Pucks & Penalties: Pucked Series Deleted Scenes and Outtakes Version 2.0 (The Pucked Series)

by Helena Hunting

  “Yeah, he’s not really a one-someone kinda guy.”

  “He still seems pretty hung up on Tash for a guy who’s not a one-someone kinda guy?” She was their old trainer.

  “That situation was messy. It still is.” Randy laces his fingers through mine.

  “Our relationship was kind of messy when we first started hooking up.”

  We began as a casual fling, but clearly it didn’t stay that way since I live with him now.

  Randy regards me thoughtfully; then an evil grin spreads across his face. “You mean messy as in messing up the sheets? Or maybe you mean all the beard conditioning I had to do every time we hooked up?”

  My mouth drops open, and I try to yank my hand away, intent on tweaking his nipple, but he’s wise, and a lot stronger than I am, so it doesn’t work. He laughs and half-drags me up the front steps.

  “You know I’m just playing, right?” He pulls me to him. I give him my cheek, so he kisses his way up my neck. “Well, not about the beard-conditioning part.”

  “You’re winning no prizes with this.”

  “What if I tell you I want to condition my beard right now?”

  “I’m all for public displays of affection, but I’m pretty sure we could get arrested for that, even if we’re on our own front porch.”

  Randy fumbles with the keypad, punching in the code while he bites along my shoulder, his beard tickling me.

  We manage to get inside the front door. I’m smart enough to set the envelope with the tattoo designs on the side table in the front hall before he gets me totally naked and makes good on his beard-conditioning promise.

  _______________

  It took me three days to decide on my favorite design. Randy never did voice any kind of opinion on it, but I saw him staring at the designs just as much as I was. Once I chose—I went for the biggest one with the most detail—we stopped by to see Hayden, and he sent me home with transfers. I’ve been wearing them all over my body for the past few days to help make a final decision on the location.

  In this case, despite Randy’s insistence that I be the one to make the choice, he’s willing to help with the process. Using body paint.

  “I thought you said this was out,” I murmur as he nudges my knees apart and dips his finger into the pink body paint. He draws a little heart high up on the inside of my thigh.

  “I’m just making sure I don’t want it here.” Randy is not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. He is, however, very good at cleaning flavored paint off my body with his tongue. He’s also very thorough. My preferred licking locations are obviously those close to the Vagina Emporium, which is right where he is now.

  Of course, he doesn’t stay there long, because he’s a tease. He moves up until he can rest his chin on my pelvis—I’m only wearing panties and a camisole, so he has nearly full access to my currently unmarked skin. Using the purple paint, which tastes a lot like grape Kool-Aid, he draws a little smiley face on my hip.

  “I really think when you retire from hockey, you should see if you can switch gears and apprentice with Hayden,” I tell him.

  “So you can start a fan club?” Randy covers the purple smiley face with his mouth and sucks the paint off, following up with a little teeth. I know he’s kidding, though he’s aware of all the girls’ fascination with Hayden.

  “Just imagine the fun places I’d be able to get tattoos if you were the one to put them on me.”

  I can’t imagine we would ever finish one, to be honest.

  He turns serious, even with his head between my legs. “You know you can have one wherever you want it.”

  I smile and run my fingers through his hair. It’s getting long, which I love. “I know.”

  “I don’t want your decision to be based on my insecurity.” He kisses below my navel.

  While an inner thigh or a hip tattoo would definitely be sexy, I’m not interested in slowing our sex roll with new ink. Even if I waited for him to be on a series of away games, he’d still have to be gentle for at least a week. Sometimes Randy and I have slow, sweet sex. But that’s the exception, definitely not the rule.

  Beyond that, I want the tattoo to be visible—not necessarily all the time, but at least during the summer months. “I still think my shoulder is the perfect location. That way it’s visible when I want it to be and easily covered when I don’t.”

  Also, Randy likes to kiss me there, so now he’ll have an actual target. It’s a special, meaningful tattoo, tied to so many good memories.

