Forever PUCKED (Pucked #4) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  About The Author Helena Hunting

  Other Titles By Helena Hunting

  Connecting With Helena Hunting

  FELONY EVER AFTER

  GOING DOWN by Katherine Stevens

  PUCKED UP EXCERPT

  PUCKED OVER EXCERPT

  Copyright

  KINDLE EDITION

  Copyright © 2016 Helena Hunting

  All rights reserved

  Published by Helena Hunting

  Cover art design by Shannon Lumetta

  Cover font from Imagex Fonts

  Cover image from @majdansky at Depositphoto.com

  Back cover image @egorrr at Depositphoto.com

  Formatting by CP Smith

  Editing by Jessica Royer Ocken

  Proofing by Ellie at LoveNBook

  Forever Pucked is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's twisted imagination and are used fictitiously. All references to the NHL are fictitious and that there is no endorsement by the NHL. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Dedication

  I wouldn’t have found my lady balls without you, Pepper.

  Acknowledgements

  Husband of mine; you make this possible. Thank you for being my sidekick, my best friend and my assistant when I need you. You wear all the hats. You’re amazing and I love you for every sacrifice you make and every opportunity you give me to thrive.

  Mom, Dad, Mel and Chris, I love you so much, thanks for being my family.

  Debra, pepper is the best. Thank the lord I have you, because no one else could manage me. I love you.

  Kimberly and the crew at RF Literary and Meire and Flavia at Bookcase; let’s keep making magic happen.

  Nina; you always have my back, and my front, and all the sides.

  Jessica, let’s sleep for after this. Thank you for keeping me on the level, particularly when plastic beavers are involved.

  Shannon, insert smiling poop emoticon here. Thanks for managing the stressful parts! I love you.

  Ellie, you are seriously amazing. Thank you for taking care of me. We make an amazing team.

  Teeny, you are unbelievable. Like totally. Thank you for being there to walk me through all the things and then just take over, because you’re made of magic.

  Erika, one day, we’ll appreciate the stamina together. You’re what fabulous is made for. Thank you for being real.

  Susi, muffin, I want to snuggle you like Miller.

  Sarah, honestly, I’m not sure how I functioned before without you. Thanks for making sure I don’t forget to breathe.

  Hustlers; Alecia, Amanda, Ciara, Deb, Melissa, Jennie, Stephanie, Serena, Elaine, Sarah, Lauren, Christina, Elizabeth, Angy and Cherie you’re part of my family. I love you ladies. Thank you for making releases so much fun and for being such an important part of my world!

  Deb, Sarah & Jen, thank you for calming me down, because seriously, this one was a little whackadoodle.

  Heather, you’re the best stalker, I can’t wait to see you and your hair again.

  Kandace, you’re the most amazing kind of human being. I’m so glad we had time in Vegas together.

  Beaver Babes, you ladies are incredible! I love hanging out with you and chatting books, and getting excited for new projects! Thank you for being with me on this journey, you make my day brighter just for existing.

  To my Backdoor Babes; Tara, Meghan, Deb and Katherine, I love that we can all just be weird together and it’s okay.

  My Smut Saloon ladies; Melanie, Jessica and Geneva, the gifs are the best way to communicate!

  To my Pams, the Filets, my Nap girls; 101’ers, and Indies Tijan, Vi, Penelope, Susi, Deb, Erika, Katherine, Alice, Shalu, Amanda, Leisa, Kellie, Vicki, you are fabulous in ways I can’t explain. Thank you for being my friends, my colleagues, my supporters, my teachers, my cheerleaders and my soft places to land.

  My WC crew; thank you for celebrating this journey with me and for being my friends even though I don’t get to see you every day anymore.

  Colleen, thank you for The Bookworm, for being an inherently good person, and for being such an inspiration.

  To all my author friends and colleagues; thank you for all the amazing things you do and share, for celebrating each other’s successes, for sharing the platform and for making this such an amazing community to be part of.

  To all the amazing bloggers and readers out there who have supported me from the beginning of my angst, to the ridiculous of my humour; thank you for loving these stories, for giving them a voice, for sharing your thoughts and for being such amazing women. I’m honoured and humbled and constantly amazed by what a generous community you are.

  To my Originals; my fandom friends who started on this crazy journey back in 2008, I can’t believe how far we’ve all come. Thank you for sticking with me, and for being the reason I’m here, doing this thing, and loving it.

  1

  Anniversaries Suck

  Cheesy Balls

  VIOLET

  Today is mine and Alex’s one-year anniversary, and it sucks donkey dick. Well, it’s one of our “anniversaries.” Alex likes to celebrate every single milestone in our relationship because he’s sappy and romantic like that. He also likes to have an excuse to buy me gifts. Lots of them. Extravagant ones. For my birthday he bought me a car. A nice car. With heated seats and automatic everything. New cars are scary because they don’t have dings and dents, and they need to be maintained.

