PUCKED (A Standalone Romantic Comedy) (The Pucked Series Book 1)

VIOLET

Orgasm high or not, I sure as shit know I said something I shouldn’t have.

Thankfully, Alex is currently riding his own rocket into orgasm outer space. I hope it’s enough of a distraction that he missed my accidental declaration. His jaw is clenched tight, lips curled in an almost-sneer, eyes cloudy, lids at half-mast. He thrusts one last time and then all the tension evaporates and his body goes lax.

He blinks slowly, his hands resting loosely on my hips. “What’d you say?”

So much for being distracted. “Nothing.” I draw a circle around his nipple with my nail.

“Bullshit.”

I’m not in love with him. This is only our first official date. Aside from almost a month’s worth of emails, texts, and a few interesting phone calls, plus a slew of unexpected gifts, I don’t know him well. I am inclined, however, to erect a shrine to his amazing super cock. I may even take up pottery or glass blowing so I can create perfect replicas and showcase them like he does his trophies.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” I bite his shoulder to avoid eye contact. I’m sure my face is a blotchy shade of bright red.

“Oh no?” He’s still moving me over him. It’s slow and torturous and oh so delicious. Every slow circle of his hips hits my special spot from the inside. A tiny, baby-size orgasm prevents speech. Sagging against him, I shudder with the sensation. How he’s magically hard after coming is beyond me.

“You’re an orgasm machine.”

“That’s why I was thanking the monster cock. It’s all him.”

“You do realize my dick is attached to me, eh?”

“This from a man who addressed a gift certificate to my boobs?”

“Can you blame me?” He cups them gently. “They’re pretty damn fantastic.”

“They appreciate the compliment.”

I can’t believe I’ve managed to talk my way out of my own stupidity.

Alex chuckles but then grows serious. “Will you stay the night?”

I want to. Definitely. My only worry? I have to work in the morning. I look at my dress that lies in a rumpled heap on the floor.

He follows my eyes but misinterprets my lack of response. “You don’t have to. I thought maybe—”

“I’d like to, but I don’t have my car.” I duck my head, feeling all shy. It’s absurd. He’s still inside me, and I’ve been making my come face at him for the last half hour.

“I’ll drive you to work in the morning.”

“I also don’t have a change of clothes.”

“We can wash them, or I’ll take you home first to change.”

“Or I could call a cab in the morning—”

“Nope.” Alex shakes his head. “Not happening. I’ll take you home. Either tonight or tomorrow, whichever you prefer, but it’ll be me driving you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” His hopefulness is as endearing as it is sexy.

“You can drive me to work in the morning.”

Alex post-sex is a hungry man. He stands in the kitchen—which is surprisingly clean for a bachelor—wearing only his pants, with the door to the fridge wide open. After pouring me a glass of orange juice, he chugs the rest straight from the jug. Hydration is sexy.

Then he proceeds to empty half the contents of the fridge onto a plate and shove it in the microwave. I’m not hungry, so I sit on his lap while he inhales a plateful of carbs. I’m only wearing his T-shirt. My dress is in the wash with my bra and panties. Alex struggled with the whole delicate cycle thing and admitted he has a housekeeper who does the bulk of his cleaning, including his laundry.

When the plate is empty, he grabs two bottles of water from the fridge and leads me upstairs.

His room is huge and simply furnished. The bed is rustic, crafted out of solid wood. The dark sheets are rumpled, as if he was in a rush this morning, or this evening.

“Your bed is huge.”

“I told you it would’ve been more comfortable. I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities.”

The bathroom is very fêng shui with beige tile, a glassed-in shower, and Jacuzzi tub. It’s not as tidy as the rest of the house. His shaving kit and a few hair products line the counter. The cap is off his toothpaste, and a towel lies in a heap on the floor near the shower. It’s lived in but not a complete sty.

Alex finds me a new toothbrush and leaves me to freshen up. I’m prepared for the possibility he’ll want to make use of the bed before sleep. I don’t usually stay up this late on week nights, and I definitely don’t get this much exercise. After four orgasms I’m not sure my body or my brain is equipped to deal with another round of “fill the beaver hole.”

