Pucked Over (Pucked #3)

by Helena Hunting

Randy makes a face. “Ketchup?”

  My mom sent them in a care package. I love living in Chicago, but there are a few things I miss about Canada. Ketchup chips are one of them, my mom is another, and maple-flavored bacon completes the list.

  I pop one in my mouth and make a sound similar to the one I make when Randy’s face or fingers or incredibly amazing cock is between my legs. “They’re so good.”

  He stares at my mouth, watching while I chew. I swallow, then take a sip from the glass of cider he’s poured for me. It’s my favorite kind—not too sweet, with the perfect level of dryness. As soon as I put my glass down, he lifts the bowl out of my hand, sets it on the coffee table, and tackles me, taking me down to the cushions.

  He’s got some serious skills with the way he’s able to get his knee between my legs without me even realizing it until I start auto-humping. He cups the back of my head, his fingers pressing in. I don’t know why it makes me so hot; it’s like he’s holding on so I can’t get away from his mouth. Not that I’d want to.

  He presses his lips to mine, sniffing. He backs off, giving me the funky eye. Then he goes in for another kiss, a little longer this time. He sucks my lip, running his tongue along it, and pulls back again.

  “Ketchup?” he says.

  “They’re the best.”

  Randy resumes kissing me, and this time he slips his tongue into my mouth. After a few seconds of exploration, he breaks the kiss and shakes his head. “Nope. I don’t like it. You need to brush your teeth. That tastes like shit.”

  He’s still got a knee between my leg, and he’s kind of thrusting against my pelvis. I can feel his hard-on. He can’t be all that negatively affected by my bad breath.

  “Just try one.” I reach over and pluck a chip from the bowl, bringing it to his mouth.

  He leans in and sniffs again, his nose wrinkling.

  “Eat it.”

  “I’d rather eat you.”

  “Pretty sure ketchup-chip breath is better than vagina breath.”

  “That’s debatable. I love the way your pussy tastes.”

  “Like I’m made of maple?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Open your mouth.” I press the chip against his bottom lip, but he keeps it closed. I keep pushing until the chip breaks and crumbles in his beard and onto my chest. A few crumbs tumble into the V of my shirt.

  “Oh! Look at that. Your shirt’s dirty now; it needs to go in the laundry.” He shoves his hand under my top and pulls it over my head. I’m braless, as is normal when I’m at home—his or mine.

  “I thought we were going to watch a movie.”

  “We could make our own.” He waggles his brows, his grin devious. “I need a new one for next week.”

  Randy leaves in the morning for a series of away games. He’ll be gone for ten days. It’ll be our longest separation since I moved to Chicago. We spend most of our free time together. It’s almost a good thing he has to travel; otherwise I feel like we’d be immersed in just each other, all the time. This way I get to hang with Sunny, Violet, and Charlene.

  Randy pulls his shirt over his head so we’re matching in our level of nakedness. Then he settles between my legs. Instead of tongue wars, he brushes his lips softly over mine. “When I get back from this series, I want to talk about you moving in.”

  The change of topic throws me, having gone from hating on ketchup chips, to wanting sex, to this. “You mean to live with you?’

  He licks his lips and nods. “Miller’s gonna put his condo on the market at the end of the season, which means he’ll be moving in with Sunny, so you should move in here.”

  He’s so matter of fact. “Because it’s logical or because you want me here?” I ask.

  “Option two. Unless you’re not ready.” He props his chin on his fist, looking a little unsure of himself.

  “You’re positive you want me and my ketchup-chip breath in your space all the time?”

  “The ketchup-chip breath I’ll deal with if it means you’re here all the time.” He drops a warm kiss on my lips. “Do you know what makes away games bearable?”

  “Video phone sex?”

  Randy smiles. “That’s number two on the list. Number one is knowing you’re going to be here when I get back.”

  “It’s super awesome when I answer the door naked, isn’t it?”

  “So awesome. Except that one time Lance was with me.”

