Forever Pucked (8 page)

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.

“I don’t manage Alex’s money.”

“He’s got contacts, though, obviously, and you’ll be managing his money soon enough. Or is he making you sign a pre-nup?”

“Say what now?” I stumble when I hit a slippery patch on the sidewalk and grab Charlene’s arm for balance.

“You can’t honestly think he’ll marry you without a pre-nup. I mean, he’s worth a fortune. His house alone has to be worth two-point-five mil, and all the other property he owns, plus bank?”

I frown. “He’s never mentioned a pre-nup.”

“They haven’t even set a date yet, Dean,” Charlene snaps.

“I’m just saying, don’t be surprised if he does. He’s protecting his assets. You can hardly blame him.”

I don’t say anything in response. Obviously I have no desire to bleed Alex dry should our relationship not work out the way we intend, but a pre-nup seems a lot like failure is an expectation. This indicates again why I need to keep this job. I can’t imagine being left with nothing and no employment prospects. I guess I can see Dean’s point, but it would kind of hurt if Alex dropped something like that on me without discussing it first.

Especially since he’s constantly throwing money at me. He’ll ask me to buy something sexy for one of our date nights and then drop three thousand dollars in my account. What the hell kind of sex wear am I buying? One of these days I’m going to bedazzle my vagina with Swarovski crystals to be a smart ass.

“So anyway, back to my original question…” Dean looks at me expectantly. When I stare blankly back, he rolls his eyes. “Waters? How does he feel about the Darcy account?”

“He’s happy for me, I guess?” Despite his repeated comments about quitting my job, he did want to celebrate me getting to present, so that has to be good.

“Really? Huh.” Dean raises his perfectly groomed villain eyebrows and opens the door to the café, ushering Charlene and me in ahead of him.

I accept his chivalry. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dean blinks innocently. “Nothing.”

We get in line, and I look to Charlene, who’s doing a terrible job of ignoring me while she reads the menu. She points enthusiastically at the special. “Oh, look! They have mushroom quiche!”

I wrinkle my nose. “Mushrooms are disgusting. They remind me of severed dick heads.”

Dean makes a gagging sound. “You need a therapist, Violet.”

“People who eat mushrooms need therapists,” I shoot back.

“Shh!” Charlene warns.

I roll my eyes; it’s a noisy café. “No one cares about my aversion to phallus-shaped fungus.”

A tiny old lady in front of us turns to glare. I guess her hearing aids are working fine. I smile at her until she looks away, and then address Charlene. “So I don’t get it. What’s the deal with the Darcy account? I mean, aside from everyone being pissed that I might get it even though I don’t have any real experience dealing with massive amounts of money, other than Buck’s.”

She and Dean exchange another look.

I throw up my hands. “Seriously, you two, if you’re trying to be incognito about this crap you’re failing. What’s the damn deal?”

Dean tries to smirk, but it looks more like a weird facial tic. “I’m guessing you haven’t heard the rumors.”

“What rumors?” Sometimes Dean is worse with gossip than a thirteen-year-old girl. Occasionally his style is also reminiscent of that particular age group.

“They’re swingers.”

I blink at him. It’s loud in here. Maybe I heard him wrong. “Pardon?”

“Swingers.” He says it slowly, making it two distinct syllables—like I’m an idiot, which admittedly, sometimes I am. But he’s being a jerk, and not in a funny way. More of an intentionally antagonistic way.

“I’m assuming you don’t mean they have a trapeze-artist fetish or something.”

“Nope.”

“So, like, they sleep with other people’s significant others?” Who the hell does that in this decade?

“That’s the rumor.”

“Well, where did the rumor come from? And how do you know it’s even true? I mean, let’s be logical. People used to think Alex was a manwhore who slept with three chicks in one night, and we all know that’s not true.”

“We don’t really
know
, though, do we? He just told you it didn’t happen, and you believe him,” Dean points out.

“He refuted the evidence, and the people who were with him that night corroborated it,” I reply.

“And all of those people happen to be
his
people. Like his sister.” Dean has the villain eyebrow going again. “Of course she’s going to defend his position.”

“His position?” I snort, even though my stomach is doing horrible somersaulty things. “This isn’t a criminal court case. And Sunny can’t lie. She’s worse than me. Have you ever seen her try to lie? It’s ridiculous. Alex did not bone three chicks in one night. End of story.”

“If you say so.” Dean’s smirking again.

“Why are you being like this today?”

“I’m just making a point. Usually there’s some truth in rumors. Waters may not have banged loads of bunnies, but he sure stuck his tongue in a lot of their mouths. Who knows if he did it with his dick, too.”

“Dean!” Charlene hisses, slapping his arm.

“What?” He looks around.

People are staring, and for once, I’m not the cause of the embarrassment. But I’m sure feeling the effects. I’m sure my face is blotchy. I look at the floor and let my hair shield my face from all the curious eyeballs.

Thankfully it’s our turn in line. I step up to the counter and order a BLT and a drink, then move aside. I don’t say anything else while we’re in the café, and Dean’s busy on his phone, doing whatever he does when he’s not being an asshole to me, apparently.