  Anyway, I digress. Anniversaries. This month we’re celebrating our “First Official Date” Anniversary. Alex likes to consider the first time we had sex our “real” anniversary, but since we hardly knew each other then, apart from how our genitalia fit together, I prefer to fast-forward a month to when I wasn’t thinking with my beaver. Not totally, anyway.

  It’s still up for debate as to whether the day he locked me in the conference room at my work and forced me to have coffee with him later was our official first date. I’m inclined to go with the night he took me out for dinner and we ended up back at his place, banging on his couch, which is what we’re celebrating tonight. It’s marked on our calendar. There’s even a sticker with a smiley face. I’m dubbing this one our second sexiversary because it’s the second occasion when we had sex, and because it annoys Alex.

  Sadly, we might not get the opportunity to fuck like it’s our third time—we did it twice that first time, for those of you keeping score at home—again tonight. Alex is currently on a bus back to Chicago with the team after a series of four away games. He’s been gone for more than a week. A snowstorm is blowing north through the Midwest, and last I heard from him, they were stuck at some rest stop—still more than two hours from home, and that’s without the snow slowing them down.<
br />
  It’s already three in the afternoon. If they can’t make it back before it gets dark and the storm picks up, he’ll be stuck at a hotel for the night. We might be able to have phone sex, but that’s not the same as hugging his wood with my beaver. So that’s why this anniversary sucks.

  And even if he makes it home tonight, he’s bound to be bagged, which may put a damper on the sexiversary lovin’. Not that he won’t perform. He will. He always does. But it won’t be with the level of exuberance I’ve grown accustomed to over the past year. I might only get two orgasms out of him instead of the requisite three or four he usually strives for.

  Charlene, my best friend and colleague at Stroker and Cobb Financial Management, peeks her head into my cubicle. She looks disembodied with the way the rest of her is out of sight. She’s also smiling like she belongs in some kind of asylum.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “You have a delivery.”

  “What kind of delivery?”

  Alex likes to send me gifts at work. Once he had some guy dressed as a beaver sing a love song to me. It was mortifying. Jimmy, one of the other junior accountants, recorded it and posted it on YouTube. Obviously I made him take it down, but it had already gone viral.

  “An Alex delivery.”

  I brace myself for humiliation as she grunts, moving my gift into view.

  I don’t say anything for a few long seconds. Alex is over the top with everything. But then, when you’re the highest-paid NHL player in the league, you can afford to be extravagant and highly ridiculous.

  “Not what you expected?” Charlene asks, biting her lip to keep from busting out laughing.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” I gesture to the four-foot stuffed beaver wearing a hockey jersey. It’s almost as wide as it is tall. “I don’t even know if it’ll fit in my car.”

  I also don’t want to carry it through the building.

  “I’m sure we can make it fit.” I ignore Charlene’s eyebrow waggle. She’s referencing my fiancé’s monster cock. I’m not talking about a pet rooster, either. His dick is massive. I love it so much, even though putting it in my mouth is a workout all on its own.

  I grab the beaver by its ears, hefting it into my cubicle so it’s no longer blocking all the walking space between my office and the one across from me. Thank the lord Jimmy isn’t in there or he’d be all over this. I need to hide the beaver. I don’t have to see the back of the jersey to know it’s got Alex’s last name and number on it. This is a giant version of the small beaver Alex sent me back when he was first stalking me. Because I’m so awesome in bed. And he loves my boobs. And I told him I loved his cock. It was quite the first encounter.

  My relationship with Alex Waters, center and team captain for Chicago, started as a one-night stand. A poorly thought-out one. I would’ve run into him after our night of passion since my stepbrother, Buck, is on his team, but I hadn’t thought that far ahead when I was sticking my hands down his pants a year ago.

  The beaver is holding a heart-shaped box. I pluck it from his paws while Charlene puts her arm around it and takes a selfie. I open the card; of course, it’s beaver-themed—a pair of cartoon beavers with little hearts above their heads. They’re in love, just like Alex and me.

  I flip it open, expecting Alex’s usual hilarity, which is how it starts, but by the end I’m about to cry. He really is that damn sweet:

  Violet,

  A year ago you agreed to go for coffee with me, and then your boobs agreed to go on a real date. You came into my life and turned it upside down in the best way. I’ll never look at Spiderman pajamas the same way, or Marvel Comic boxer briefs.

  I love every inch of you, all your funny quirky ways, all the ridiculous things you say in your sleep—and when you’re awake. Your unending praise for the MC also doesn’t hurt.

  I know you don’t buy the whole love at first sight thing, but I believe some people are destined to be together. Maybe we came together because of lust and Fielding, but we stayed together because of love.

  You’re my forever,

  Alex

  I sigh and hold the card to my chest, absorbing his words into my heart. Not really. I’m actually considering checking Google to see if he copied this from some sappy love poem site and made a few modifications to fit us better. However, Alex was an English major in college, so it’s possible he came up with this all on his own.