  I cringe. “He got an eyeful.” All I was wearing was a ribbon around my throat, tied in a little bow. After Lance left, Randy made me put the ribbon back on, and we had intense bathroom-vanity sex. He does not like that Lance has seen me naked, at all.

  Randy makes a sound, like a growl. His version of territorial is sexy combined with vulnerable. “So you’ll move in, then?”

  “End of the season?”

  “Or whenever you’re ready. No pressure, though.”

  I cup his face in my palms and bring his mouth to mine. “I love you.”

  He smiles and grabs his phone from the coffee table, then sits back on his knees. “Say that again, please.”

  “I love you.”

  He passes the phone to me, and I hold it up, recording the broad expanse of muscle and ink. He’s so stunning.

  “You’re the most beautiful thing in my life,” he says.

  I shiver as he yanks my pants down and tosses them to the floor. I ignite when he lowers his head and puts his mouth on me.

  Everything about my relationship with Randy is intense, from the sex to the way we love each other. I keep waiting for the newness to fade and the emotions to temper, but they haven’t. Being with Randy is like the first and last bite of my favorite dessert: it’s full of giddy anticipation and blissful satiety.

  I don’t know if we’ll always be like this, or if things will settle with time and familiarity, but for now, we are ravenously in love.

  RANDY & LILY

  FOREVER

  Acknowledgements

  So much time and energy goes into putting out a book, and it’s all the people behind the scenes who make it possible. Each time I write another book, the list of people I’m grateful for grows.

  Thank you to my family for giving me the time and love to pursue this dream. You’re amazing and I love you for every sacrifice you make and every opportunity you give me to thrive.

  Mom, Dad, Mel and Chris, thank you for backing me up, for supporting me and for being proud. I love you. Stop terrorizing your friends with my smut.

  Debra, you’re the pepper to my salt. I couldn’t do this without you. And I really don’t want to. Move to Canada. It’s nice here, even if it’s fictional.

  Kimberly and the crew at RF Literary and Meire and Flavia at Bookcase; I love you like maple bacon. Kimberly, you’re an amazing agent and I’m so glad to have you in my corner.

  Nina; you’re a master and more organized than I could ever hope to be, my office is a testament to that. Thank you for being amazing in all ways.

  Jessica, we wrestled this one into submission. I love working with you, get ready for the next one!

  Shannon, you make the outsides so pretty! Thank you for being an amazing friend. I can’t wait to see you shine.

  Marla, we’ve been on this road together for a long time, thank you for catching all the wrongs!

  Teeny, you’re such a generous soul. Thank you for showing me the way. I’m learning all the things.

  Sarah, you rock my PA world. Thank you for making my life so much easier and keeping me in line! Melissa, thank you for helping to get the ball rolling, you two are an awesome team.

  Hustlers, you know how much I love you. I can’t even begin to tell you how important you ladies are. Thank you for getting behind me. <3

  Beaver Babes, you ladies are incredible! I love hanging out with you and chatting books, and getting excited for new projects! Thank you for being with me on this journey, you make my day brighter just for existing.

  Erika, you’re an incredible person. It’s an honour to be a
ble to call you friend.

  Susi, let’s hold hands awkwardly and do all the awkward things. 2016 will kick 2015’s bum.

  Ellie, how did this happen? I’m still trying to figure it out. Thank you for Franggy, and text messages, and floating hearts. I’m so glad we were awkward in Vegas together. Next time I’m going to hug you. Be prepared. Franggy, thank you for taking the most amazing selfies, and for being so incredibly talented.

  Kelly, Christina, Susi (round two), Julia, Olivia and Deb, thank you for being the first set of eyes on this and for helping me slap this one into shape. I love you ladies!

  Heather, you’re the best stalker, I can’t wait to see you and your hair again.

  Kandace, you’re the most amazing kind of human being. I’m so glad we had time in Vegas together.

  Tina, find the Tim-Tam’s. You live too far away.

  Angie, you’re a superstar. Thank you for all your support and your help. You amaze me.

  Milasy, we need to have drinks and snuggle with beavers.

