Pucked (Pucked, #1)

I keep her legs pinned, moving my hands higher, until my thumbs are perilously close to her “freak out” zone. It’s purposeful. Her whole body jerks with the contact. I do it again. Violet moans, loudly.

I stop. As mean as it is, I want her worked up. The more I tease her, the more intense her orgasm should be. The wetter she is, the longer I’ll be able to go. It’s a win-win for both of us.

“What are you doing?” she exclaims in a furious whisper.

“You’re having an awfully hard time being quiet . . .” I edge my thumbs in.

She’s so close to an orgasm she must not notice or care. She lifts her hips, pressing my face into her *. I don’t even get to use my fingers before she comes.

Her body shakes with the restraint required to stay silent.

I leave a path of wet kisses from her stomach to her mouth, settling between her thighs. She stills, her eyes fluttering as I press forward. I stay close and move slowly until it isn’t enough for either of us. Grabbing her ass with one hand, I go harder, faster, deeper. Hovering above her, I’m ready to swallow up the sounds I know she won’t be able to hold back.

Violet stiffens as I readjust my grip, and I accidentally graze her “access denied” area.

She digs her nails into my skin and bites my shoulder to muffle her moan. Her * clenches so tightly, it’s like my dick is being held in the warmest velvety vice on earth. So, of course, I come like a fucking bulldozer.

I roll us over so Violet is lying on my chest and rub her back while her breathing slows. Aftershocks make her whimper every so often.

“Your fingers were awfully close to the no-go zone.”

“Sorry.” I rub her back. I’m not all that sorry.

She snorts. It’s an exhausted sound. “Liar face.”

“I would never—” I hesitate, trying to decide what exactly I would never do.

If given the chance, would I get up in there? Fuck yeah, eh. Is it likely to happen anytime soon? Not unless I can convince Violet to let me near Never Neverland with my fingers. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“Yeah, right.”

I gather up her hand, bring her fingers to my mouth, and bite her knuckle. “I only ever want to make you feel good.”

“You make it sound so innocent.” She snuggles in and tucks her head under my chin.

This is what I’ve been missing—the easy closeness we share.

Violet drifts off to sleep, but it takes a long while for my mind to turn off. I have figure skating dreams where I can’t catch my partner before she falls. Performance anxiety dreams aren’t uncommon at this point in the season. But these unsettle me, as if my inability to stop my partner’s fall is a mirror for my reality.

I brush it off.

Dreams are just dreams. They don’t mean anything.





VIOLET


Alex drops me off at the airport, and we make plans to see each other as soon as he returns to Chicago. I sleep all the way home on the plane. I’m exhausted from the weekend of marathon sex. Alex wasn’t lying about his stamina. He’s like a machine, except better because he’s Alex. I wake up from a dream about his penis as the plane is landing. The flight attendant gives me an odd look, so I have to wonder if I’ve been talking in my sleep. Ignorance is probably bliss in this case.

Charlene, being the amazing bestie she is, picks me up the next morning on the way to work. I expect a full inquisition about my weekend with Alex, which I’m prepared to share, but Charlene has had some excitement of her own.

“I have so much to tell you! Darren is amazing. I’ve already merged our faces to see what our babies would look like—you know there’s a website?” She pauses long enough to take a breath. “They’d be so pretty.”

“You’re kidding about the last part, right?”

“Um, no. Why? Is that weird? I did it for you, too.” Charlene drives through Starbucks for us. I’m grateful considering my level of exhaustion.

“No, Charlene, that’s not weird at all.” It is, but I want to see the pictures.

Charlene is very much a romantic. She dives head-first into every relationship. It’s common for her to tell me she’s in love after the first date. Two weeks later, she’s usually over it and moving on to the next guy. It’s why she doesn’t generally fall into bed with them right away; otherwise she’d have a pretty high running tally.

Charlene shares the details of her evening with Darren, including the size of his dick, on our drive to work.

“Wait a second—you had sex with him?”

“What? No! Of course not!”

“How do you know how big his wang is? Did he whip it out?”

“I wish. I grabbed his junk. Just to check—you know? I don’t want to waste his time or mine if he’s got a tiny winkie. Anyway, he was such a gentleman. If I hadn’t made a move, he probably would’ve kissed my cheek and been done with it. He has the softest lips, Vi. We must have made out for like, I don’t know, an hour?”

“Where did this epic make out session take place?”