Forever PUCKED (Pucked #4) Page 6

  It looks like half the work has already been done for me. Violet had some elaborate plans last night, it seems. I didn’t make it past the kitchen yesterday, too focused on getting the cardboard cutouts set up and readying the bedroom for a serious sex-a-thon, with only half an hour to accomplish it all.

  Beside the pile of blankets is a box of Fruit Roll-Ups. I’m not sure what those are for, so I leave them where they are and make a trip to the wine cellar. Champagne never lasts long with Violet, so I want to have her favorite wine handy as well.

  Once everything is organized, I shower and shave, throw clean sheets on the bed, and wait.

  Dinner arrives promptly at six. I put everything in the oven on warm, apart from the salad, which goes in the fridge. It’s already full in there. Violet has some sort of fruit platter and a bunch of dips, including chocolate and non-dairy whipped topping. I move things around so everything fits.

  By six-fifteen I’m antsy. Usually Violet’s home by now, so I send her a message to check her status.

  I get one back five minutes later:

  Leaving work in 10!

  It’s accompanied by a kissy face emoticon. That’s disappointing. It takes her a good twenty minutes to get home, and that’s in good weather. It started snowing again around three. It’s just flurries, but it’ll slow her down. That means she’ll be at least another forty minutes. If not longer. I stay busy by setting the table and lighting candles. I put the bottle of champagne on ice and uncork a Riesling.

  At twenty to seven, I get another message from her:

  Sorry, got tied up! Just walking out the door. Home soon <3

  This is definitely not going the way I planned. I check on dinner. It’s still warm, so that’s good, but it’s been in the oven for almost an hour. I figure there’s nothing I can do but wait, so I flop down on the couch, turn on the TV, and channel surf.

  Half an hour passes, and Violet’s still not home. I don’t want to annoy her, but I’m starting to worry. Just as I’m about to send her another message, the house alarm beeps.

  “I’m home!” she calls.

  I pick myself up off the couch, straighten my button down, which is now wrinkled, and greet her at the side door. She’s leaning against the wall, tugging off her knee-high boots. She shrugs out of her coat and lets it drop, along with her purse. On the floor beside her is a box of files.

  She blows her hair out of her face and opens her arms, leaning forward as I step into her. She mashes her face against my chest. “I could fall asleep right here.”

  My irritation at her lateness wanes. “Long day?”

  “So long, and hard. Like your dick.”

  I chuckle. “Hungry?”

  “For your dick?”

  I laugh again. “For dinner, but you can have him for dessert, if you want.”

  She pries herself off me. It seems to take some effort. She really does look like she could pass out standing up. “Jimmy got me takeout from that Thai place down the street a couple hours ago.”

  Fucking Jimmy. Ruining my date plan. “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry. I mean, if you want to order takeout I’m sure I could have something small.” She fingers the collar of my shirt. “Oh. Were you planning to take me out?”

  “No. I, uh, I ordered in for us. Darren told me about the proposal for the Darcy account, and I thought we could have a kind of dual celebration. You know, like celebrate our anniversary and the account at the same time since we didn’t get to have dinner last night.”

  “Oh, Alex, you’re the sweetest. I meant to tell you about it, but then we got naked and obviously I forgot. I didn’t eat all that much, and it was at, like, five, so I can eat again.”

  She slips a hand behind my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. It’s a quick one, though, with no tongue.

  “We can eat in the living room,” I offer. “It looks like you’d set up for a picnic or something there last night.”

  Violet bites her lip and her eyes widen with mischief. “Oh my God! I totally forgot about that! We’ll have to save room for my dessert.”

  “To go with my cock?”

  “Mmm.” She pats my bulge. “I have special plans for him.”

  I smile. “I love special plans. Why don’t you go hang out in the living room and get comfortable. I’ll bring dinner to you.”

  “You sure you don’t want any help?”

  “I got this.” I kiss from her neck to her cheek, then send her on down the hall.

