The Pucking Wrong Man: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series Book 4)

I came slowly to consciousness, and it took me a second to realize that something was different. Usually, Anastasia was wrapped around me like a boa constrictor when I woke up, the most painful kind of wake-up when you were trying to recover from a dick tattoo since I wanted nothing else but to slide inside her soft heat.

But she wasn’t lying on my chest. I wasn’t breathing in her sweet scent either. I rolled over, reaching out to pull Anastasia back into my arms…only for my hand to meet cold sheets.

Immediately, my eyes flew all the way open and I sat up, searching the room for where she’d gone. The bathroom door was open, lights off, and there was no sound of a shower running.

Wait…was that the smell of bacon?

An agitated humming sifted through me as I quickly slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. Everything in me was hoping that I was just imagining the smell. Maybe she was just curled up on the couch reading. Sometimes I would find her like that in the evenings.

I followed the smell of breakfast cooking through the penthouse, dread building the closer I got.

And when I turned the corner, there she was, wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts and another messy bun, humming to herself and swaying her hips to a Taylor Swift song that was playing softly through the kitchen speakers. She was scrambling some eggs on the stove.

Bile rose in my throat. Fuck, I was going to throw up.

I must have made a noise, because she spun around, a bright, gorgeous smile on her face.

“Hi,” she said shyly, waving her spatula in the air. “I made us breakfast.”

For a split second, I was a kid again.

I was six years old, and I could smell the scent of scrambled eggs and bacon from my bedroom. It smelled so good, and my tummy was growling. As I walked into the kitchen, I heard the soft sound of my mommy crying.

“Mom?” I called out, my small voice trembling.

She turned to face me, and I froze. Her right eye was swollen and dark, a large black bruise marring her usually kind face. Her smile, the one she always tried to put on for me, was strained and filled with pain. She quickly wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said, her voice shaky but gentle. “Breakfast will be ready in just a minute.”

“Mom, what happened?” I asked, my eyes wide with worry and confusion. I had seen her hurt before, and I hated it.

She forced another smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s nothing, Camden. I just…I bumped into something.”

I think she was lying to me.

Dan walked in and sat at the table without saying anything to either of us. Mom quickly made him a plate, trembling as she set it on the table in front of him. I watched as she stood by his chair, her hands clasped in front of us, her shoulders all droopy.

My stepdad never even said thank you.

I came back to the present, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. My chest tightened, and the room seemed to close in around me.

“What are you doing?” I snapped, louder and harsher than I’d intended.

Anastasia froze, her smile faltering. “I…I just thought I’d make us some breakfast. You make it every morning, and I wanted to let you sleep in.”

“Don’t!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “Just…don’t do that.”

Her eyes widened, filling with tears, and I flinched. Fuck. Guilt washed over me like a tidal wave. “Anastasia, I’m sorry,” I said quickly, stepping forward. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

She wiped at her eyes, her hands trembling. “I was just trying to help, Camden.”

I took a deep breath, struggling to steady myself. “I know. It’s not your fault. It’s just…seeing you in the kitchen like that. I can’t handle it.”

She looked at me, confusion and hurt mingling in her eyes. “You can’t handle me making eggs? I’m not that bad of a cook.” She was trying to joke, but her voice was still pained.

How had I messed up this badly?

I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat. The only person I’d told this to was a therapist.

But Anastasia deserved to know.

“My stepdad,” I began haltingly, “was abusive. He turned my mom into a maid, forcing her to do everything for him, and he’d hurt her if she didn’t. She’d cook breakfast with a black eye, trying to act like everything was normal. I’d find her on the floor as a little boy, black and blue and bleeding. My mom left him once, and when she couldn’t find a job, she went back. She just served him her entire fucking life.”

“She’s still with him?” she asked softly, the tears still glistening in her eyes, but her gaze steady.

I glanced at the floor, shaking my head, and trying to clear the fog of memories. “She died of cancer when I was fifteen…still serving him until the end,” I added bitingly.

“Camden, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. We hadn’t even gotten into what had led her to the streets or what had happened to her family. And here she was trying to comfort me after I’d freaked out.

She was such a freaking sweetheart.

“It’s a major trigger—seeing you doing things for me. It brings back all those feelings of helplessness and rage. I don’t know how to handle it,” I admitted, brushing some moisture out of my eyes that had no business being there.

She stared at me for a second and then rushed over and threw her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. I slowly put my arms around her, giving her a chance to back away if she was still mad that I’d snapped at her.

But she just burrowed closer.

A gut-wrenching moment later, I realized she was sobbing into my shirt.

“Baby girl, I’m so sorry,” I murmured, absolutely hating myself. I wanted to reach into my chest and tear out my heart. “I’ll never yell again. I swear.”

She lifted her gaze, ferociously shaking her head. “It’s not that. I just feel so sad for you. Picturing you as a little boy, seeing your mother like that. I wish I had known. I would have never⁠—”

Fuck, she was sad for me.

I peppered her faces with kisses, my tongue dragging along her tears and snatching each one. “Don’t cry. It’s just something I need to fucking get over…but while I do…”

“I won’t make any eggs,” she said wryly, some of her spunk returning.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, and she squeezed me for another long moment. The smell of eggs and bacon still filled the air, but now it was mixed with the scent of her shampoo, grounding me in the present.