  “Wherever you get it, it’s gonna be sexy.” Randy pulls himself up higher, kissing his way across my stomach.

  “Well, I doubt it’s going to be my last one, so there’s plenty of opportunity to find other places, isn’t there?”

  “Fucking right.” Randy settles between my thighs.

  I circle my arms around his neck. I toyed with putting the tattoo on my forearm, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that level of visibility quite yet. I need to ease my poor mother in to this, one pretty design at a time.

  In the meantime, I get to experience the excitement that comes with planning out a new sleeve with Randy. As I run my hands up his arms, one marked, one waiting to be marked, I understand his love of body art in a way I never did before.

  It’s about wearing a piece of your history, a part of what makes you who you are. And sometimes it’s about the people who come into your life, and embed themselves in your heart until you can’t imagine where you’d be without them.

  Endorse this

  WHY DID I write this nonsense? It was for the anniversary of Pucked and I felt like revisiting these insane characters and giving Alex a little of the forbidden fruit. Also, Violet is just fun to write, and whenever I’m struggling with character voices, I can always come back to these two and they feel real and natural and easy. So I wrote this bag of ridiculous to go with all the other ridiculousness.

  I PULL INTO the garage, retrieve my hockey bag from the trunk and bring it straight to the laundry room. My equipment smells like dirty ball sac—Violet’s description—and she gets annoyed when I leave it to fester in the front foyer. I toss the washable items into the machine and set them to soak.

  Normally, I’d leave all this stuff for the housekeeper, but I need my equipment tomorrow and she won’t be here until later in the week. I’m also trying to win bonus points with my wife. The kind that might result in sexual favors. It’s a busy time of year at work for her, so my Super Cock and me do not have top spot on her to-do list.

  Also, smelly hockey equipment is not a turn-on, or so I’ve been told. It’s interesting how things change, particularly over the past two years, since we got caught fucking in the locker room. Back then she blew me straight off the ice. Now if I try to get a little action after a run or practice, I’m sent straight to the shower. She joins me, of course, but I get several cursory seconds alone under the spray to wash off most of the sweat first. I don’t really mind, because she typically performs a strip tease during that time and then presses her boobs against the glass, which I appreciate.

  Today, I’m returning from practice showered and wearing fresh clothes that were not occupying the same bag as my hockey equipment. Again, mixing fresh laundry and stinky hockey equipment equals delayed gratification. I have two hours before I have to leave for a meeting with my agent to discuss a few potential endorsement options, and Violet is working from home today.

  Later, Darren and Charlene are coming over for dinner—it’s supposed to be a short break in Violet’s otherwise tight schedule, and after food I’ve been told she and Charlene have reports they need to review. My current plan is to capitalize on this small window of spare time by enticing Violet to break for lunch—a naked lunch, unless she’s in the middle of something. Violet can be difficult to distract when she’s mathing, which is entirely possible since she hasn’t come to greet me in the minutes I’ve been home.

  I don’t call out to let her know I’m here; I’m banking on the element of s
urprise. I check the most obvious places first, like the kitchen and the living room—sometimes she brings her laptop down when she gets tired of her office, or if it’s nice out she’ll work by the pool. She’s in none of these locations, so I have to assume she’s upstairs in her office.

  Muffled bass grows louder as I ascend the stairs. Her office door is open and her back is to me, hair pulled up into a loose ponytail as she types away on her computer, humming tunelessly to the song blasting from the sound system. When it gets to a part she knows, she stops typing and belts out the lyrics while shimmying in her chair. As soon as the chorus is over, she goes back to humming and her fingers return to the keyboard. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

  I’m about to announce my presence when the doorbell rings. Violet rolls her chair back and spins around.

  Gripping the armrests, she shrieks. “What the fuck, Alex?”

  “Sorry. I just got home.”

  “So you thought you’d scare the shit out of me?” She pushes up out of the chair and presses a palm against her chest, drawing my attention to her boobs, or at least the exceptional amount of cleavage. She’s wearing a loose tank with my team logo. It has a sheer quality to it, through which I can see the camisole and bra she’s wearing underneath. There are excessive straps and not enough nipple visibility.

