Forever PUCKED (Pucked #4)

by Helena Hunting

  I may pretend not to like all the gifts and the excessive sexiversary celebrations, but I’ve gotten used to them, just like I’m getting used to money going into my account all the time.

  “I shouldn’t drink with the roads the way they are.” Charlene gestures to the white fluff skimming the windshield.

  “You could stay over.”

  “I don’t have a change of clothes, and all your stuff is too small. Except in the chest.” She puts her car in park. “Want some help with your beaver?”

  “What?” At first I think she means my actual beaver, but then I realize she’s not propositioning me. “Oh. Right. No, I can get it.”

  “Okay.” She gives me a bright smile, followed by a big yawn. “See you in the morning!”

  I get that no one else is celebrating their sexiversary, but I feel like I’m the only one who’s really bummed the boys aren’t going to be home tonight.

  Getting the beaver out of the trunk is harder than I expect. He’s crammed in there pretty good, and Charlene’s trunk is small and tight—almost exactly how Alex would describe my real beaver.

  I tug until he comes free, close Char’s trunk, and wave at her through the rear window. She honks and takes off as I shift the beaver around so I can see the stairs.

  Coming home to an empty house is like spraining a wrist while watching porn: frustrating and unsatisfying. Stupid fucking snowstorm.

  Getting up the stairs to the front door also isn’t as easy as it should be. I trip on the last step and fall, but thankfully the beaver acts as a cushion, preventing me from hurting myself. I slap the snow off his beaver face and drag him to the door. Punching in the code, I shoulder my way inside. The front entry is dark, which is unusual. The lights are timed at night, unless the system’s malfunctioned. Maybe it has. Alex will have to call the guy who fixes his ridiculous security system. I heave the beaver into the foyer and hit something. I have no idea what, as I can’t see much.

  Smacking the wall beside me, I shut the door, blocking out the frigid wind. I finally find the light switch and flick it on. Which is the exact moment I scream like a man with his nuts caught in a vice.

  The foyer is filled with cardboard cutouts of Alex. His life-size condom advertisement is front and center, followed by his sports drink promo, the one for hockey sticks, the body wash advertisement, and even the one for the gel that soothes muscle aches. All of my Alex cutouts are welcoming me home, which would be cool, except it means someone has been inside the house, rearranging my shit. That’s freaking terrifying.

  “I have a gun!” I yell. This is a total lie. I’ve never even held a damn gun. Alex, who’s from Canada where they don’t even believe in guns, has held a gun, but I have not. I’m petrified that I’ll accidently shoot someone, or myself, so I can’t bring myself to go near one. Alex thinks it’s sweet.

  Right now I wish I’d had the balls to hit the shooting range at least once when Sidney, my stepdad, offered to take me this fall because this feels like the beginning of a really bad horror movie. I move the giant beaver in front of me, as if it’s going to protect me from the goddamn serial killer with an Alex cutout fetish.

  A figure steps out from behind one of the cutouts, and I scream again. This time it’s blood-curdling. I shove the beaver away from me, knocking over the first cardboard-cutout Alex. A domino effect follows, the two-dimensional versions of my man dropping to the floor with a whoosh and a series of low thuds. I turn around and start reefing on the door, trying to get out, but I’ve locked it, so it’s not opening. And I’m freaking.

  “Violet, baby, it’s me.” Alex’s voice penetrates the haze of my terror. I stop trying to escape and turn to face him. There he is in 3D, standing in the middle of the fallen versions of himself.

  “You scared the shit out of me!” I throw my purse at him.

  He lunges to catch it before it can hit the floor. It was about three feet shy of hitting him.

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise you.” He’s smiling through his apology, which irks me.

  I point at him. “It’s not funny. You almost gave me a heart attack! I thought some psycho had broken into the house.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that.” His hands are raised, probably to reassure me that he’s not a hologram, but in fact my real fiancé, and that he really is sorry. I’m not sure I buy it; he’s still got a dimple popping. He takes tentative steps toward me, just in case I decide to kung fu him in the balls or something, I guess.