Anastasia gently pushed away. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m sure my trigger list is a mile long. We should probably go over it sometime,” she joked.

I nodded seriously, obsessing over every detail of her face as I took her in.

“I’m going to go shower,” I told her, feeling calmer, but still wanting to wash off the ghosts of the past that seemed to be lingering on my skin.

She nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. “Okay.”

“Thanks for breakfast,” I murmured as I walked out, unable to not at least thank her for her work.

Anastasia was throwing the eggs in the trash as I left the room.

I stood in the shower, my hands against the wall, the rain shower head peltering my skin with scalding hot water. The blistering temperature was helping to block out the past…a little.

The shower door opened behind me, and I stiffened.

Anastasia hissed as she stepped into the water, reaching her arm around me to lower the temperature.

A second later, her arms were wrapped around my chest, and I groaned because her touch felt so good.

I don’t know why I thought that a shower was what I needed. What I needed was Anastasia.

Always.

Her lips brushed against my skin and my head fell back. She didn’t usually instigate things with us, she preferred for me to take the lead. I was fine with that, but this was good. So good.

I moaned as her hands caressed my chest, sliding down my abs and taking a moment to trace each one. She was a little obsessed with my abs. Which was fine.

I was obsessed with everything about her body.

“Turn around,” she murmured, and without thinking I did, immediately finding her beautiful eyes, her lashes beaded with water drops.

Fuck. I loved her. I lowered my head to kiss her, and then her gaze dropped…to my dick.

Whoops.

I’d forgotten about that surprise I’d been keeping under wraps—making excuses every time she wanted to do something for me after I’d made her ride my face for an hour. It was also why I’d shoved my dick in her mouth the other night at the arena—not that her mouth was a good place for a fresh tattoo either, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

“What happened to your dick?” she gasped in a horror filled voice, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

“Surprise…” I said bashfully, taking a step away to give her the full shot…now that the cat was out of the bag.

She was speechless. That was a good thing, right. Dickmatized, so to speak?

“Is that a tattoo?” she asked shakily once she’d recovered the ability to speak.

It was indeed a tattoo. That picture I’d taken of my blood-streaked dick right after I’d taken her virginity…I’d had my tattoo artist replicate it. All the drops and striations of where her blood had stained my dick were now immortalized forever on my skin.

Since that was the most life-changing night of my entire existence—and hers was the only pussy I was going to have for the rest of my life—it only seemed fitting.

“What exactly is all the ‘red’ stuff supposed to be?” she asked, unable to take her eyes off my cock.

It had risen to the occasion as soon as I’d heard the shower door open, so she was able to see every inch of it.

My tattoo artist had said it was the most unusual request he’d ever had in his twenty-year career.

I didn’t doubt that.

“I’ll show you,” I said eagerly, reaching out the shower door and drying off my hand on the towel hanging on the hook before I grabbed my phone. I pulled up the picture I’d taken that night.

“See. It’s almost an exact replica,” I told her, showing her the shot.

She blinked slowly, her cheeks reddening as she glanced from the photo to my dick…and back again. “Is that⁠—”

“My dick the night you gave me your virginity?” I asked cheekily. “Why yes, yes it is.”

I understood it was a bold move, getting evidence of someone’s virginity tattooed on your cock. But I was hoping she would think it was impressive. Rumor had it that Ari, Lincoln, and Walker’s ladies had been very impressed with their own dick-orations…after the shock had worn off.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as surprised as I am right this very second,” she whispered, finally dragging her gaze back up to my face.

“Is this a good surprise or a bad surprise?” I said carefully, feeling faintly nervous for the first time.

She was silent for a long moment before a small smile spread across her lips and she wrinkled her nose at me. “Does this—does this mean that when you said you loved me that night…that you actually meant it? Because this seems kind of like a big thing when you just like someone.” Anastasia feigned, glancing behind me at my ass. “Or is this something you do, tattoo intimate parts of your body for girls you have sex with?”

I grinned then, too. I’d thought she was never going to bring that up, and I’d been desperate to say it again. I just hadn’t wanted to scare her off.

But if the dick tattoo in her honor didn’t do it…a little “I love you” wasn’t going to either.

“You love me,” she whispered, her eyes growing suspiciously shiny again. My girl was so soft. Everything made her choke up. It was one of my favorite things about her—how deeply she felt. I was sure it was one of the reasons she was such an amazing dancer, because she felt the music and the movements so intensely.

“I love you,” I rasped, my voice sounding choked, because I was feeling pretty emotional as well.

“I love you like nothing I could have ever dreamed. I love your laugh, and your smile, and the way you care. I love how you light up every room you walk into. I’m obsessed with your body and your talent, and even the way you breathe. Everything you are, is everything I want, little dancer. Forever.”

She sobbed, wiping her eyes, a smile lighting up her entire face. “That’s a really big word, Camden James,” she sniffed. “A really big word.”

“As big as a dick tattoo,” I teased, because even when she was crying because she was happy, it still hurt my heart.

