AREA 51 Read online

  She tenses and shrieks, swatting at my hands. “What are you doing?”

  “Entertaining myself.”

  “Stay away from my Area 51.”

  “I can’t make that kind of promise. You should hurry up with my surprise.” I’m joking. Mostly. But it gets a rise out of her.

  Violet starts handling my cock. She’s not stroking, though. She wraps something around the head and giggles. I feel something cold, then something soft.

  “Are you dressing up my dick again?”

  She snickers. “Maybe.”

  “You’re not tying anything to him!” I bolt upright, and Violet nearly topples over. The last time she dressed up my dick—as a superhero—she almost decapitated him. The cape she made required a bow, which turned into a knot. Scissors were involved in the removal. It was not my favorite moment.

  “I’m using Velcro!”

  “You’re sticking things to my dick with Velcro?” I wrap an arm around her waist and pick her up. Her heel slides across my abs, leaving behind a red mark, which I’ll happily take if she’s not suffocating my dick again.

  Violet scrambles over my legs, straddling the right way around and tries to cover my cock with her robe. “He’s not ready!”

  “Seriously, Violet?”

  Her shoulders droop and her mouth turns down at the corners, her disappointment obvious.

  I sigh. “Fine. Finish what you’re doing, but quickly. You’re killing my hard-on.” I cross my arms over my chest while she produces a tiny Santa hat. She keeps my dick hidden behind her robe. A few seconds later she pulls the satin to the side.

  “Voila!” She does jazz hands on either side of my cock. “Santa Dick!”

  My cock is indeed dressed up like Santa. She’s gone so far as to sew a Santa coat with little stuffed arms and crafted a beard out of what I assume is felt and cotton balls. It’s Velcroed under the base of the head. It even has eyes and a nose. A little Santa hat tops the head.

  I point to the nose. “Is that a Nerd?”

  She nods enthusiastically. “And the eyes are candies too!”

  I look up and realize my dick is not the only thing that’s dressed up. Mini candy canes hang from Violet’s nipples. I think she’s taped them there. While that’s inventive, it’s the underwear I’m most fascinated by. They look like a chimney, with a snowy top, except upside down. I gesture to her crotch. “What’s going on here?”

  She climbs back into my lap. One of the candy canes falls off her boob. She pauses to reattach it. Then she rises, so the chimney is over top of my slowly deflating Santa dick. He’s starting to lean to the right. Violet lowers herself a few inches and the chimney flap covers my dick. The little hat falls off.

  “See! Santa’s going down the chimney!” She flips up the flap, which she’s sewn to the top of the panties to show me. “Do you like it?”

  I shake my head and laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I know.” She covers him with the chimney and bobs up and down again, making him disappear and reappear a couple of times.

  I let her entertain herself briefly before I make a suggestion. “You should eat the candies now.”

  Violet tosses one of the candy canes at me before she leans down and sucks the eyes off the head, followed by the Nerd nose. Then she licks her way around, cleaning off the candy adhesive. I groan and slide my fingers into her hair. On the next pass she removes the dick sock/Santa coat and takes in more of me.

  I shift her body so her ass faces me, then pull her panties over her hips so I can get her ready. She moans on my cock when I ease two fingers inside her and start pumping. I add one more, just to make sure she’s ready before I pull her off and bring her mouth to mine. Violet climbs on top of me and sinks down.

  Her elf hat falls off, her long hair tickling my chest as she leans in to brush her lips over mine. “Did you like my surprise?”

  “It was very entertaining.”

  “The Velcro works nice.”

  “It does.” I grip her ass and grind her over me.

  “Thanks for letting me dress up your dick.”

  “Thanks for hugging him when you were done playing dress up.”

  She giggles. “Vagina hugs are the best, right?”

  “Definitely the best.”

  I’ll give Violet her present later. When I’m done providing orgasms.