  “Well, consider me surprised.” It’s a good thing I didn’t have the dairy or I would’ve shit my damn pants. “Why didn’t you call me to let me know you were going to be home?”

  “It wouldn’t have been much of a surprise then, would it?”

  I replay dinner in my head: all the texts the girls were getting, their excitement at going home to dick-free beds.

  “How long have you been planning this?” I cross my arms over my chest.

  Alex’s gaze darts down and stays there, despite the fact that I’m wearing a huge winter jacket and my boobs are hidden. “Only since we got stuck at the rest stop earlier today. I really wasn’t sure if we were going to make it home. Then we got back on the road, and I decided I’d surprise you. I got here about half an hour ago. I had just enough time to set this up.” He gestures to the fallen Alexes, and then to the beaver lying face down on the floor. “I see you got my present.”

  I give him my bitch brow. I spent the last three hours thinking my beaver was sleeping alone tonight. I’m still getting over that, so I’m not as nice as I should be. “Thanks for sending it to my work.”

  “You don’t like it? The pictures you sent me seem to indicate otherwise.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “Which is why you love it.” He tucks my damp hair behind my ear, skimming my cheek with warm fingers.

  I try to remain annoyed. “Where are we going to put it?”

  “I was thinking we could bring it to the Chicago cottage. It can be our mascot.”

  Alex has two cottages. He likes to buy property. The Chicago cottage is just as nice as his Ontario cottage and only two hours away, on Lake Geneva, instead of a plane ride followed by two hours in the car. The beaver would be appropriate at the Ontario cottage, since it’s in Canada, but I don’t think they’d let it on the plane. The Chicago cottage isn’t a bad second choice. Not that this is relevant to anything.

  I haven’t seen Alex in eight days. It’s our First Real Date Sexiversary, and I totally didn’t expect him to be here tonight. Although my heart still feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest for a multitude of reasons, all I want is to rub up on him like a bear on a tree, or a beaver on some wood. Either way, there needs to be rubbing. Preferably leading to an orgasm.

  He pulls me close, wrapping me in his arms, and I sink into him. He’s so warm and solid and perfect. “I’m glad you’re home, even if you almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “Me, too. I missed you.” His hands move to my ass, and he squeezes softly. He bends to kiss me, which is when I get a whiff of stale, oniony yuck.

  I purse my lips and wrinkle my nose. “Smells like you made out with a Big Mac.”

  He grimaces. “That bad, eh?”

  He’s close talking, so even though I try not to breathe, I still get hit with another shot of grossness. He smells like diesel exhaust, sweat masked with deodorant, and fast food.

  “What’d you eat? A plate of raw onions?”

  “We stopped at a diner. I had a burger.” He sounds apologetic. Our dinners matched.

  As much as I’ve missed him, I’m not having sex with him like this. I might have a year ago, but now I can wait until he showers and brushes his teeth. I should probably do the same.

  “Let’s go get cleaned up,” I suggest.

  Alex picks me up in a frontwards piggyback—a piggyfront—and carries me up the stairs. I don’t bother trying to make conversation; I’m too busy kissing his neck, which tastes salty, but
otherwise fine. Alex adjusts his grip when we get to the bedroom and pushes the door open. Candles cast a dim glow around the room, and rose petals—real, not fake based on the smell—litter the comforter. No wonder he hasn’t had time to shower. He’s been setting up a romantic reunion—apart from freaking me out with the cardboard-cutout army, anyway.

  Little does he know I have plans of my own for us, and all the important stuff is downstairs in the living room by the fireplace. The rest is in the fridge. It’s okay, though. If we don’t make it down there tonight, there’s always tomorrow, or the day after that.

  He sets me on the bed and leans down, resting his head on my boobs so he can nuzzle in. When he pulls away after what I feel is too short a time, I clamp my legs around his waist.

  He shifts so his chin rests in the valley of my boobs. His expression is serious, but his eyes reveal his amusement. “I can’t get clean if you won’t let me go.”

