’t matter that I experience constant time changes, or how much I’ve had to drink the night before. My body just knows.
And there’s never any going back to sleep once I’m awake.
I lie on this queen-sized bed, one arm tucked behind my head, staring up at the ceiling. Under the window, the AC unit hums, working overtime to blast cold air. I run hot, so I like the room frigid when I sleep. We’re talking industrial meat locker.
Even now, I’m only under the sheet, and only to my waist, but I still feel overheated. I don’t kick it off. I don’t even dare turn my head. I don’t want to move because I know what I’ll see when I do.
Poppy St. James is asleep in my bed.
A thoroughly fucked Poppy St. James, wearing only my goddamn shirt.
After the ice machine, the combination of alcohol burn-off and multiple orgasms led to an unexpected sub drop that had Poppy feeling pretty loopy. I saw the signs immediately, the disorientation, the fatigue, the shaking. She needed some serious aftercare. I brought her up to my room, cleaned her up, and put her to bed—which led to us cuddling like a pair of teenagers—which led to me getting hard because, hello, Poppy St. James was naked in my bed.
When she felt it, she stretched behind herself, reaching for her little purse on the bedside table. She took out the second condom, sheathed me with her own goddamn hand, then tossed her leg over my hip and slid me in. We slow-fucked until we came together, me groaning her name into a fistful of her hair. She fell asleep curled against my chest with my dick still inside her.
It was…
I sigh, dragging a tired hand over my face.
She’s lying next to me now, body bent like the letter “V,” with her tight little ass pressed against my hip. I don’t want to wake her, but I have to. She has to get out of here, and quick. All the guys will be waking up for our 7 a.m. flight back to Jacksonville. Once they start wandering the halls, there’ll be no sneaking her out. She only had two rules: one night only, and no one else can know. That’s the only reason I got to fuck her last night, because she trusts that I can hold to those two simple requests. Who would I be if I let her down now?
Bracing myself, I roll to my side, taking in the view of her asleep in my bed. The only light comes from behind the half-closed bathroom door, but it’s enough. The white comforter is double-folded and piled on top of her, covering her to the shoulder. She’s got one arm tucked under the pillow. The other is by her face. Her long blonde hair is a tangled mess, fanning out across the pillow.
I pick up a silky handful, rubbing the strands between finger and thumb. She has really pretty hair. It’s so smooth and shiny. It smells good too, like rosemary and mint. Soft and refreshing, just like her. I dip my head, pressing the handful to my face. I breathe deep. Fuck—please god, just let me have this scent. I’ll lock it away in the back of my mind with the rest of my memories of this night.
She stirs in her sleep, scooting closer, chasing my warmth like a greedy lap cat. Then she lets out a soft hum of contentment and I’m ready to crawl between her goddamn legs. I have to taste her again. Just one more time—
No, I can’t do this. I can’t bear it. She needs to go. Now.
I drop her hair and sit up, propping myself up with the pillows just as my phone alarm starts to beep. Next to me, Poppy wakes. Reaching over, I turn off the alarm and unplug my phone. I stretch back and pretend I’m reading something, but all my senses are locked on her.
Poppy stretches under her mountain of comforter. Then she slowly sits up like a mummy rising from a coffin. Her messy golden curls tumble down her back as she rubs her face and looks around.
“Morning,” I say in a bored tone.
She shrieks, all but falling out of the bed as she stands, dragging the comforter with her. “Lukas, what are you doing in my room?”
“Try again, Princess,” I tease, my chest hollow as I take in the look of shock on her face. “This is my room.”
She looks around, still disoriented. Her eye makeup is smeared, giving her dark circles like a sexy little raccoon. She spies my backpack on the chair, my tablet charging by the TV. “No.” She shakes her head. “No, I went back to my room. Please tell me I went back to my room.”
“You didn’t have a key, remember? Still don’t.”
She groans, holding her head with one hand as she clutches the comforter to her half-naked body with the other. “Oh, my lord in heaven, this pounding in my head is like hail on a tin roof.”
“Blame Tina. Too many Jax Ray cocktails.”
“Everything is so fuzzy,” she whimpers. “Please tell me this is a dream. Am I dreaming? Did we really have sex last night?”
My shoulders tense. “You said you weren’t drunk—”
“I wasn’t,” she cries. “At least, I didn’t think I was—but I have absolutely no memory of anything that happened after the ice machine. Even that feels like this big, hazy…blur.”
Okay, fuck this. I toss my phone to the bed. “Wow, I didn’t know there was a level of so-thoroughly-fucked it causes memory loss. I guess I should add that to the ‘special skills’ section of my online dating profile, eh?”
She groans again. “Sure, you can add it right above ‘flexing in mirrors’ and ‘skating into walls at high speed.’”