  I guess it would’ve been a good idea to tell her what I was planning instead of assuming she’d be home by six like usual. I make a detour to the dining room and clean off the table, blowing out the candles and putting away the dishes so she doesn’t find them later and feel bad. I bring the champagne and glasses with me to the kitchen. It takes me a while to find the salad bowl. It’s in the wrong cupboard.

  I take dinner out of the oven. It looks a little dry, but smells fantastic. I give Violet a small portion, in case she feels obligated to eat it all, and transfer the plates to a tray.

  Crossing to the living room, I notice she’s changed the station from hockey to TLC. I stop short when I find her lying on the makeshift bed by the fireplace.

  Her skirt is on the floor, but she’s wearing leggings, so she’s still mostly dressed. The first three buttons of her shirt are open, with her lacy bra peeking out. She looks like she’s ready for some fun. My dick thinks so, too, and immediately stands at attention. Except her eyes are closed and her lips are parted—and not because she’s got her hand in her panties.

  I set the tray on the coffee table. Her chest rises and falls at regular intervals. Sinking down beside her, I run a finger across her cheek. “Violet? Baby?” She doesn’t move at all.

  I could wake her, but she’s obviously exhausted from last night. And probably stressed about presenting her proposal for the Darcys. I press a kiss to her forehead, cover her with a blanket, and grab the remote. Sitting on the couch on the other side of the room, I change the TV back to hockey and settle in with my dinner.

  So much for an awesome night of celebrations and blow jobs.

  4

  Unbliss

  VIOLET

  I wake up at three in the morning. The first thing I notice is that I’m starving. I’m also in bed. With Alex, which makes sense considering the time. Except I have zero recollection of getting here. And I’m wide awake—like, ready to get up and start my day, which is insane, considering it’s the middle of the night.

  Alex is sleeping on his side, one massive arm tucked under the pillow. He protectively cups my boob with the other hand. He’s frowning in his sleep. He has a game tonight, and when he’s worried about his competition, sometimes he gets anxious. They’re playing Toronto, and Alex has a longstanding hate-on with one of their players.

  My stomach rumbles loudly, so I slip out of bed. A midnight snack will help calm the beast in my belly. I’m wearing a tank top and a pair of my Marvel Comics underpants. I wasn’t wearing them when I went to work today, and I don’t remember getting changed.

  Confused by my lack of recall, I grab my robe from the bathroom, shove my feet into slippers, and pad down the hall. The light from the kitchen illuminates the stairs enough that I don’t trip my way down. I head straight for the fridge. Inside are takeout boxes from my favorite restaurant and the fruit platter I prepared two days ago.

  I review what happened when I arrived home from work last night. I was tired—that’s for sure. After a night of very little sleep and a lot of make-up-for-missed orgasms with Alex, plus our argument before work, I spent the morning in meetings, the afternoon working on Buck’s account, and then finally, at the end of the day I made time to review the changes on my PowerPoint for the Darcy account.

  It shouldn’t have been difficult. All the legwork has already been done, but it’s my first presentation, and the account is huge, so I don’t want to fuck it up. I stayed at work way later than I’d planned.

  Alex told me he had a nice d
inner prepared to celebrate our most recent sexiversary and the Darcy account. I went to hang out in the living room to wait. I even freshened up my beaver in the bathroom. And then I laid down…

  Oh, shit.

  I fell asleep on him.

  I owe Alex a blow job. Probably more than one now. And I still haven’t had the opportunity to use all the fun treats and items I purchased to celebrate our sexiversary. Not that we didn’t do a good job celebrating already, I just had other tasty plans to go with it.

  I check the takeout box. Alex ordered me chicken parmesan from the place that uses lactose-free cheese. It’s stupidly expensive, but it tastes amazing and doesn’t give me the moops. He’s so sweet and considerate.

  It makes me feel bad for denying him sex yesterday morning, and then taunting him with the prospect of a blowy in the car, but his dismissal of my job is frustrating. My modest salary doesn’t mean my career is valueless. I like doing what I do, and it helps people. For one thing, I know I’ve kept Buck from screwing up his monetary future. Plus, my minimal financial contribution at least allows me to pretend I have some kind of independence.