  He runs a gentle hand down the outside of my thigh, stopping at the back of my knee, urging me to disengage. I can feel the monster cock. He’s already excited about being close to my beaver, so I’m reluctant to let go. Alex has a point, though.

  My skirt is pooled around my waist, but I’m wearing opaque tights, so he can’t see anything important. Like my undies. I can’t remember which ones I put on this morning, having been in a bit of a rush.

  Alex straightens with his palms still hooked under my knees. His hands are rough; I can hear the nylon fabric catching as he kneads the backs of my calves. I don’t care though, he’s touching me, and it’s been more than a week, so I’m good with having to buy new tights. I can afford it.

  His eyes move up my body, like he’s studying a familiar map. He rubs his scruffy beard. “You want me to shave?”

  “Please.” My skin is extra sensitive in the winter. I don’t want it to get all chafed, otherwise it will put a damper on sexy times this week. Whenever Alex comes home from being away, we have a lot of make-up-for-missed-occasions sex.

  Alex lifts his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor. I’ll never get tired of looking at his hard, hot body. I don’t dare look away as he pops the button on his jeans and lowers the zipper. He pushes them to his ankles and steps out of them. Then the socks come off. I press my knees together as he slips his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and drags them down. It’s like a striptease with no music, except for the rapid beating of my heart and the moan I accidentally set free.

  He’s gloriously naked and already hard. His erection juts straight out, the one eye staring right at me. Maybe the shower isn’t all that important after all. I can deal with the onion breath and exhaust-fumes smell. I sit up and reach for him, but he takes a step back.

  A small smirk tugs at the corner of his plush lips. “I thought you wanted me to get clean first.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “What about shaving?”

  “Shaving’s for pussies. Bring it here.” I motion him forward, but he doesn’t move, so I pull my shirt over my head.

  Which is when I realize I’m wearing a really ugly bra. It’s old, and while it was once white, it’s now all discolored and greying on the straps. There’s even a snag in the satiny fabric over my left boob.

  Alex lifts an eyebrow as his focus shifts from my face to my chest. “Nice.”

  “I was going to change after work!” My initial plan was to get suited up in new lingerie—which I purchased earlier in the week when Alex talked about celebrating the next sexiversary—before I was under the wrongful impression that he wouldn’t be home tonight. I hurry to unclasp it, but of course, even that isn’t in the best shape, so it’s more difficult than usual. I’m writhing around on the bed like a tasered eel.

  Alex chuckles and heads for the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Get naked and get in the shower with me.”

  He reaches in and turns on the tap, adjusting the temperature. He’s half bent over, giving me a fabulous view of his perfect, tight ass. His ass really is fantastic—so muscular, so awesome for holding onto when he’s pounding the orgasms out of me.

  Alex opens the vanity and retrieves his shaving kit. He could totally forgo that part, and he knows I won’t complain, but he’s torturing me now. Whatever. Two can play at this game.

  I kneel on the bed and pretend I’m watching him, which of course I am. I can also see my reflection in the mirror, which means so can he. Now that the hideous bra is gone, I take my time stripping out of the rest of my clothes while he uses the trimmer. It’ll take his beard down enough to make shaving with a razor possible.

  Alex glances at me as I drag the zipper down on my skirt and let it fall to the bed. Before I do the same with my tights I pull out the waistband and take a peek at my panties. They’re also ugly and in horrible condition, so I speed up my impromptu striptease and push them over my hips together with the tights.

  Thankfully, I had the foresight to take care of my beaver bush before Alex came home. I saunter into the bathroom. He isn’t even paying attention to what he’s doing to his face anymore. He keeps going over the same spot repeatedly while he watches my approach.

  The room is already filling with steam. When I’m close enough, I press my boobs against his back and hug him from behind.

  I run my hands over his abs, then lower, past his navel. I stop short of his massive erection, which incidentally is resting on top of the vanity with beard clippings sprinkled over it. Instead of grabbing his dick, I reach for my toothbrush and the toothpaste. If he’s going to the trouble to freshen up, I should, too.