I flip back the sheet and swing my legs off the bed. “Well, we both agreed this was for one night only. And I already bent my iron rules by letting you stay here so—”
“Wait, you let me stay here?” She blinks over at me. “What the heck does that mean?”
“Well, you were all sad and desperate, begging me to fuck you last night. Remember that?”
“Vaguely,” she replies, still clutching to that damn comforter. Is she trying to hide from me or herself? Either way, I’m pissed.
“Afterward, I used my room key, and I let you in here to crash—oh, a room key is this little thing, shaped like a credit card.”
She glares at me. “I know what a room key is, Lukas, even if I no longer seem to have one.”
“So, you remember that part too? Good,” I say, nodding again. “Well, like I said, I generally don’t let my hookups stay over, but I made an exception for a sad, desperate friend.”
“Gee, thanks.”
I watch her stumble, muttering under her breath as she looks for her clothes. “I realize now I never got the 411 on why you were so sad and desperate—”
“And you won’t.” She drops to one knee to scoop up her discarded dress. “What time is it?”
“Just after six.”
She bolts upright, eyes wide. “What? We have to check out within the next thirty minutes!” She drops the comforter and shimmies into her dress, trying to put it on while still keeping my T-shirt on.
Oh, she wants a little modesty now? I stand up with my back to her, pretending to stretch as I just wait for her to—
“Oh my—Lukas, why are you naked?”
I slowly turn, flashing her the front too. She’s standing there with her arms inside my too-large T-shirt, those cute little raccoon eyes wide as she takes me in. That she can still blush should be precious. Instead, it just pisses me off further. “Sweetheart, I’ve been naked,” I tease. “You fucked me naked, right here in this bed. You slept next to this nakedness all night long.”
“Well, it’s morning now,” she says, shouldering her way into the straps of her dress. “And mornings are for clothes. Find some.”
“Mornings are for clothes? Is that one of your sweet little Nana’s sayings?”
She gasps. Tugging off my T-shirt, she wads it up in a ball and throws it at me. “My sweet little Nana is dead, you jerk. Now put that on. And find some pants. I’m tired of looking at your Little Lukas.”
“I’d worry less about me and more about yourself,” I say, pulling on a pair of athletic shorts. “Any minute now, the doors out there will start to open, and then an entire NHL team plus support staff will be wandering the halls. Good luck getting out of here without half of them seeing how completely fucked you look right now.”
She goes still, her discarded heels and purse in hand. “Why are you being like this?”
I cross my arms. “I suppose I’ve realized I don’t particularly like being used by you.”
Her eyes go wide. I sense her confusion. “Lukas, I—”
Time to burn this down. “But that’s the life, right? You rich girls have staff for everything, don’t you? Personal chef, personal bartender, personal fuck toy—”
Her gaze hardens. “Now, stop right there—”
“Hey, don’t even worry about it,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. “You used me, and I used you. That it was utterly forgettable for both of us is proof it doesn’t need to happen again. Now, the night is over, and you really need to go.” I point to the door with finality.
She searches my face, tears rimming her makeup-smeared eyes. I see the hurt there, the squashed hope, the simmering frustration. In this moment, she’s actively hating me. Good. She can hate me all she wants. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like anyone can ever hate me as much as I hate myself.
“Well, I see it’s true what they say about morning-after regret.”
“Can I add that as a testimonial on my dating profile?”
“Oh, screw you, Lukas.” She turns away, searching for her phone.
“Again? I mean, it’ll be breaking all your precious rules, but I suppose, if you’re on top this time and you’re quick about it—”
“No thanks,” she snaps, hurrying over to the TV stand to unplug her phone. Never mind that I was the jerk who plugged it in for her. “I think I’d rather sleep with a possum,” she tosses over her shoulder as she heads for the door. “Don’t be late for the bus. And forget this ever happened!”
“Already did!” I call after her as she disappears, closing the door with a snap.
I stand there, hands shaking, staring at the closed door. A low growl rumbles in my chest. Well, this is just fucking perfect. Classic Novikov. Whenever there’s a good thing in my life, I have to go and ruin it. It’s like I’m fucking Thanos, always turning beautiful things to ash.
Desperate to lean into this burning feeling of destruction, I snatch my pillow off the bed and throw it at the door. It hits with a pathetic thump. Cursing under my breath, I grab the other pillows, throwing them one after the other. I throw the remote. I throw my shoes, the TV guide, the complimentary slippers. I even throw my goddamn phone. That makes the loudest thud. As it clatters to the floor, it pings with a new message.
Hands still shaking, I cross the room and pick it up. I tap the screen to see a new text from Morrow. I read it, feeling like I’ve somehow reached a level below rock-fucking-bottom.
MORROW: Why did Sully and I just get Venmo requests from Karlsson saying we each owe him fifty bucks? You said you were paying our tabs. What the hell happened last night?