  Gossip girls, I want to eat Tim-Tams while on film again.

  To my Backdoor Babes; Tara, Meghan, Deb and Katherine, you ladies rock my socks. I love being part of this amazing group! Thank you for all the support and more importantly, friendship.

  My Smut Saloon ladies; Melanie, Jessica and Geneva, thank you for being so awesome! You’re an amazing group of women.

  To my Pams, the Filets, my Nap girls; 101’ers, and Indies, Tijan, Vi, Penelope, Susi, Deb, Erika, Katherine, Alice, Shalu, Amanda, Leisa, Kellie, Vicki, you are fabulous in ways I can’t explain. Thank you for being my friends, my colleagues, my supporters, my teachers, my cheerleaders and my soft places to land.

  My WC crew; thank you for celebrating this journey with me and for being my friends even though I don’t get to see you every day anymore. Angela—for your musical magic and your awesomeness, thank you, friend. Brent, you’ll never read this because it isn’t your thing, but your art is more appreciated than you could ever know.

  Colleen, thank you for The Bookworm, for being an inherently good person, and for being such an inspiration.

  To all my author friends and colleagues; thank you for all the amazing things you do and share, for celebrating each other’s successes, for sharing the platform and for making this such an amazing community to be part of.

  To all the amazing bloggers and readers out there who have supported me from the beginning of my angst, to the ridiculousness of my humour; thank you for loving these stories, for giving them a voice, for sharing your thoughts and for being such amazing women. I’m honoured and humbled and constantly amazed by what a generous community you are.

  To my Originals; my fandom friends who started on this crazy journey back in 2008, I can’t believe how far we’ve all come. Thank you for sticking with me, and for being the reason I’m here, doing this thing, and loving it.

  About the Author

  NYT and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

  Connect with Helena

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  Other Titles By Helena

  PUCKED SERIES

  Pucked (Pucked #1)

  Pucked Up (Pucked #2)

  Pucked Over (Pucked #3)

  THE CLIPPED WINGS SERIES

  Cupcakes and Ink

  Clipped Wings

  Between the Cracks

  Inked Armor

  Cracks in the Armor

  STANDALONE NOVELS

  The Librarian Principle

  Read on for excerpts from Helena Hunting’s PUCKED and PUCKED Up

  PUCKED Excerpt

  Chapter 1

  WTF MAKES VIOLENCE SO HOT?

  VIOLET

  The team’s arrival is closely followed by a stampede of puck bunnies. I’m surrounded by scantily clad, too-warm bodies, and high-pitched chatter. While Buck regales Sidney with the finer details of the game—as if he wasn’t there—I seek out the red EXIT sign. Rooting around in my bag, I find my smokes and make my move toward the beacon of temporary freedom, excited for my reprieve from social discomfort. Buck notices my attempted escape and grabs my arm.

  “Where you going?” Buck shouts.

  I hold up the pack of smokes; I’d have to yell in order for him to hear me otherwise.

  He wrinkles his nose in distaste. “You really shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for your health.”

  I’m irritated by the attention he’s drawing to us and my fake bad habit, so I fire off an insult. “So are venereal diseases. You don’t hear me lecturing you on your whoriness.”

  He ignores the comment and drags me to his team’s table. It’s covered in heaping plates of food, which the guys inhale at an unprecedented rate. Half-dressed women flit around like fruit flies near wine.

  Seeing as I’m here, I’ll try and make good on Charlene’s request. All I need to do is figure out who Westing-what’s-his-face is so I can snap a pic, feign a headache, and get out of here.

  I find an empty seat; the chairs on either side of me are vacant, aside from a jacket carelessly tossed across the one on my right.

  A random chick snags Buck before I can ask after Charlene’s crush. The smile slapped across his face might look friendly, but I’ve been around him long enough to know better. I enjoy his growing frustration as she snaps selfie after selfie. When she grabs his junk, I take pity on him.

  “Hey, beefcake, enough with the soft-porn photo shoot. Grab a chair!”