  The Valentine’s Day Love Letter

  Pucked Up Deleted Chapters

  When I started this book, I had a plan, and then I went back and added all this material, and realized it was keeping Miller and Sunny apart for far too long, so I ended up cutting what amounted to a good 10-20k. Some of it was repurposed and added to the story later on, but this chunk just had to go.

  I think it showcases just how altruistic Miller really is, and how bad his luck can be. There’s also a little Randy, pre-Lily in here, so forgive his behavior please. ;)

  Chapter One

  Altruism Ain’t Easy

  I smell like a farm animal. I probably look like one, too, based on my lack of access to things like razors and hot water. I might stink worse than my lucky hockey socks during playoffs, and those were rank by the time the finals came around. My housekeeper wouldn’t let me keep my hockey bag in my condo anymore because it stunk up the whole place. I didn’t think it was that bad, but I moved it to the balcony anyway so she’d stop throwing floral air fresheners in there.

  But the reason for my current state of grossness has nothing to do with hockey. Every year, as soon as the official season is over, I spend a few weeks doing volunteer work. Usually it takes me out of the country. It’s a break from the city and the intensity of being an NHL player.

  For the past ten days, I’ve been part of the labor crew on a construction project. I’m decent at building things. That and gym were the only classes in high school where I managed to get decent marks. And sometimes I’d do okay in art class if I wasn’t goofing off with the sculpting clay.

  Today we finally finished our phase of the job. All that’s left is the painting and decorating. Another crew is coming to replace us tomorrow, so by the end of the month it should be ready.

  The building will house kids who lost their families in the most recent hurricane to rip up Haiti. With twenty-five eight-by-eight bedrooms, a cafeteria with a kitchen, two communal bathrooms, a utility room, and a common room, it’s supposed to hold up to a hundred kids. Each tiny bedroom has two bunk beds. The whole place is built for utility, not luxury. A small, shared room is way better than not having a place to sleep at all. Sometimes nature can be assholely to people who didn’t have much to begin with.

  For the first three days, we slept in tents. It’s not the most comfortable, but having done this since I was a teenager, I’ve learned a good yoga mat helps a lot. After we finished building the first floor, we moved inside. I’m too wide and tall to fit into the bunk beds—they seem like they’d work well for munchkins—so I slept on the floor. These trips always put my cushy life into perspective.

  Usually my dad comes with me—he’s the one who started taking me in the first place—but he had another trip planned this year, so it’s just been me, one other player, and some volunteers. It’s been fun for the most part, aside from Randy, my teammate and friend, bitching about the lack of bunnies.

  This year I wasn’t as excited about going as I usually am. I’ve been hanging out with a girl, and being out of the country leaves her wide open for dates with someone other than me. I wouldn’t be all that worried, but we haven’t had a discussion about not seeing other people, and things were kind of up in the air when I left for Haiti.

  Anyway, it’s been hotter than Satan’s steaming jock strap today, and humid. I’ve been going commando the last couple of days since I ran out of clean underwear. My balls are sticking to the inside of my leg, and the fly of my jeans is chafing my dick. I’d stick my hand down my pants and fix the problem, but there are kids around. I’ll manage the discomfort. By this time tomorrow I’ll be ba
ck in my air-conditioned condo.

  Ricardo, one of the local guys who oversaw the project, invited us to his home for a Haitian style BBQ tonight in celebration of completing our work, so that’s where we’re headed now. It’ll be a great end to an exhausting, but rewarding trip.

  The aftermath of the hurricane surrounds us as we walk. Trees ripped out by the roots line the side of the road. Other ones are broken in half, the tops folded over. The dirt road, mostly washed out from the flooding, kicks up dust as we go.

  I jam my hand in my pocket, feeling for the finger-sized hole in there, hoping to unstick my ball sac from the side of my leg. I’d try to shake it free, but it’ll make me look like a dog who’s just relieved himself on a tree.