Once I finish with the oral hygiene, I join him in his king-size bed. It’s much like its own continent; I could sleep here and we’d never touch. Except the moment I slip under the sheets, he pulls me into him.

I lie with my head on his chest, listening to the powerful, steady beat of his heart. He tells me about the lineup of games for the next two weeks, the teams he’s confident they’ll beat, and the wins they’ll have to work hard for. The second-to-last game is in Toronto, near his home town.

Alex keeps running soothing fingers through my hair. The last thing I remember are his lips on my forehead and his rumbling laugh when I tell him he’s warm and cuddly like a hairless, domesticated bear.

I must pass out hard-core. When I wake up, the sun is peeking through the curtains. I check the clock on the nightstand. It’s not even seven. I have loads of time to get ready. Alex is sleeping peacefully beside me. I turn on my side to study him.

I’ve hogged the sheets, which has left his torso exposed. I run my hand down his chest, marveling at the soft skin covering the solid wall of muscle. Even relaxed, he’s hard all over.

I continue my sensory descent, enjoying the feel of him under my fingers. He’s sound asleep, so I figure why not check things out. I lift the band of his boxers and take a wee gander. His monster cock looks much more innocuous in this state.

It lays on his abdomen, angled slightly to the left. It’s almost cute—kind of like Snuffleupagus. Well, not really. It’s huge, but not hairy, and also not nearly as daunting as when it’s hard. It is magical, though. I stifle a giggle because, goddamn it, I’ve never seen a snuffie up close. The head is tucked up inside the soft skin, an eye peering out from the turtleneck.

Alex is oblivious to my peter peeping, so I carefully shimmy his boxers down. I want to look at it without the risk of the waistband snapping against the head. I need my hands free to touch. It would also be cool to see if it grows like those things you order out of an old school comic book. The ones that go from pill sized to huge in a glass of water. Except I assume this will happen much faster. I haven’t had the privilege of seeing Alex’s dick grow yet. It’s always been hard when I get to it.

I poke at it. Alex expels a heavy breath, and his hand twitches at his side. Being extra careful not to jostle Alex, I rearrange myself slowly so I’m cross-legged beside him. This time I gently run my fingertips along the length. The skin wrinkles as I go. This is the best.

It’s equally fun to play with when it’s soft and sleepy as it is when it’s hard. Sliding my hand under the shaft, I close my palm around it. My fingers touch each other and he’s squishy, like a sea cucumber. Those creatures are a demonstration of God’s fixation with wieners.

Alex starts to rouse, as does his monster cock. Soon he’ll wake and end my alone time with the MC. I stroke down; the wrinkly skin retracts and the head pops out. Stroking up, the entire head disappears. It’s like a game of peek-a-boo with a penis.

Alex moans, and this time his pelvis lifts. He’s not fully conscious, so I lay his dick on his stomach. Then I take the foreskin covering the head and roll it to the tip. Pressing it together, I pretend it’s a mouth and move it around like it’s talking to me. A giggle bubbles up and bursts free. I try to hold it in, so it comes out my nose, sounding like a sneeze.

I look up as Alex’s eyes flutter open. “What are you doing?”

Hmm, well, that’s not quite the reaction I was hoping for. “I’m playing with the monster cock. Well, actually, I’m playing with his foreskin,” I say as if the MC is a person, not an appendage.

I stop messing around and smooth out his turtleneck, stroking the shaft. Alex’s eyes close, and he releases a long, low groan. The monster cock grows perceptibly in my hand. Neato. I do it again. This time it twitches and grows some more. It’s fascinating to watch the skin stretch and smooth out until it is tight, moving fractionally with each stroke.

As soon as Alex is fully erect I look up. Ooooh, judging from his expression, I’m getting lucky this morning. He shoves his boxers down his legs and kicks them off while I lose my shirt. We’re both gloriously naked. He cups the back of my neck and pulls me to him.

I turn my head so he meets my jaw instead of my lips. I can taste the sourness of sleep in my mouth. It’s not sexy at all.

