Shameless Puckboy (Puckboys Book 3)
Shameless Puckboy: Chapter 7

HELLO, boundaries, don’t mind me.

Is it professional of me to buy Oskar a vibrator? Technically, I don’t have any directions except for keeping Oskar’s ass out of headlines—there was nothing about keeping things out of his ass—so if this helps, then I’d say I’m doing my job exceedingly well.

Might even be worth a raise.

I don’t know what I was thinking when I got off the bus and searched for nearby adult stores on my phone. I’m running out of options considering I can’t let him go out and I can’t sleep with him, so this is my last-ditch attempt at keeping him quiet.

I took it as a sign of fate that there was a store a block away, but now I’m second-guessing my decision. Because as Oskar steps forward and leans in, I can’t help imagining him using it.

“Warning, I tend to get loud.”

I bet he does. “Act like I’m not even here.”

“Actually, I plan to do the opposite.” His stare flicks to the package and down to my crotch. “Go on, give me a hint. Thick? Thin? Long? Short? That way, I’ll be accurate when I’m bent over, imagining you inside me.”

And fuck, now I’m imagining that too. My cock thickens as I scramble to replace any excuse for why I’m getting hard over a player. I’d say that it’s not my fault, that Oskar’s filthy mouth is outside of my control, but that kind of bullshit thinking doesn’t hold up when Oskar’s standing there gripping the sex toy I bought him.

I’m on thin ice, and even though I’m not going to cave and give in to him, I’m still dangerously close to the edge.

Oskar’s gaze flicks up to pin mine. “That’ll do it,” he rasps before taking a step back and disappearing into the bathroom. The door doesn’t close all the way, and even though there isn’t enough of a gap to see anything, I can hear the exact moment the packaging is torn open and Oskar’s pants hit the floor.

I glance down at the obvious outline of my dick, hating that Oskar knows exactly how easily he can play me.

Though, it’s not like I’ve ever hidden that I’m attracted to him. Getting hard over a guy and acting on it are two very different things.

But as a low buzz fills the air, and the snap of a lid clicking open echoes off the tile, the line separating those two things gets real blurry. My cock twitches, and then a soft curse from the bathroom makes me throw all caution to the wind.

I drop back onto the bed, flick my belt open, and shove my hand down the front of my pants. The relief is immediate but nowhere near enough.

Oskar groans, louder this time.

“I can hear you,” I call out. My tone is dry, as though I’m doing the roommate-ly thing and giving him the heads-up, but it’s all bullshit. I want him to know I can hear because I know exactly what that knowledge will do to him.

“Oh, yeah,” Oskar gasps and makes no attempt to silence it. If anything, his moans and gasps get steadily louder. And sure, vibrators feel incredible, but they’re not that incredible.

I squeeze my cock, begging the damn thing to deflate. It’s not right to think of Oskar bent over, pants around his ankles, ass stretched around the vibrator as he fucks his fist. It’s not right to picture how his cock would look close up. Or what that perfect hockey butt looks like from that angle. Or how it would feel molding itself around my shaft.

My hips give a pathetic jolt, cock desperate for friction. I strangle it tighter, lock up my limbs to prevent any unwelcome movement, and try to ignore the throbbing in my balls. The deep, gravelly noises coming from the bathroom really aren’t helping my situation.

No one would blame me for rubbing one out. Surely. I mean, first off, no one would ever actually replace out. And second, Oskar is … Oskar. Easily the hottest man I’ve ever met. It’s impossible to take one look at him and not be picturing sex. His eyes hold a thousand ways to undress you with one look, and every piece of ink on his body is designed to draw you in. Make you look closer.

And yes, I’ve looked closely.

Approving those photos of him was one of my favorite days on the job, and those words la petite mort are burned into my mind. I envision following them down, as vividly as if he was right in front of me, warm skin under my lips until it disappears under the neatly trimmed hair at the base of his cock.

My hand has started moving without my consent, but when I try to stop, it won’t listen.

This is messed up. This is so unprofessional.

I snort. Sure. Because I’ve been the epitome of professional this entire time.

Still … with as horny as I am, I’ll never get any work done, so it only makes sense to get on with it. It doesn’t have to have anything to do with Oskar. We’re not touching; we’re not even in the same room. For all the jokes about treating him like a teenager, we’re not actually fumbling hormonal messes. We’re grown men with needs.

And I need to get off.

If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around, does it make a noise?

If a Lane comes his brains out and no one knows, did it even happen?

“Oh, fuck yes,” Oskar moans, and this time, it sounds a lot less staged. His sexy tone has me opening my pants and pulling my cock out before I can talk myself down. The relief hums through my bones. I’m already leaking and so goddamn hard that I know it isn’t going to take me long, but Oskar has a head start.

The constant buzzing and all those delicious noises he’s making tells me he’s getting close, and if I don’t want him to replace out about this—and I don’t because I’d never hear the end of it—I need to finish first.

I roll my palm over the head of my cock, smearing the trickle of precum down my needy shaft. Each stroke is firm and fast, thumb flicking over the tip on every other pump, and it doesn’t take long for my toes to clench. I spread my legs farther, hips pistoning up into my hand as I listen to Oskar’s raw soundtrack filling the room, trying—and failing—not to picture him on top of me. Riding me. Taking complete fucking control as he gets us to the edge.

I bite my fist to hold back my own noises, not wanting anything to get between me and the vocal show Oskar’s giving me. It would be rude to not appreciate his performance, after all.

“I’m so close,” he gasps. “So … close …”

Shit. I thrust into my fist, racing him to the finish line, desperate to reach that moment, that high, before he works out I’m jerking off over him. It barely took me two pathetic weeks to reach this point. I’m a desperate, horny idiot, but when Oskar cries out, “Lane,” I’m powerless not to follow. My balls pull tight, and the pressure in my cock builds to an unbearable level and then finally releases. I’m barely coherent enough to catch my cum as I shoot. Spurt after spurt, I unleash, and when I finally relax back into the bed, I only have a second to get my head on straight.

I jump up and tuck myself away with my clean hand while I grab a wad of tissues to clean up the mess.

From in the bathroom, I hear Oskar redressing, and I throw myself back onto the bed, grab my phone, and will my heart rate to steady as Oskar opens the door.

He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe.

“Adequate performance,” I say, heart still drumming a quick, dull beat in my ears. “I’d say a solid five out of ten for vocals.”

“Is that your way of asking me to be louder next time?”

I pretend like I couldn’t care less, but it’ll be a long time before I forget the way my name sounded as he came. “Whatever gets you going.” My attention is fixed on my screen, so I have no idea how he took that, but I’m too scared to check. In the heat of the moment, that seemed like a perfect idea, but if Oskar had walked out and found me with my cock in my hand, that’s the kind of shit he could use to get me fired.

Sure, Oskar likes to stir and flirt and doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to blink twice at witnessing sex. But if it’s a choice between having a babysitter and having me fired for inappropriate behavior, I can’t trust that he wouldn’t go there. It would be an easy out for him, and I’d be handing him the ammunition.

I’ve been used by young, fun things before. I’ve gotten in way over my head. I know what it’s like to be hurt by guys exactly like Oskar Voyjik. I can’t let myself go there. Ever.

No pretty face is worth that kind of pain.

I force down a long inhale and remind myself that I got lucky this time. That was a risky game, and while I might like to play, I can’t play with him.

No more letting my cock take the wheel.