  I palm my phone. I’ve had it with me this entire trip, hoping to run across some kind of reception. But I haven’t gotten more than one bar since we arrived—not even in the town they’ve already partially rebuilt. Once I was almost able to check my messages, but then I lost the signal. My battery’s down to twenty percent. We’ve been using generators to power our drills and skill saws because there isn’t any electricity. So there hasn’t been a way to charge phones.

  That means I haven’t had contact with anyone, including my assistant or my sort-of girlfriend. It’s a pain in my ass. I have shit to do when I get back to Chicago that I can’t plan for. I need my calendar. It might be the off-season, but I’m still busy.

  I’m not looking forward to sorting through the mess of emails and messages that will be waiting for me when I get home tomorrow. Worse than the email backlog is that my assistant is going on her own vacation, so I’ll have to organize my own life for the next couple of weeks. It’s not my strong suit.

  We come around a bend in the uneven road, and the trees open to reveal a small hut in the middle of a sparse, grassy patch of land. It almost reminds me of a Hobbit home, except it’s not round. The walls are a flat grey, and the roof is made of corrugated metal panels. The whole thing would probably fit in my living room. Outside this tiny house are at least fifty people.

  Kids run around, playing with the too-big sticks and rubber balls we brought so we could teach them how to play street hockey. Makeshift nets made of wood scraps and ripped up fishing net sit at both ends of the yard.

  The boys are dressed in hand-me-down shirts with American logos. The girls wear boy’s basketball shorts and frilly tops with sequins. All of them are covered in dust and grime, and none of them seems to care. It’s interesting to be in a place where iPads and devices aren’t used as babysitters.

  Across the front of the house is a banner that reads “Thank You” in messy, kid-painted scrawl. I turn on my phone and snap a few pictures. Once I get back I’ll add them to the project page so the construction company who helped fund the effort along with me and Randy can get some positive recognition.

  It’s as I’m snapping pictures that the most amazing sight in the world finally registers. On top of the tiny little house with its rusted and definitely not waterproof roof is a giant mofo satellite dish.

  “Holy puck!” I’ve had to do a lot of censoring this week because of all the kids running around. They’re everywhere. Kind of like ants, but they’re cuter and not annoying.

  “Right? Check out the hottie.” Randy puts his hand out for a high five.

  I’m busy checking for a signal, so I leave him hanging. My phone is at nineteen percent. One bar appears, then a second and a third in the top left corner. I hold the phone up in his face. “I have bars!”

  “Really?” He has to back up to see it. “Man! I wish my phone hadn’t died three days ago.”

  “I’mma try to call Sunny while we’re here.”

  “You haven’t talked to her this whole time, right? You think that’s gonna make things worse?” Randy knows things were a little iffy when I came here.

  I shrug instead of respond. I’ve been trying to get Sunshine Waters, Sunny for short, to date me for the past few months. It sure as hell feels like longer. The problem is she’s the sister of one of my teammates, Alex Waters. He’s also the team captain. And he’s dating my sister, Violet. In fact, they moved in together just before I left for Haiti. I’m not sure it’s a great idea, but Vi seems happy. For now. Until he fucks it up.

  So far I’ve been doing a stellar job of fucking things up with Sunny. It’s not really my fault. Or maybe it is. I’d prefer to blame it on social media, which does nothing to make things easier.

  “You sure it isn’t better just to leave things alone? I mean, it’d be way less tense with Waters if you weren’t all up in his sister.”

  “Like he is in mine.”

  “But you’re not really related.”

  “We’ve been family for five years.”

  Ricardo lets out this crazy loud whistle from ten feet in front of us. It nearly blows out my eardrums. It also puts a stop to my conversation with Randy, which is probably good, since it’s not a topic I like.

  All the kids stop what they’re doing. There’s a collective shout of excitement, and then we’re swarmed. A little girl with two long, dark braids tugs on my arm and shoves a piece of paper with a drawing on it at me. Her voice is squeaky with excitement. I power down my phone and slip it back into my pocket, nodding as she chatters away, explaining the drawing in a language I can’t understand. But I don’t need to know the words to get that she’s looking forward to having a home.

