Home > Forever Pucked (Pucked #4)(17)

Forever Pucked (Pucked #4)(17)
Author: Helena Hunting

Fucking Jimmy. Ruining my date plan. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry. I mean, if you want to order takeout I’m sure I could have something small.” She fingers the collar of my shirt. “Oh. Were you planning to take me out?”

“No. I, uh, I ordered in for us. Darren told me about the proposal for the Darcy account, and I thought we could have a kind of dual celebration. You know, like celebrate our anniversary and the account at the same time since we didn’t get to have dinner last night.”

“Oh, Alex, you’re the sweetest. I meant to tell you about it, but then we got naked and obviously I forgot. I didn’t eat all that much, and it was at, like, five, so I can eat again.”

She slips a hand behind my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. It’s a quick one, though, with no tongue.

“We can eat in the living room,” I offer. “It looks like you’d set up for a picnic or something there last night.”

Violet bites her lip and her eyes widen with mischief. “Oh my God! I totally forgot about that! We’ll have to save room for my dessert.”

“To go with my cock?”

“Mmm.” She pats my bulge. “I have special plans for him.”

I smile. “I love special plans. Why don’t you go hang out in the living room and get comfortable. I’ll bring dinner to you.”

“You sure you don’t want any help?”

“I got this.” I kiss from her neck to her cheek, then send her on down the hall.

I guess it would’ve been a good idea to tell her what I was planning instead of assuming she’d be home by six like usual. I make a detour to the dining room and clean off the table, blowing out the candles and putting away the dishes so she doesn’t find them later and feel bad. I bring the champagne and glasses with me to the kitchen. It takes me a while to find the salad bowl. It’s in the wrong cupboard.

I take dinner out of the oven. It looks a little dry, but smells fantastic. I give Violet a small portion, in case she feels obligated to eat it all, and transfer the plates to a tray.

Crossing to the living room, I notice she’s changed the station from hockey to TLC. I stop short when I find her lying on the makeshift bed by the fireplace.

Her skirt is on the floor, but she’s wearing leggings, so she’s still mostly dressed. The first three buttons of her shirt are open, with her lacy bra peeking out. She looks like she’s ready for some fun. My dick thinks so, too, and immediately stands at attention. Except her eyes are closed and her lips are parted—and not because she’s got her hand in her panties.

I set the tray on the coffee table. Her chest rises and falls at regular intervals. Sinking down beside her, I run a finger across her cheek. “Violet? Baby?” She doesn’t move at all.

I could wake her, but she’s obviously exhausted from last night. And probably stressed about presenting her proposal for the Darcys. I press a kiss to her forehead, cover her with a blanket, and grab the remote. Sitting on the couch on the other side of the room, I change the TV back to hockey and settle in with my dinner.

So much for an awesome night of celebrations and blow jobs.




I wake up at three in the morning. The first thing I notice is that I’m starving. I’m also in bed. With Alex, which makes sense considering the time. Except I have zero recollection of getting here. And I’m wide awake—like, ready to get up and start my day, which is insane, considering it’s the middle of the night.

Alex is sleeping on his side, one massive arm tucked under the pillow. He protectively cups my boob with the other hand. He’s frowning in his sleep. He has a game tonight, and when he’s worried about his competition, sometimes he gets anxious. They’re playing Toronto, and Alex has a longstanding hate-on with one of their players.

My stomach rumbles loudly, so I slip out of bed. A midnight snack will help calm the beast in my belly. I’m wearing a tank top and a pair of my Marvel Comics underpants. I wasn’t wearing them when I went to work today, and I don’t remember getting changed.

Confused by my lack of recall, I grab my robe from the bathroom, shove my feet into slippers, and pad down the hall. The light from the kitchen illuminates the stairs enough that I don’t trip my way down. I head straight for the fridge. Inside are takeout boxes from my favorite restaurant and the fruit platter I prepared two days ago.

I review what happened when I arrived home from work last night. I was tired—that’s for sure. After a night of very little sleep and a lot of make-up-for-missed orgasms with Alex, plus our argument before work, I spent the morning in meetings, the afternoon working on Buck’s account, and then finally, at the end of the day I made time to review the changes on my PowerPoint for the Darcy account.

It shouldn’t have been difficult. All the legwork has already been done, but it’s my first presentation, and the account is huge, so I don’t want to fuck it up. I stayed at work way later than I’d planned.

Alex told me he had a nice dinner prepared to celebrate our most recent sexiversary and the Darcy account. I went to hang out in the living room to wait. I even freshened up my beaver in the bathroom. And then I laid down…

Oh, shit.

I fell asleep on him.

I owe Alex a blow job. Probably more than one now. And I still haven’t had the opportunity to use all the fun treats and items I purchased to celebrate our sexiversary. Not that we didn’t do a good job celebrating already, I just had other tasty plans to go with it.

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