  He’s eyeing me with something close to contempt, or maybe it’s sheer animal lust. Either way, it’s reminiscent of the look he wears when he’s in the penalty box. Sex after games when Alex has gotten a penalty is always the best. He gets so riled up. I take my toothbrush into the shower with me, wiping away the fog on the inside so I can watch Alex through the glass.

  He’s in a funny mood tonight. I can’t quite gauge it. He’s slow and methodical with the shaving routine. I realize this is purposeful. I denied him when I walked in the door. It might not have had anything to do with whether I wanted him, but he’s taken offense nonetheless. My fiancé is sensitive.

  Once he’s finished shaving, he moves on to brushing his teeth. Then he rinses with mouthwash and follows up with a Listerine PocketPak strip. It’s probably overkill, but he’s courteous like that, and the onion breath is the reason we’re not currently having sex. When he starts cleaning up after himself, I decide I’ve had enough of waiting.

  I squirt some body wash on my palms and rub them together, then massage it into my chest.

  “Alex?” I wait until he looks at me before I press my boobs against the glass. “Are you ready for me?”

  His lids lower and the tic below his left eye tells me what I already know: he sure as fuck is.

  He drops the shaving cream on the vanity, or at least attempts to, but he misses and it hits the floor with a tinny thump. He doesn’t seem to notice as he opens the shower door and steps inside. I don’t even get a chance to turn around before he’s pressed against me. He runs a palm across my collarbone and along my neck. Turning my head toward him, he kisses the corner of my mouth.

  “Don’t you have anything to say to me today?” he asks softly.

  “I missed you.”

  “I know that. I missed you, too. Anything else?” He skims my side with his free hand, and I jerk as he brushes past the ticklish spot.

  “I love you.”

  “I know that, too.” His fingers travel over my hip and then lower, stopping shy of my very hungry beaver.

  He’s waiting for something, but I’m not sure what. I filter through our conversations over text today… I acknowledged the beaver, and I’m sure I thanked him for it. Then it dawns on me.

  “Happy sexiversary, Alex.”

  He stills, fingertips digging in. “Anniversary, Violet. It’s our anniversary.”

  “I thought we celebrated that last mo
nth. Besides, all the anniversaries we have include sexing, which sounds more fun,” I explain.

  “Mmm. I see your point. But I think this one is particularly special since you agreed to do more than just let me get inside you.” He sounds the tiniest bit hurt.

  “Happy anniversary, Alex,” I murmur, appeasing him.

  I feel his smile on my cheek. Because he’s won. I’m okay with that; in the end, we’ll both win. He turns my head so he can get to my mouth. It’s a soft kiss, warm and wet and minty. I want to turn around so we’re front to front, but he still has me pressed against the glass. When I push my ass out, he shifts his hips forward and his erection slides over my wet skin. He cups me with his wide palm, and I groan, anticipating his fingers.

  Now don’t get me wrong, I jill off like the rest of the female population when our significant other is out of town, but it’s not nearly as gratifying as when the person you love does the work for you.

  “Happy anniversary, baby. I’m glad I made it home to celebrate with you.”

  The hand over my beaver moves up instead of down, and I start to protest, but Alex’s tongue sweeps out to tangle with mine. I grab his hair and crane my neck, leaning into him, trying to get closer even though there’s no space between us. He palms one of my breasts and groans, low and deep. Jesus. We’re so fucking horny. This first round is going to be quick and dirty.

  Alex releases my chin and takes a step back so I’m no longer pressed against the glass. Now that I have room to move, I try to turn, but he tightens his arm around my waist. With his lips on my shoulder, he drags his forearm down the glass, wiping away the fog.

  The bathroom door is open and the fan is on, allowing the steam to escape and preventing the vanity mirror from being obscured. Through the water-spotted glass I have a perfect view of Alex groping my boob with his mouth on my skin. I’m so glad I wore my contacts today.

  He’s so much bigger than me. The top of my head barely reaches his chin when he’s standing straight, and his shoulders are twice as wide as mine. His presence should be intimidating, but I know that under all that fuckhot muscle is the sweetest, most romantic, sensitive man on the planet. Sometimes I can’t believe I managed to score such a hottie.