  “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not long.”

  She gives me the stink eye and moves to step past me, but I block her way.

  “Someone’s at the door.”

  “I’ll get it.” I cup her boobs and lean down to kiss her frowning mouth.

  “Is this why you came up here? Just to cop a feel?” she says against my lips.

  “I came up to say hi and to see if you wanted to have lunch with me before I meet with my agent this afternoon.” I brush my thumbs over her nipples. They’re barely detectible through the layers of cotton, satin, and padding.

  The doorbell rings a second time and she pushes my hands away. “My boobs will still be here after whoever’s at the door is gone.”

  I step in front of her, intent on getting there first. It’s okay for me to check out her awesome cleavage, not so much the FedEx guy—if that’s even who it is. It better not be some solicitor. Violet follows me downstairs and waits behind me as I unlock the door and greet the delivery person—who happens to be female. And older. Like my mother’s age. She hands me a box wrapped in non-descript packaging with a look that screams judgment. I ignore her disapproval and tuck the package under my arm, glancing over my shoulder at Violet, who’s peeking out from behind me.

  “Make any purchases you want to tell me about?” I ask.

  Occasionally, Violet uses my credit card to buy things when she’s too lazy to find her purse. Last time I opened a package containing new lingerie and ruined her surprise. It had my name on it, so it wasn’t really my fault and I still enjoyed seeing her in it.

  She crosses her arms over her chest and glances pointedly at the black plastic wrapped package. “No. Have you?”

  “Not unless I’ve been sleep-shopping.” I sign for it, thank the delivery lady, and close the door.

  As soon as I turn around, Violet makes a grab for the box. I raise it over my head and enjoy watching her boobs bounce as she jumps for it. It’s even better when she holds onto my shoulders and tries to climb my body to reach it.

  “You ordered something from a porn site! I want to see what it is!”

  I give her a hand by holding onto her ass and lifting her higher so her boobs are almost in my face, but the package remains out of reach. “I didn’t order this, and why do you assume it’s from a porn site?”

  “Because it’s in black packaging with no logo on it. Only porn stuff comes in packages like that.”

  “And how would you know that?” I lower her until her feet hit the floor.

  “Because I’ve ordered from an online porn shop before.” She holds out her arms, but does it in such a way that she squeezes her boobs together. “Gimme.”

  I hand over the box. I’m actually quite curious, since I haven’t ordered anything from an online porn shop recently. I would definitely remember if I had.

  Violet hugs the box to her chest and runs down the hall, into the kitchen. Pulling a pair of scissors from the drawer, she carefully cuts through the tape and pries the flaps apart, tossing air-filled packing bags onto the counter.

  Her brow comes down and her lips follow in a frown as she takes in the contents.

  “What is it?” I step up behind her with the intention of looking over her shoulder, and maybe rubbing on her a little.

  She spins away, the object—whatever it is—clutched to her chest in one hand as she skitters around the opposite side of the kitchen island. “Are you serious with this, Alex?”

  Shit. She looks pissed. And maybe a tad bit nervous. And also just the wee-est bit excited—or it’s possible the last part is just me projecting the kind of reaction I’d like to see to new sex stuff—if that’s what it is. Now I really want to know what the hell was in that box.

  I side-step right.

  Violet points an accusatory finger at me and shuffles in the opposite direction, maintaining our distance. “Stay right the fuck there, Alex. If you come one step closer, I swear to God you will never touch my boobs again.”

  “Baby, I don’t know what’s got you so worked up, but I assure you, whatever you’re holding, I didn’t order it.”

  Violet scoffs. “That’s complete and utter bullshit.” She slams not one, but two items on the counter with such force that they bounce and one rolls toward me. I catch it as it falls over the edge.

  “I know what that is! Don’t think I don’t!” Her voice is high and pitchy.