  Both his head and the girl’s snap in my direction, as well as those of half the team. I may have raised my voice too much. With the way Buck is smiling, I must be the color of a tomato. His relief and the girl’s incredulity are rather satisfying, so the awkwardness is worth it. The slut-bag mumbles something, and Buck grows grim. “That’s my sister.”

  Her expression turns from irritation to discomfort; she apologizes and teeters off on her outrageous heels.

  Buck drops into the seat beside mine, throwing his arm across my chair. “Thanks for the save. I thought she was gonna whip my dick out right there.”

  I scoff. “Whatever. Your micro-wang is barely visible to the naked eye. Besides, I didn’t want to listen to you whine about a herpes flare-up.”

  Movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention as one of Buck’s teammates takes the seat beside me. I hope he didn’t hear me slagging Buck’s doodle.

  I glance at him in time for a set of boobs to practically smack me in the face as a waitress places a drink in front of him. It looks like milk. I give him the side-eye as she moves away. The guy sitting to his right asks him a question, drawing his attention away from me.

  I recognize him from the time-out box: Waters. Holy shitballs, is he ever hot. His dark hair is cut short, and he’s got some wicked scruff going on. Even with the beard growth, I can tell he’s been blessed with one of those rugged jawlines.

  Nerves, embarrassment, and Waters’ hotness have a cumulative effect, making me sweaty. I pull my sweater over my head, not accounting for static, and my T-shirt sticks to the woolly outer-layer. Face covered with fabric, I scramble to pull the shirt into place. The silence at the table is telling. Once I wrestle free of the sweater, I’m met with a number of wide eyes focused on my chest. I look down. Right. My bra is visible through the pale pink cotton, and now everyone at this table, including Buck, has seen it unfiltered by the shirt.

  Buck leans in and whispers, “Put the sweater back on.”

  I play dumb. “Why?”

  “Everyone can see—” He motions toward my chest without looking.

  I wave him off. “It’s not that obvious.” It’s totally that obvious.

  He shoots me one of his glares. It’s meant to be threatening, but it makes him look constipated. I leave
the sweater off to irritate him. It’s effective. His face turns an interesting shade of red.

  “I need another beer.” He slams his mug on the table and eyes me as he gets up and goes to the bar, despite the half-full pitcher of beer on the table.

  I’m about to put the sweater on again when Waters turns to me.

  “Hi, I’m Alex.” He’s all pretty smile and white teeth. They’re probably fake. Those eyes are something else, though, even if he is sporting the makings of a black eye. I try hard not to look directly at him, afraid I’ll be ensnared by his rugged, handsome face.

  “I’m Violet.”

  “I didn’t realize Butterson had a sister.”

  Even his voice is familiar, satin smooth and deep. He takes a sip of his drink, leaving behind a milk mustache he quickly wipes away. It’s then I realize where I recognize him from: the milk advertisements. Sweet Lord, I’ve been jilling off to him. My mortification reaches new heights, causing me to say something more insane than usual.

  “I’m his stepsister. He likes to keep me a secret since he wants to go all Ophelia on my ass.” My eyes widen at my terrible joke. Though, if he’s anything like Buck, he won’t get the reference.

  “Butterson would make a crap nun, eh?”

  I swear he’s made an accurate reference to Shakespeare. Stunned, I make direct eye contact. Or I try to. His eyes keep bouncing between my chest and my face, so that’s a challenge.

  Normally, I’d be put out by his blatant ogling, but I’ve asked for it with the sheer shirt and the ostentatious bra.

  I further my own embarrassment and his by cupping my breasts and squeezing. “They’re nice for real ones, huh?”

  His eyes shoot to mine. Busted.

  “I uh—I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t—”

  This is one of the most entertaining interactions I’ve had with a member of the opposite sex in ages. I make a snicker-snort noise and look away.

  Buck leans against the bar, talking to a girl whose skirt is so short it’s abundantly clear she’s not wearing underwear. I nudge Alex with my elbow. His arm is like a rock. “Check out Buck’s friend.”