“Give me a minute.” I slip out of his grasp, intent on getting to the bathroom before he unleashes the beast on me. I’m no match for his speed, even half-asleep. Alex’s arm locks around my waist, and I find myself stomach-down on the bed, his body covering mine. He’s a quick fucker. Not literally. He takes his time with the important stuff.

His now-raging hard-on rests against the small of my back and—oh God, there’s no way in hell—it’s right there, between my ass cheeks. Sliding and . . . huh, it doesn’t feel bad at all. Regardless, the MC will never fit in there.

The connection between my mouth and brain are faulty, as usual, and I shout, “Exit only! It’s exit only!”

Oh. My. God. How mortifying is this?

Alex freezes and then laughs.

“That’s not a first sleepover kind of activity.”

“Wait! What?” I wish I sounded less like a prepubescent boy with his balls caught in a zipper.

“I’m kidding, Violet. I may have thought about it, but it’s not like I could accidently slip it in there.”

My ass cheeks clench in defiance as he passes door number two. “You’ve thought about it?” No one has ever so much as grazed my Hole That Shall Not Be Penetrated.

This may not be the best time for such discussions. The tip of Alex’s cock is currently pressing up against the Hole That Shall Be Penetrated Very Soon, and I’m delaying progress by talking about things that will never happen.

“Thinking and doing are very different, Violet.” His hand slips between the sheet and my body. He circles my clit, then moving lower, he pushes two fingers inside and pumps slowly, his erection bumping against his hand.

His fingers disappear only to be replaced by my favorite appendage. I think I might lose my mind as he eases inside; this position is like hurtling myself into Stimulation Station.

My moaning starts up full force. It’s high-pitched, like a cat in heat, so I bury my face in the sheets. Alex’s chest is against my back, his legs on either side of mine, keeping them pressed tightly together.

“Is it okay?”

I whimper because it is the only sound I can make. I feel so full. Fuller than I’ve ever been. Every stroke is magnified—divine.

“Is it too much, baby?”

Oh God, he’s calling me baby. I might come on the spot. He’s unmoving except for his lips against my shoulder. The bones at his hips press against my ass. His breath caresses my cheek, and I feel the slight tremor in his body as he holds his weight above me.

“Not too much. It’s so good.” I grip the sheets beside my head. Alex’s hands cover mine.

“You ready for me?”

I’ve been ready since I woke up and shared private time with the monster cock. “Please. Yes.”

He starts to move, and the head of his cock hits the spot. The so good turns into damn well fabulous. I can’t believe I doubted the existence of the elusive spot. It’s magically orgasmic. The word vomit won’t stop, so I keep my face mashed into the sheets. Only the pillow hears how good it feels, repeatedly.

It’s one of those positions where I’m right on the cusp of release. My inability to move or get to my orgasm switch prevents me from reaching the target. Alex must be psychic, or it’s possible he can tell by the pitch and frequency of my moans I’m getting close. He nudges my knees apart, urging me onto all fours.

If I was close to an orgasm before, it’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling now. Alex pops my hips out, changing the angle. His palm settles on the base of my spine, and he smoothes a path to the nape of my neck as his hips meet my ass.

“How’s this, baby?”

My wordless noise seems to be a sufficient answer. The beaver button is on red alert. His hand strokes along my side, moving over my hip and lower to tease sensitive skin. I’ve been straddling the line since we started. He rubs my clit at the same time as he thrusts again. I’m done for; I explode into a shuddering, moaning mess.

“That’s right, you come for me,” he says as though he’s scored a goal. I suppose he has. Or I have, or he’s scored the goal for me. Any way you look at it, a goal has been scored thanks to the skills of his monster cock and those nimble fingers of his.

I take control of the bean flicking, aware if I keep the pressure on I might come again. I’m stockpiling Alex-induced orgasms for beaver slapping material when he’s away.

This time Alex goes over the edge right after me. He collapses onto his side, taking me with him. He’s sweaty, but I’m too languid to mind. Besides, it’s a testament to how hard he worked to get me off. Twice.

We lie there for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow.

“What do you want for breakfast? Should we stop on the way to your work?”

