Forever Pucked (26 page)

Lily shrugs. “He went a lot of years without the joys of blowies. He deserves every last one of them.”

“Sometimes I give Alex the lollipop treatment so he isn’t as hard on the beaver,” I add.

I get murmurs of agreement, except for Charlene. She’s quiet on this one. Maybe because she lets Darren Area 51 her.

“At least you have boob sex as an option,” Lily points out.

I glance down at my rack and give the girls an affectionate squeeze, then poke Lily’s much smaller, but still nice, boob. “I’m sorry you don’t have mountains to slide between.”

Lily shrugs. “I make do with what I’ve got, and Randy loves them just fine.”

My phone buzzes with several new messages, all from Daisy and my mom. I give in and check them. Apparently there’s some urgency to booking one of these places, as they have five people interested in the same weekend in August that Alex and I suggested. This particular venue accommodates four hundred people.

It’s excessive and unnecessary.

I keep saying I want to keep it small, and Alex agrees. I’ve sent the moms messages indicating this, as has Alex, but then his mom sends me stuff like this, and I wonder if we’re going to be able to get away with having the wedding we want. Or more that I want. Alex doesn’t have a thing against big weddings. He just wants me to be happy and to be his wife. But I’m not sure even he has enough power to keep the moms in check. Although in his defense, I haven’t told him about the recent insurgence of interference. I think they’re having trouble understanding that he’s taking the reins on this one.

We spend the rest of the afternoon being pampered and eating those tiny tea sandwiches with the crusts cut off. It’s luxurious and ridiculous, but I feel like I deserve it with the accident, the pregnancy, and now the wedding plans.

When we’re finished, Charlene drops Lily and Sunny off at their house first. I think the plan is for Buck to move in there as soon as he can.

I check my phone again and sigh. Twenty-three new messages from my mom and Daisy have appeared between leaving the spa and now. Two more are from Alex. Those are the ones I check. He wants an ETA so he can get dinner started. He also says he has an idea for the perfect wedding venue. I really hope so.

I message back to let him know I’m on my way.

He follows up by telling me he has some great news, and he can’t wait until I’m home so he can tell me. I wonder if it’s wedding-related—and then congratulate myself on the budding maturity that allows me to see something wedding-related as potentially good news.

“Alex is totally into the whole wedding thing?” Charlene says.

“
So
into it. I figured he’d be excited since he doesn’t have a whole lot to keep him occupied these days. He’s taken most of the details out of my hands, which is a good thing because I am not an event planner, as evidenced by the engagement party and the way our moms took over.”

“So he’s not driving you insane?”

“Surprisingly no. He’s been really good about it. It’s our moms who are the issue. They keep texting me.”

“You need to put a stop to that.”

“I’m sure once we figure out the venue it’ll be fine.” All the nice places Alex likes are booked out all the way until next summer. Now I get why people plan weddings way in advance.

“I hope so, for the sake of your sanity. How’s rehab going for Alex?”

“Slower than he’d like.” He’s only been able to start light workouts in the past week, but it’s been limited to lower body and he wants to do more than he should.

“Darren says he’s pushing himself hard.”

“He’s used to minor injuries. Logically he knows he won’t play again this season, but it’s really eating at him that he’s not going to be on the ice during playoffs.”

Charlene nods. “It’s been a hard season for the team.”

“It really has. He’s also been worried about what next season is going to look like. It’ll take the entire summer for him to recondition his shoulder.” I bite my nail, but stop before I ruin my manicure. “He thinks Randy’s going to take his position as primary center.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Randy’s really stepped it up since Alex has been out.” I feel like a traitor saying it out loud.

“That doesn’t mean they’re going to hand him Alex’s spot.”

“I know, but he’s concerned about it. If he isn’t planning our wedding, he’s watching the games on repeat. He makes notes on Randy’s moves, but if I ask he plays it off like he’s just staying on top of things.”

“He’s so competitive.”

“He really is. And he’s hyper-aware that he’s getting older. There aren’t a whole lot of players who make it much past thirty. Alex is afraid this injury could speed up his retirement.” I scratch my wrist. I’ve already taken an antihistamine. I can’t go home with hives.