She pressed her face against my chest, her tears wetting my front as the rain continued to pelt my back.

“Do you have anything you want to say to me too?” I asked gently, knowing I was being a bit of a jerk for putting her on the spot.

But I couldn’t not find out. I was desperate to hear her say it. Besides my mother, she was the only person I’d ever cared about loving me. The only person I’d ever wanted to in fact. It felt wrong to sit in this obsession by myself. I wanted her right along with me for the ride.

If she didn’t love me, I knew I would eventually win her over.

But I was pretty sure that she already did.

She took a deep shuddering breath before she lifted her head, staring at me with her star-flecked eyes, a galaxy I wanted to live in forever and ever.

“I love you, Camden,” she finally whispered, so much hope in those eyes too…but also a plea that was written there as clear as a handwritten note.

Don’t hurt me, they were saying. Don’t make me regret this.

Only time would prove it to her, so I didn’t bother to address what she was silently saying.

“Thank fuck,” I said instead, the most eloquent thing I could come up with at the moment because there was so much relief washing through me.

“Kiss me,” she begged, and I immediately obeyed, my lips sliding against hers unhurriedly as I tried to take a mental snapshot of this moment.

I wished it was possible to get a tattoo on my heart. Because I’d find a way to tattoo this moment all over it.

Anastasia went to grab my dick, and I winced the second she made contact.

“Oh,” she cried, ripping her hand away. “It’s probably still healing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said, a bit chagrined. “That mind-altering blow job the other day was probably not the best thing for it, but fuck it was worth it.”

I grinned at the way her whole body flushed at the reminder of the hottest night of my life.

My dick was definitely on board for celebrating this monumental moment, but I also didn’t want to die because of gangrene and have it fall off afterward.

“A few more days, and I’m going to fuck you against this wall,” I promised, lightly tapping the tile.

Her eyes gleamed at the prospect.

“As you know, though, there’s definitely other things we can do,” I growled.

She squeaked as I spun her around. “Put your hands on the wall.” Like a good girl, she immediately obeyed.

Not that I could ever compare her to anyone else I’d been with—I’d blocked out everything about them. But she was so much better than any lover I’d had in the past.

I’d never had someone respond to me like she did. I’d been aware that I liked to be in charge during sex, and that it turned me on when my partner listened to me, but the way Anastasia answered to me…

It was like I’d been given every sexual gift I could have ever dreamed.

She was perfect. If she ever left me—not that I would let her—I’d be celibate for the rest of my life because anyone else would just be a disappointment.

Sinking to my knees behind her, I hitched up her leg, opening up her sweet pussy to my mouth.

“Camden,” she begged, and I grinned in anticipation right before I licked through her folds.

Our moans combined in the steamy air.

I sucked and licked, knowing exactly what tempo felt the best for her. Every cry that came out of her mouth was my roadmap to her pleasure.

Thrusting three fingers inside her tight hole, my tongue slid back to her asshole, rimming the edges of it as she trembled against the wall.

Anastasia was still unsure about ass play, but I couldn’t wait to take her perfect ass. I’d probably die from happiness as soon as I slipped inside.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she begged as I pumped my fingers faster, pushing one more digit inside her as I worked her clit with my thumb. If she could take my cock so beautifully, she could definitely take more of my fingers.

My dick ached from thinking of how perfect she’d felt as I’d pushed in.

A few more days and it was game on. It was going to be impossible to hold out for any longer than that.

I changed the angle of my fingers, reaching around with my other hand to press on a spot just above her pubic bone.

“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly as I continued to work her over.

“Push down for me,” I growled, pleasure shooting straight up my dick when she immediately listened.

She screamed as she came, her cunt clamping down on my fingers the same way that she’d choked my dick.

I groaned as she squirted all over my face, so much cum that she soaked my fucking skin. It was like taking the world’s most delicious shower.

Growling, I went after every last drop. My fingers continued to pump into her, because I wanted her to come one more time.

“Camden, I can’t,” she cried.

“One more,” I demanded. “Just give Daddy one more, baby girl.”

The rightness of the word settling in my chest…and my dick.

Almost the second I’d said it, she was coming again. Pure nirvana on my tongue.

It was almost selfish of me, how many times I ate her out in a day.

But I’d never tasted anything so amazing in my entire life. I could live in my girl’s pussy.

Fuck, my orgasm shot through me, hard and fierce…and it fucking hurt as I painted the shower floor with my cum.

Yep, definitely not healed yet.

But soon.

Reluctantly, I pulled away—giving her one last lick for good measure, even though it made my dick twitch—which I definitely did not need right now.

Anastasia slid her leg off my shoulder, and I caught her right before she collapsed.

“Wow,” she said in a dazed, dreamy voice that she only gave me after I’d made her cum hard…or spanked her. “I didn’t know my body could do that.”

I chuckled, licking my lips at the reminder, searching for any sign of her taste.

“I love you, pretty girl,” I murmured a moment later, nuzzling into her soft skin.

“I love you too, Camden,” she sighed.

And maybe the heart tattoo thing wasn’t really necessary…I was pretty sure she’d already marked me—permanently—on the inside.