At the mention of food, my stomach growls as if it has a wild boar hibernating inside. While this particular round of sex wasn’t taxing for me aside from the orgasms, I’m hungry.

“What were you thinking?” I would give my left nipple for a bowl of Cookie Crisp or even those chocolate peanut butter Pop-Tarts. On the other hand, a couple of Krispy Kreme donuts would hit the spot, too.

“There’s an awesome buffet not far from here.” Of course the hockey player wants unlimited food options.

Watching him eat a meal unhindered by things such as portion sizes would be entertaining, I’m sure.

“As amazing as it sounds, a buffet will probably make me late for work.”

“I can make you something quick. I don’t have a whole lot since I’ll be gone for the next couple of weeks.”

“I like almost anything.” I stand and stretch, stiff from all the sexing. “Do you have Pop-Tarts?”

“Uh, no. I don’t eat Pop-Tarts during the season.”

Alex fondles my boobs. Then he does the nuzzle thing. I scratch my nails up and down his back and press my nose into his hair while he has a silent love affair with them.

“I’m good with cereal,” I reply, breathless. He pouts when I pick up his shirt from the floor and put it on. The rest of my clothes are in the laundry room. The shirt is long enough to cover all the important bits.

“I have boxer briefs you can wear.” Alex’s half-limp cock bobs and swings in all its snuffie glory as he crosses to his dresser. Penises are interesting. Particularly his.

He roots through the top drawer and grabs two pairs of boxer briefs. One he tosses to me, the other he steps into. I don’t take my eyes off him as he pulls them up his legs and tucks himself in. The boxer briefs he gives me are men’s large with a cartoon print on them. They fall off as soon as I let go. It appears I’m staying pantsless for now.

Alex tilts his head as the boxers pool at my feet. “I guess you need a smaller size, eh?”

“It appears so.”

Alex doesn’t put on any additional clothing, which is fine by me. I’m more than happy to get in some extra ogle time.

Once in the kitchen, I take the liberty of browsing his cabinets. Everything is whole grain. It’s very disappointing.

“What are you looking for?”

I open what appears to be a pantry cabinet. “Cookie Crisp, Fruit Loops, even Honey Nut Cheerios would be okay.” Other than oatmeal, nothing remotely resembles breakfast food. A plethora of garbanzo beans, various pastas, sauces, and other healthy, un-fun foods awaits.

“I don’t think I have any of those.”

“Not even Honey Nut Cheerios? Frosted Mini-Wheats? Either would do in a pinch. Or Eggo waffles.”

“Uh, no, none of those, either.”

He opens the fridge, rifles around, and holds up a container that looks like cream. “I make a pretty mean omelet.”

Upon closer inspection, it appears to be liquid egg product. I stand behind him while he gathers various items and sets them on the counter. His fridge, much like his cabinets, is full of healthy stuff. Even his jam is made of real fruit. The last item he retrieves happens to be a new jug of orange juice. It isn’t from concentrate, either. It’s fresh squeezed and super pulpy.

I haven’t agreed to the omelet yet, still in search of something better—preferably with high quantities of sugar. Alex, however, already has the frying pan out. The last cabinet I try contains Alex’s candy stash. It’s pathetic at best, consisting of two chocolate bars—both the extra dark, bitter variety—and a bag of Swedish Fish.

I hoist myself onto the counter and shiver as my bare bottom hits the granite. I cross my legs to keep my bits under wraps and tear the bag open.

“Swedish Fish for breakfast?”

I ignore his look of disgust and pop a green one into my mouth, relishing the wonderful, artificial, sugary flavor. “Aren’t you making an omelet? What’s this?” I point at the white gelatinous mixture in the frying pan.

“It’s an egg-white omelet. It’s healthy and it tastes good.” Alex reaches around me for a container. He pops the lid and dumps a load of precooked veggies on top of the snotty looking egg whites. I question whether it’s possible for it to taste good.

“Where’s the bacon? All I see are veggies. Bacon is imperative, or at the very least you should have ham for it to qualify as an omelet. Does it even have cheese? And what’s with whites only? The yolk is the best part.”

