I froze, reality washing back in. My hand stopped moving, but he tightened his fingers around mine, forcing me to start again. He was harder now—bigger—and I wondered how much it had to hurt, keeping that monster all penned up in his pants.
He wanted to fuck me. Bad. I wanted him, too, but his words were like cold water, reminding me this wasn’t a game.
“So,” Puck continued, his tone so intense it scared me. “I think it’s time we cleared this shit up. I like your hand on my dick. I’d like your mouth on it better. I want your cunt, your ass—everything. No more games, Becca. You know who and what I am, and you know that when I fuck you, it won’t be pretty. I don’t do pretty. I’ve held off because of what happened and I felt guilty but that shit is in the past. I’m done. You got thirty seconds to say no, then I’m taking you upstairs and all bets are off.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My hands tightened reflexively and I shuddered, because I’ve never wanted anything more than I wanted to go upstairs with him. I managed to break through the fog of lust for an instant, asking him the million-dollar question.
“What do you mean, all bets are off?”
Puck gave a harsh, humorless laugh. “I mean I’m done dancing around you. You got hurt, I felt bad. But tonight you grabbed me and now I’m out of patience. We didn’t have history between us, you’d be under me already, Becca. And I won’t pretend to be something I’m not. I want a woman, I take her. I keep her until we’re finished and I call the shots while we’re together. No games. This is your last out.”
My thighs clenched and I knew what I wanted to say. Then my mother’s voice cut through my head.
Little slut.
Had she felt this way about Teeny? How many times had she let her body do the thinking for her?
“I call the shots while we’re together.”
Puck let my hand go and I stilled, clutching him for an instant longer. Then I let go and pulled back.
“Thanks for the ride home,” I managed to say, my voice unsteady. “And thank you for clearing things up. I’ve got to get to sleep. It’s been a long day and I have school tomorrow afternoon.”
He froze, a cold and frustrated statue. I clambered off the bike, forced to lean a hand against Puck’s shoulder to steady myself because my legs had turned to rubber. Then I made for my door. I kept expecting him to say something, or maybe come after me.
A part of me wanted him to.
Wanted him to take away the decision, to force me so I wouldn’t have to own up to the fact that I needed him so badly it hurt. Life would be so much easier if I wasn’t responsible . . . But who am I kidding? My life has never been easy. Puck stayed silent until I reached the stairwell door, then spoke one last time.
“I took your choice away five years ago. Tonight I gave it back to you. Consider us even.”
FIVE
My bed felt like a pile of rocks.
No matter how I twisted and turned, I couldn’t get comfortable. Puck’s words ran through my brain, twisting around and fucking with my nerves. Mom’s phone call echoed through me, too. She hadn’t called back, but I knew better than to try and call her myself. Not if Teeny was on a tear. Part of me almost wished she wouldn’t call, and I know that makes me sound like a shit person. But she destroyed everything she touched. I hated how talking to her made me feel, then hated myself for picking up the phone when she called again. Most of all, I hated all the hope and excitement I felt every time I thought she might actually leave him—it always led to disappointment.
By five I realized the whole thing was pointless. Might as well just get up.
Coffee couldn’t replace sleep, but it helped. So did my favorite playlist. By the time I fired up my Singer sewing machine the first light of dawn was streaking across the sky. I still had some silk from the kimono I’d used to make my makeup bag. Danielle’s words came back to me—maybe I really could sell some of them? They were certainly unique . . .
Two hours later I put the finishing touches on an entirely new bag design. The sun was up and my eyes were heavy, but I stumbled back toward my bed feeling satisfied and settled. I’d catch an hour of sleep before school—that should tide me over. Maybe I couldn’t control Puck or my job or my mom . . . but when I sat down in front of that machine, beautiful things came out. Things nobody else could make—things straight from my heart.
That had to count for something, right?
—
Usually I only heard from my mom every couple of months.
Her phone was deactivated half the time because she was always behind on her bills. She’d disappear for five or six weeks, then I’d get a call out of nowhere from a strange new number. Other times she’d email me from a public computer, or give me a quick call using someone else’s phone.