“He has a plan for what he wants to do after his hockey career is over, though, right?”

“Oh, he sure does. He wants to get me pregnant so I can birth his next hockey team.”

Charlene barks out a laugh. “You and Alex will have pretty hockey babies. Let’s hope they have his coordination; otherwise they’ll be well-read accountants.”

“Amen to that. It’d be nice to have kids whose GPAs aren’t thrown off by crappy marks in phys ed. You know, if they had a class in like, Tai Chi or something, I might’ve had a hope in hell of getting a legitimate, solid B.”

“Instead your boobs got it for you.”

“Gotta love the perks of perky boobs. I’ll be sad when mine start sagging.”

“Shh!” Charlene cups one of hers. “Don’t talk about things like that. Besides, you’ll be able to afford to have the girls lifted if you’re desperate to defy gravity.”

“So true. But this whole marrying a hockey player thing is way more complicated than I ever imagined.”

“At least you’ve found the love of your life. You’ll work through all the hard parts.”

“He really is amazing. I can deal with the complications if it means spending the rest of my life with him.”

Speaking of hard parts, I’m looking forward to jumping on Alex’s when I get home. My nails aren’t the only thing I had decorated this afternoon.

-&-

Extra-loud music greets me when I open the door, as does the smell of bacon and pancakes. I’ve discovered Alex likes to cook, and he’s good at it. Being out for the rest of the season means he’s less restrictive about his diet, too, so it’s not all whole-grain this and high-fiber that.

I find him in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove making pancakes. In his boxer briefs. His Super MC boxer briefs. On the back it says Violet’s ASS. On the front is a Superman-style logo with MC in the middle instead of an S.

His hair is wet. It’s still longer than usual these days, curling around his ears. I observe him for a minute, since he’s still unaware that I’m home thanks to the music blasting through the speakers. This isn’t Alex’s usual music choice. I listen to the lyrics as I stare at his ass—his super-tight ass, enveloped in red cotton.

I realize I know this song. It’s from my favorite movie, and it’s about Oreos. Actually it’s about beaver licking, and it’s super dirty. Alex busts out when the chorus comes on and shakes his ass a little. It’s awesome. And cute, and kind of sexy.

It isn’t until he flips the pancakes that I realize his arm isn’t in a sling, and his ribs aren’t taped. The bruises are gone, apart from a few yellowish spots on his shoulder and legs.

“What’s going on here?”

Alex startles and looks over his shoulder. “Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you come in.” He grabs the remote from the counter and turns the volume down.

“You’re not wearing your sling.”

I drop my purse on the counter and come up behind him. Snaking an arm around his waist, I press my boobs against his back. His skin is warm, and he smells like my favorite body wash.

“That’s what I wanted to tell you! Doc gave me the all clear. No more sling.”

It’s been over a month since the accident, but the doctors projected at least six weeks before he’d be out of a sling. “Really?”

Alex moves the pan off the burner and turns around so my boobs are pressed against his abs instead of his back. And now his snuffie is pressed against my stomach.

He tucks my hair behind my ear with the hand attached to the injured arm and shoulder. “Really. And it looks like there isn’t any negative residual impact from the concussion either.”

I hug him tightly, relieved. More than the broken body parts and obvious physical wounds, this was the part we were most anxious about. “That’s awesome news. Doesn’t this mean you’re ahead of what the doctors projected?”

“Yeah, by almost two weeks. The doctor said I can start a modified workout schedule to rehabilitate my arm.”

“That’s so good, Alex.”

“I think so, too. I’m looking forward to having my stamina back.” He shifts his hips so I can feel him growing.

“I love your stamina.”

He skims my arms with his fingertips, unhooking my hands from around his waist so he can see my fingernails. “You have a good time with the girls?” It’s a French manicure except for my index fingers. Those are painted white with the Super MC logo nail stickers I had made for shits and giggles.

“We had fun like we always do.”

He kisses the back of my hand. “I like these.”

“I thought you might.”

Alex has a weird fixation with nice nails. He’s definitely mostly hard now.

“You get anything else done today?” He kisses the tip of every finger.

“My toes.”

“Oh yeah? Is that all? You were gone most of the day.” Alex bites my pinkie.