I’m trying to get under his skin. I don’t honestly feel this way; he’s obviously one of those healthy eaters. Aside from his love of chocolate dessert indulgences. Maybe I can irritate him enough to take me on the counter. That would be more fun than making omelets.

Alex pulls a container of shredded cheese from the fridge and sprinkles a generous amount on top of the veggies, as well as a variety of fresh herbs. While the omelet cooks, he pours two glasses of his expensive orange juice and passes me one. “Egg whites are full of protein.”

“So is jizz. You don’t see me harvesting yours so I can drink a glass of it.”

Alex is mid orange juice sip; he sprays me and his omelet. At least I’m not wearing my own clothes.

His shock is awesome. He wipes his chin with a dishtowel. “Jesus, Violet.”

“What? It’s true, isn’t it? Your hair grows a million times faster if you swallow instead of spit on a regular basis.”

“I’d be interested to take part in your research study.” Alex puts down his glass, grabs the spatula, and folds the omelet neatly in half. It resembles a huge smile. The pan he’s cooked it in is gigantic. He cuts it in half and offers me a plate.

I hold up the bag of artificially colored, flavored and sweetened fish. “I’m good.”

“After the workout you had last night and this morning, you need more than sugar for breakfast.”

“It’s not like I ran a marathon or anything.”

“Mmm. No. Sex with you is far more enjoyable.”

Alex cuts off a bite and lifts it to my mouth. “Try it. I promise you’ll like it.”

I relent, only because he’s put the effort in and it doesn’t smell bad. Surprisingly, it’s rather tasty. I suspect the fresh basil and sharp cheddar have something to do with it, and whatever else was in those veggies. I polish off what’s on my plate and check the time. If I don’t get a move on, I’m going to be late for work.

In the laundry room, Alex hands me my clothing piece by piece and watches me dress. By the time I’m fully clothed, he’s sporting a massive woody. He dons the shirt I slept in and throws on a pair of sweats—through which the MC is highly visible. Even dressed down, he manages to look smoking hot. I look homeless in sweats.

I was smart enough not to bring my work stuff home last night, so Alex takes me straight to the office. The ride is short, and I’m nervous about the end of the first date good-bye. It’s silly; we’ve had a sleepover, but he’ll be gone for two weeks, so all this giddy excitement could wane. Especially if some other puck bunny catches his eye while he’s on the road.

He stops in front of my building. I’m a few minutes early, thanks to his speedy, albeit safe, driving. Alex puts the car in park and turns to me, his arm slung across my seat. “I had a great time last night, and this morning.”

“Me, too.”

“Can I call you later? After I get to the hotel?”

“If you want.”

“Definitely. I can’t wait to get back so I can take you out again.”

“And I’ll get to drive your car?” I’m trying to be nonchalant, but there’s this unsettling feeling in my stomach. I don’t think it’s because of the egg white omelet, either. I really like him. More than I want to.

“We’ll discuss the car later. I still think you cheated.”

Alex goes in for a kiss. He cops a feel while he’s at it, so I give the monster cock a squeeze and a pet. It’s going to be a long fourteen days.

Charlene is waiting for me in my cubicle.

She has cinnamon rolls. They’re meant as bribery. She wants details. Extensive ones. I pick the biggest cinnamon roll with the most icing and take a huge bite.

“So? How was your date?”

With a mouth full of cinnamon roll, I reply, “Fine. He took me out for dinner. It was nice.”

“Nice?”

“The food was excellent.”

“Violet, I don’t give a shit about the food. I’m guessing it was way better than nice since you’re wearing the same clothes from last night.”

“What? How would you—”

“You’d never wear heels like that to work.”

I sigh with relief.

“And then there are these.” She holds out her phone.

I’m greeted by pictures of Alex and me at the restaurant on some Internet gossip site. They’re innocent, unlike the mouth fucking ones from our previous encounter.

My phone buzzes, distracting me from my internal freak-out. It’s Alex.

Oh, God. His shirt smelled like sex after I was done with it. How am I supposed to function for the next two weeks without his monster cock?

Sign me up for Alex Waters Anonymous. I officially have a problem.