  We spend the afternoon playing street hockey with the kids, drinking some kind of homemade wine that tastes like gasoline, and eating. Some of the food, particularly the meat, is unidentifiable. But the kids eat it, and so does everyone else, so I assume it’s safe.

  Later, the sky takes on a pink haze, and the sun dips below the treeline, creating shadows that creep across the grass. I help the kids find kindling for a fire, which isn’t hard with all the broken and damaged trees. We pick out special sticks for marshmallow roasting. I brought a few bags with me, knowing it’s a luxury they don’t often get. Watching their eyes light up with the excitement that only comes from new experiences is awesome.

  I let Randy take care of making the fire since he seems like he’s trying to impress one of the women who looks to be about our age. Excusing myself, I slip away to check my phone. Powering it on, I cringe at the sixteen percent battery that’s left.

  As soon as I take it out of airplane mode, it starts dinging like crazy and it drops another percent. Keying in my passcode, I go to Sunny’s messages first. She texted me a few times at the beginning of the week and then again yesterday. Using the text-to-speech app will drain the battery faster, so I struggle my way through reading her shortened text speak.

  Message one reads:

  Message two reads:

  Messages three takes me a good two minutes to decipher:

  Message four is from yesterday:

  I send a reply right away, keeping it short and to the point. I pray it goes through with the spotty two-bar reception.

  I don’t wait to hear back before I call. It goes to her voicemail the first time, but she picks up right away on my second attempt.

  “Hello?”

  “Sunny?”

  Static crackles on the line. “Miller?”

  “Hey, sweets. I missed your voice.”

  “How c…from you…week.”

  The connection isn’t great. Half of her words are dropped, and she sounds tinny, but at least I can sort of talk to her. It’s way better than trying to figure out her texts.

  “We didn’t have reception. We didn’t even have power most of the week. Everything ran on generators. Ricardo’s throwing us a party, and he has this monster satellite dish, so I have two bars. Can you hear me? I can’t hear you real good. I don’t have a lot of battery left.”

  She replies, but it’s lost in static. I put her on speakerphone and walk around the house, watching the little dots as they go from two down to one and then up to three.

  “Sunny Sunshine? You still there?”

  “You’re
at a party? I didn’t know… Hockey…Haiti… bunnies…too?”

  I may not catch everything she says, but I can tell from her tone she’s not happy. She’s using sarcasm. Bunnies are the biggest problem for me and Sunny—not my involvement with them as much as the fact that they still call me and hound me in bars and want pictures and stuff.

  “It’s not that kind of party. It’s a BBQ. A bunny-free zone.”

  “Oh. Okay.” There’s a slight pause, along with a soft exhale. “How are things there? Are you having fun?”

  “It’s been good. Tiring but good. I’m looking forward to being home. And seeing you. It’s still cool for me to visit?”

  She replies, but I can’t hear through the static.

  “I missed that.”

  Ricardo’s wife, Mira, taps me on the shoulder. “Mr. Miller? You have sticks?”

  “Did someone just ask to see your dick?” Sunny asks.

  “No. No. Sticks.” Jesus. Bad connections suck almost as much as having no connection at all. “We’ve been teaching the kids how to play hockey. Tonight we’re having a campfire and roasting marshmallows. Did you know most of these kids have never even eaten a marshmallow?”

  “Swallow? Swallow what?”

  “No. Marshmallow. Not swallow.”

  “Miller, this is the first time we’ve talked in ten days and you want to know whether or not I swallow?”

  “Oh! Mr. Miller. Is that your wife? She happy to have you home.” Mira grabs the phone from me. “Ms. Miller? You lucky woman! Mr. Miller he love the babies. He teach them the hockey.” She starts speaking in Haitian, going back to broken English after a few seconds. “He good man. So much the help. And, how you say, the heated? The hottie? Yes, yes. The hottie. You have lots baby and make happy.”