“Nope.”

“What else did you have done?”

I shrug. “Just the usual.”

“The usual?”

“You know, waxing, plucking, that kind of thing.”

“Does that mean you’re too sensitive?”

“Too sensitive for what?” I pretend like I don’t know what he’s talking about; obviously he means his dick, because it’s hard.

“What do you think?” Alex runs his hands down my sides, then reaches around and palms my ass, pulling me tighter against him.

“What about the pancakes?”

“They’ll stay warm in the oven.”

“Wanna go upstairs?”

“Not really.” Alex pulls my shirt over my head. He doesn’t bother to do any pre-bra-removal nuzzling; he flicks the clasp and bites his lip as the straps fall and my nipples appear.

He sighs and cups my boobs.

“You know what I’ve really missed?” Alex walks me backward until my butt hits the island. Then he lifts me by the waist and sets me on the counter.

“What’s that?”

“Being able to use both hands on you at the same time.”

He cups my boobs again and bows his head, pushing his face into my cleavage. “And my mouth.”

The stitches across the bridge of his nose came out two weeks ago, and the scar isn’t as bad as I expected it to be, thanks to the plastic surgeon. The scar fits in with the slight bump from his nose being broken more than once.

I run my hands through his hair and over his shoulders. The muscles in his back flex with my touch, and his deep groan vibrates through my body.

Ever since the accident, Alex has been understandably frustrated by the restrictions and limitations. His inability to take control of things has been a source of angst and irritation. I tried to do what I could to make it easier for him, but I don’t think I realized how much it impacted his sex drive until now. Because when he lifts his head, the look on his face is eerily similar to the one he wore when he fucked me against the lockers at the arena.

Or the time he fucked me against the wall when I lived, however briefly, in that apartment building. My beaver perks right up, getting nice and drooly in preparation for what I’m thinking is going to be a seriously kickass sex session on our kitchen island.

Alex threads his fingers through my hair and kisses along my throat and over my chin. He backs up enough so I can look him in the eyes, though he’s still holding my hair. His eyes roam my face. God, he looks intense. And totally in control. Oh, Christ, I think my man is back.

“Do you know what I want to do right now, baby?”

“Make sweet love to me?” I breathe, hoping the answer is no.

His lip curls up. It’s more a lecherous sneer than his cute, dimple-popping smile. He shakes his head.

“You don’t want to have sex?” I’m playing dumb again. My beaver is so excited. If she had legit teeth she’d be gnashing through my panties to get to his wood.

The head of his cock is poking out of the convenience flap of his boxer briefs. The lights above us highlight the fact that the tip is glistening.

“I wanna have sex.” He bites my chin. “Just not the sweet kind.” His lips touch mine again, soft and tender, so contrary to his tone and his words.

I pull out my phone sex operator voice and run my socked foot up the outside of his leg. “What kind of sex do you want to have, Alex?”

He trails kisses along the edge of my jaw to my ear and whispers, “The dirty kind.”

I shiver.

And then, because no matter what, Alex is still a polite Canadian man—even when he wants to have hot, dirty sex—he adds, “But only if that’s okay with you.”

I drag my nails down his chest and over the ridges of his abs. “Maybe you should tell me what kind of dirty things you want to do to me before I decide.”

Having been with Alex for a year, I can say with absolute certainty that sex with him is never boring or predictable. Sometimes he’s a gentle, sweet lover, and other times, like now, he’s good for an intense, hard fuck.

He kisses his way back up to my mouth and slips his tongue inside, stroking softly. At the same time, his grip on my hair tightens. He’s in quite the mood this afternoon. We haven’t had beaver-banging sex since before the accident. I’m looking forward to walking like I’ve been riding a horse.

Before I can deepen the kiss, Alex pulls back. Actually, he uses my hair to pull me back. “First, I’m gonna get you naked right here. You on board with that?”

“Totally on board.”

“Excellent.” He kisses me again, but this time there’s no tongue. When he breaks the connection, I moan, and he smiles. It’s so sinister. And hot.
Jesus
. I can’t wait to get sexed. “And then I’m gonna finger-fuck you until you come all over my hand. Sound good?”