Pucked Page 44

I move between her tits until Violet’s arms start to shake and she drops down on her elbows. We’re panting, rubbing against each other, adding friction for my lonely dick. Her quiet gasps and sighs grow progressively louder until she sucks in a harsh breath.

“Oh, God. Alex? . . . I-I-I . . .” She sounds confused, maybe a little desperate. “There’s no way—”

I never get to ask what’s going on. It becomes self-evident, anyway. Violet trembles, eyes closed, lips parting on a sexy moan. Her body goes lax, and her legs drop from my waist.

“Did you come on my air hockey table?”


“From this?” I circle her left nipple with my tongue. I’m feeling pretty good about myself.

“And all the grinding.” Violet grabs me by the hair and pulls. “Careful. It’s sensitive from all the attention.”

“Sorry.” I’m keyed up, ready for speed and release. It’s the same feeling I get on the ice, only magnified and channeled into a very different, singular need.

I skim her side with my free hand until I reach the second tie. “Is this okay?”

Violet bites her lip and squeezes her eyes closed for a second. “Y-yes.”

Her uncertainty makes me pause. No matter how badly I want to get inside her again, I won’t push. “Are you sure?” I make no move either way.


“I’ve been trying to get you to go out with me for a month. I’m not interested in forfeiting future dates, so you set the ground rules, okay?”

“Ground rules?”

“Do you want to instate a minimum number of dates before I get past second base?”

“You’ve already been past second base.”

“It doesn’t mean I automatically get to go there again, does it?” Man, do I ever want to.

“Why are you so sweet?” Violet runs a finger down the bridge of my nose.

If she knew what was going through my head, she wouldn’t be calling me sweet. I kiss her, soft and slow, telling her through actions I’m totally fine with it if this is as far as we go tonight. Violet makes the next move, freeing the tie on her dress. Satin slides down her arms and pools on the table. Her panties match her bra.

I run my hands up the outside of her thighs. “You are a wet dream.”

She laughs as she grips the hem of my T-shirt and pulls it over my head. “If I had wet dreams, you’d be mine.”

Her palms flatten against my chest and then drift lower until she’s cupping me through my pants. “God, you’re hard.”

“See what happens when a gorgeous, half-naked woman beats me at air hockey and comes on my table.”

Violet gives me a squeeze. “What else makes you hard?”

Slipping my finger underneath the elastic of her panties, I’m met with smooth, wet skin. Her eyelids flutter.

“Shit. You really did come.”

I go lower, finding her hotter, slicker, wetter. Twisting my palm, I slide my thumb under the fabric as well. Violet bites her lip, stifling a moan as I ease two fingers inside her. She holds onto my shoulders, closing her eyes tight as she rides my hand.

“Christ, you’re sexy.”

While I enjoy the feel of her hand on my dick—even if the sensation is muted by two layers of fabric—it’s impeding my view.

“Let go, baby—”

“I’m almost—”

“I want to see—”

She obeys my request and uses her free hand to brace herself on the table. Her whole body starts to shake. I look down to where my fingers disappear inside her. Her panties have shifted to the side, exposing more of what I want. For half a second, I’m in my own personal heaven. Then I’m not.

“What the fuck is that?” I jerk back.

Violet’s head lolls forward. “What?”

A huge purple mark mars the crest of her pelvis. I clench my jaw to keep from saying something I may regret and search my brain for a reasonable excuse for what I’m seeing. I can’t find one. It looks as if someone else has been touching my fucking pussy. I don’t understand why Violet would agree to go out with me if she’s been letting someone else get all up in there.

My voice is a nearly unrecognizable growl. “Is that a hickey?”


Alex’s expression reflects nothing of the blissful serenity I’ve been rocking up until now. Confused, I touch my neck, feeling around for the hickey. It’s a fruitless action; you can’t feel hickeys, you can only see them. Besides, if I have one, he put it there.

His gaze is trained lower. I check out my chest. No discoloration there other than the usual blotchiness that’s a result of being sexed up.

His grip tightens on my thighs. I whimper, the sound drawing Alex’s attention to my face. Holy shit. He’s absolutely livid. His fury—similar to what I’ve previously witnessed only when he takes someone down on the ice—feeds the hockey hooker in me. I’m leaking on his air hockey table.

The fog from my orgasm-induced euphoria begins to clear. It’s my naked beaver he’s angrily eyeing. In my lust-induced haze, I forgot the ugly bruise from yesterday evening’s impromptu waxing session. I can see how he might mistake it for a hickey.

I gesture to the horrible mark in a flaily, manic way. “It’s not what it looks like.” In saying this, I’ve made it seem like exactly that.

Alex’s body is rigid aside from the twitching corner of his mouth and the pressing of his thumbs into the juncture of my thighs. He’s an inch shy of my clit on either side. While staying still is killing me, an explanation is necessary.

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