  I’m living in Alex’s massive house, driving the car he bought me, wearing the clothes his credit cards pay for, and rocking a huge diamond. I need to hold on to at least a tiny piece of my old self. My damn job is the way I’m managing this. I’m good at it. It gives me something to do with my time. I have friends there. And a few enemies, but they’re mostly jealous. Understandably so. I get a lot of perks, and not just because I know how to manage money.

  My mom might be a bit of a hippie flake, but she taught me some things—such as never be dependent on someone else to feed you. She never relied on anyone to pay the bills or make life easier. We made our life what it was. The second I was old enough to have a part-time job, I got one. I volunteered, I tutored, and I always had money in my bank account because I put it there.

  I don’t want to end up being one of those overly pampered women whose entire life revolves around her man. And I’m not referring to the ones with kids, because I can’t even imagine what you do with those things after they shoot out of your vag. Gold stars to them. I mean the ladies who exist from one lunch date or Botox injection to the next. The fact that I get my nails done every three weeks already feels highly overindulgent.

  While I hate it when Alex is away, it’s actually good for me. Otherwise I’d likely stop hanging out with my friends and only spend time with him. Quitting my job takes me one step closer to that reality, and I’ve never been that girl.

  I mean, eventually I’ll take reduced hours, or work from home or something. One day I’ll want to have Alex’s pretty little hockey babies, but that’s years away. First we have to tie the noose. I need to be his ball and chain for a minimum of three years before his super sperm start doing the job nature intended. I figure we can start with one and see how it goes. If it doesn’t completely ruin my boobs, we can go for round two.

  The microwave beeps, and I take out my reheated meal. The edges of the chicken parm are dried out, and some of the noodles are crunchy, but it’s still tasty.

  It’s four a.m. by the time I finish my snack. I’m still not tired. I consider waking Alex with a surprise BJ, but with the game tonight, that’s not a good idea. He needs to be well rested. If he’s up before I leave for work, I’ll get on my knees and choke on his dick.

  He’s been stressed since Balls was traded to the team this season. He’s a forward, and younger than Alex. He’s fast on the ice and showing his worth to the team. It worries Alex, not only because Balls is an excellent player, but because Alex’s shoulder has been giving him problems lately, and he thinks it’s affecting his game.

  Aware that going back to bed is pointless, I put my dishes in the dishwasher and grab my files for the Darcy account. I might as well get some work done if I’m awake.

  By six I’m tired again. I trudge upstairs to catch an hour of sleep before my alarm goes off. Alex is starfished on the bed, hugging my pillow. I fit myself into his body, and he immediately pulls me up against him, nuzzling his nose into my hair. He palms my breast, and his dick nestles against the divide in my ass. I tense for a second, but I’m wearing underwear, so it’s not like he can attempt an invasion. Plus, he’s said he wouldn’t.

  He grumbles something and settles back into sleep. I close my eyes and drift, lulled into dreams by the warm comfort of his body.

  My alarm goes off at seven-ten. Alex’s arm tightens around my waist when I reach for my phone.

  “If you want a morning blowy, you need to let me shut off my alarm.”

  He releases me instantly. I chuckle and cut the music blaring from my phone. When I turn to look at Alex, he’s already thrown the sheets off. His erection stands straight up, flag-poling with excitement. His fingers are laced behind his head, thick biceps flexing and the outline of his new tattoo jumping with the movement.

  I have to admit, it’s pretty damn sexy. It’s such a cool design with the Cup and his team logo intertwined. I went with him when he got it done. His tattoo artist is a goddamn wet dream, even if he’s super intimidating. All the artists in that shop are drop-dead gorgeous. It’s like a hotbed of sexy covered in tattoos and piercings. I’m definitely going when he gets the color done so I can get in another ogle session. It almost makes me want a tattoo, except they hurt, and I don’t like pain.

  I hold up my finger. “Give me a sec.”

  “You don’t need to brush your teeth. It’s cool,” Alex’s voice trembles with anticipation.