  I save the Google search for later and open the heart-shaped box. I expect to find chocolate inside, but I’m pleasantly surprised to discover it’s filled with those heavenly maple sugar candies I love so much. There’s also a bag of Swedish Fish.

  “You two are the weirdest couple on the face of the earth. You know that, right?”

  “I prefer the term quirky, but yeah, I know.”

  Charlene nabs a maple candy before I can close the box. Granted, there are a lot of them. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say there’s a good hundred candies in there. I’ll be in a maple sugar coma by the end of the day for sure. I can’t stop once I’ve started.

  I grab my phone from the top drawer of my desk, but before I can pull up Alex’s contact, Charlene snatches it out of my hand.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “You need to pose with the beaver so we can send Alex a picture,” she says, as if this should be obvious. Which really, it should be. I’m from the generation where everything we do gets posted online for bored people to see. Welcome to the wonderful world of well-documented bad decisions.

  I shuffle the beaver around. It’s not easy since he’s huge, and my cubicle is small. I back my chair into a corner and move the beaver between my legs. I shove the beaver down so his head is at waist level, and Charlene snaps a few pics. Then we turn it over, giggling like idiots as I arrange my skirt over the top of its head so it looks like the beaver’s going to town on my beaver.

  I strike several different poses, including a fake orgasm face, which is the exact moment my boss walks in on our little party.

  “Mr. Stroker! Hey, hi!” I push the beaver away from my crotch, but it’s too late. He’s already seen me molesting it.

  “Miss Hoar.” He glances at Charlene, then to me. “Miss Hall.” His arms are crossed over his chest, and his face remote. He’s giving away nothing. “You two look like you’re hard at work.”

  We’re in so much trouble.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stroker. Alex sent me this for our anniversary—” I gesture to the gigantic beaver. “—and Charlene and I thought we’d send a picture so he knows I got it. We’re not sure if the team’s going to make it back tonight, because of the storm.” I wave my hand toward the windows. It’s snowing like crazy.

  Not that it’s going to stop him from firing me.

  “He sent you a stuffed woodchuck for your anniversary?”

  “It’s not a woodchuck; it’s a beaver,” Charlene says.

  He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I want an explanation. Violet, I’d like to see you in my office.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  My stomach does a flip, but I stand and smooth out my wrinkled skirt, shooting Charlene a look of terror. She mouths sorry at me, but it’s not her fault. I would’ve done something equally as stupid with or without her help.

  I follow Mr. Stroker down the hall to his office. He closes the door behind me and gestures to the chair opposite his desk. I’m totally about to get canned. This is the shittiest sexiversary ever.

  “I really am sorry about that, Mr. Stroker. We were being silly. I know it wasn’t work-appropriate behavior.”

  He puts up a hand to stop me. “Violet, have you seen some of the clips Jimmy and Dean slip into their presentations? You doing whatever you were doing with that beaver has nothing on those two.”

  I know exactly what he’s talking about. Jimmy and Dean are the other junior accountants at our firm. They’re even more ridiculous than Char and me. Last week they threw a slide into their presentation w
ith two hockey players mashed up against the plexiglas with the caption “Happy Hump Day!” It looked like there was a whole lot more than humping going on in the picture. And that’s one of their tamer ones.

  “Still, it won’t happen again.” I sag in the chair, unable to mask my relief. I honestly thought he was going to tell me to pack up my office. Then I’d be a famous hockey player’s unemployed fiancée rather than a modest financial contributor to our partnership.

  “Sounds good.”

  Mr. Stroker shuffles account files around on his desk. I recognize the one on top as one I prepared, because it’s in a violet-colored folder. Alex bought them for me. He thinks they’re cute.

  “I’ve reviewed your file for the Darcy account. I think you’ve made some very wise choices in terms of the funds you’ve selected. The returns have been high in the past eighteen months, and you’ve balanced their portfolio well.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks.” This isn’t at all what I thought I was coming here for. His praise is unexpected. He’s a numbers guy, like so many of us in this department. It’s always about the bottom line: whether or not we’re making money for our clients or saving their asses from potential bankruptcy.

  Mitch Darcy plays defense for Chicago. I met him through Alex. One night after the game his wife was there, and we started talking. She asked what I did for a living, so I told her. She seemed surprised that I worked a job other than servicing Alex’s amazing dick.

  Two weeks later, Mrs. Darcy made an appointment and specifically asked for me. Mr. Stroker took a risk by letting me draw up a proposal for the account. Of course he has to review it before anything can be implemented, but it’s an opportunity I wouldn’t have without all my connections. Those sometimes make me unpopular at work.

  “This is a big deal, Violet.” Mr. Stroker says, tapping his pen against the folder.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re aware that Darcy renewed his contract for five more years at four million a year.”