  I read the label and suddenly her extreme reaction is much less confusing. I’m holding a bottle of lube. But not just any kind of lube. Anal lube. “I don’t know where this came from, but I didn’t buy it.”

  “Ha! I don’t believe you!”

  “It’s not like I can just unsuspectingly sneak things into your ass, Violet.”

  “You’ve snuck a finger in there before!” It’s an accusation. She also moves a hand behind her, as if she’s gone into ass-protection mode.

  I raise a brow. “I didn’t sneak it in there. I made it very clear what I was planning to do, and gave you every opportunity to say no thank you.” I reach for the second package, which is still on the counter, NS realize it’s a butt plug.

  She nabs it before I can, which is shocking, because normally Violet’s reaction time is much slower than mine. She waves it around in the air manically. “And this! What were you planning on doing with this?”

  It’s hard not to laugh, but I’m aware if I do, I’m likely going to be taking care of my own hard-ons for a while. My hands are not soft like Violet’s, so I keep my expression calmly neutral.

  “Baby, I have no plans for that because I didn’t buy it. Maybe it’s a prank. Maybe Charlene sent it.” I make a mental note to thank her if that’s the case.

  “Ha!” she barks. “Why would she send me this—” The packaged butt plug flies out of her waving hand. I make a quick shift to the right and snatch it out of the air. “—when I already have almost the exact same one?”

  I fumble the package. “What the what? You what?” Her eyes flare with panic as mine narrow.

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “You can’t backtrack when you say something like that, Violet. Since when do you have one of these?” I hold up the plug. It seems pretty nice as far as plugs go—although my only references are from porn since getting near Violet’s No-Go Zone is so rare that I’d never anticipated needing one. The end is all fancy, with what at first appears to be a jewel. On closer inspection, I realize it’s the team logo. What the hell? Since when do we have Chicago-based sex toys? And who’s the fucking genius behind that idea?

  Just the possibility of using this is giving me one hell of a rager, because I’m
thinking about the very select times in the past couple of years that I’ve managed to get in a finger in Violet’s Area 51. Even if she doesn’t want to admit she likes it, she’s come every single time I’ve slipped a digit in the back door.

  Her eyes dart around the room. I can practically see her wheels turning, as if she’s trying to come up with a plausible story, which is pointless, since Violet is the worst liar in the history of the world. If she committed a felony, she would spend the rest of her life in prison, because Violet would confess in two seconds.

  “It was a gag gift.”

  “A gag gift? Who gives someone a butt plug as a joke?”

  She cringes at the words butt plug and protects her ass again. “Or like a party favor. I don’t know. Charlene has weird ideas about what makes an acceptable gift.”

  “Charlene gave you a butt plug?”

  “Well, who else do I know who would gift me an Area 51 invasion implement? Other than my mother, but even that’s a little outside of her realm of inappropriateness.” She’s doing that flail thing with her hands—like she does when she’s nervous.

  Violet’s sufficiently distracted that she hasn’t noticed me moving around the island. “When did Charlene give you a butt plug?”

  That gets me another shudder. “What?” Now she’s playing with the end of her ponytail.

  “The butt plug. When did she give it to you?”

  Violet shrugs. “A while ago.”

  “What’s a while ago?”

  She mumbles something I don’t quite catch.

  “What was that?”

  “When we were in Vegas.” It’s still mumbled, but I can understand her this time.

  Now it’s my turn to frown. “You’ve had a butt plug since Vegas?” That’s nearly a year ago.

  “She gave one to all of us. I forgot all about it until now, when this one showed up.” She motions to the one still in my hand.

  “To all of you?”

  “Yes. All of us got one. Me, Sunny, Lily, and Charlene—well, not Charlene because I’m assuming she already has one, or probably more than one realistically, but she felt like she needed to buy one for the rest of us so we could join the Area 51 brigade or whatever. I have no idea. Maybe she wants to start a club. Apparently, she’s a big, huge fan of Darren’s dick in her Exit Only orifice.”