  “Seriously. One second.” I jump off the bed and run to the bathroom, stripping off my tank as I go. I fill a tiny cup with mouthwash, tip it back, and then refill it while I swish and spit. Running back to bed, careful not to slosh the mouthwash, I hand Alex the cup and climb up to straddle him.

  I run my hands over his abs, lightly dragging my nails across his skin on the way down. He shudders, then tips the cup back, swishing a few times before he spits it back in. A little bit dribbles down his chin, but he swipes it away and grins.

  “I’m ready.”

  “I bet you are.” I crawl up his body, his erection bumping my stomach as I lean down to kiss him on the lips. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  He settles his hands on my waist. “I’m sorry about yesterday morning.”

  “I know you didn’t mean it, not the way it came out.” I kiss the center of his chest and move lower, stopping at each defined ridge along his stomach. As I get closer to the monster cock, I lift my gaze.

  Alex’s lids lower, and he groans when my breast bumps the head.

  I cup my boobs and squeeze them together. “Maybe you want to slide between these instead?”

  “I want it all,” he grates.

  “Tits, mouth, beave? In that order?”

  He nods, his smile dark.

  “Mmm… Feeling greedy?”

  “You have no idea.” He sits up in a rush, then flips me over so he’s on top. He yanks my panties off and tosses them over the side of the bed. He fits himself between my legs, his monster erection making contact with the Land of Beave. So of course I moan, because what other sound is there that adequately expresses my love for him and his super-special penis?

  Alex kisses me, his tongue warm and minty. Then he grabs the lube from the dresser, squirts a generous amount onto his cock, and starts stroking. I have a feeling I’m going to be walking funny this morning.

  -&-

  I’m not wrong. After sliding his dick between the valley of the boobs and getting his dick lollipopped, Alex fucked three orgasms out of me. Getting dressed isn’t easy when my bones are made of pudding.

  Work is fine, but word has spread that I’m presenting the Darcy account, and I’m getting lots of looks from some of the people who’ve been here slaving away for much longer than I have. Most of the looks aren’t very friendly.

  Charlene stops by my desk at lunch. “Want to run across the street and get a bite to eat?”

  �
��I can’t. I need to work on this.” I motion to my computer screen and then my desk. It looks like a paper bomb exploded. The presentation is essentially done now, but I’m so stressed about fucking it up that I can’t stop going over the stats, double and triple-checking to make sure everything is accurate for my run-through with Stroker at the end of the week.

  “Just take fifteen minutes. We’ll get it to go and come back. We can eat in the conference room, and you can tell me about your blow-job lips from this morning.”

  I give her the bird, but relent. She’s right. I need to take a break. I’ve been at it for almost four hours, and my eyes are starting to cross.

  I grab my coat and purse, and we head for the elevators. Dean comes out of the men’s bathroom as we pass. He’s wearing his coat and a fedora. I thought that hat trend had died, but it seems to work for him.

  “You ladies lunching?” he asks, falling into step with us.

  “We’re grabbing something and coming right back, but you’re welcome to join us.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Where’s Jimmy?” He and Dean are usually together.

  Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets. “He’s got a meeting with a client in twenty, so I’ll bring him something back.”

  The elevator arrives, and it’s packed, but we manage to squeeze in. I face Charlene and stare at her cheek the entire ride down while she stares at Dean’s neck. I blow on her hair to be annoying.

  “So, I gotta ask, how’s Waters feel about you taking on the Darcy account?” Dean asks once we’re out of the elevator.

  “I’m presenting; that doesn’t mean the account will be mine.” I sincerely hope the account will be mine, but there’s always the possibility that I’ll say something dumb or mess up and screw my chances. Usually with work stuff I keep it together, unlike in real life when my censor button isn’t required most of the time.

  “Come on, Vi, you know if you rock it they’re giving you the account. And with you managing Butterson’s finances, and marrying Waters, you’ve got it in the bag.” Dean doesn’t sound encouraging, more like he’s irritated and jealous.