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

by Helena Hunting

I nod and arch a little. “Maybe you should kiss it better now instead of later.”

  “Maybe I should.” He drops to his knees on the floor, edging his way between my legs, and brushes his lips against the swell, teasing me.

  I run my fingers through his hair. “Alex?”

  He lifts his gaze, lips barely grazing my skin. “Yeah, baby?”

  “Your eyes are the prettiest.”

  He smiles and his tongue flicks out to touch my nipple.

  Alex proceeds to do a full body exam, with his mouth. Turns out, I’m totally fine and 100% boneless by the time he’s done.

  MILF in Training

  Violet

  WHY DID I write this? I wrote this for Dirty Blond Books this year for Valentine’s Day. I’ve had A LOT of people wanting Violet & Alex becoming parents, because let’s face it, it would be insane. So I sort of got us part of the way there with this ridiculous little outtake..

  AFTER I PEE on the stick and discover that Alex’s super sperm have succeeded in impregnating me with what I’m expecting will be his superior athletic offspring, I spend the afternoon doing pretty much anything except work. I’d feel baddish, but I’m on salary and what I don’t finish here I’ll take care of at home.

  Instead of managing my accounts, I look up creative ways to tell Alex he’s going to be a dad. I find the perfect set of couple’s shirts and order them express so I have them for when he arrives home tomorrow afternoon. I follow that up by ordering several throw pillows, a cake with a special inscription, and a personalized bottle of sparkling white grape juice.

  At the end of the workday, in which I’ve completed little to no actual work, I head home with the intention of decorating the house for his arrival. I should have loads of time to accomplish this since his flight doesn’t land until early afternoon tomorrow.

  Except I’m super tired after a long day of being excited and a little terrified that a human life is growing inside my body. So instead of decorating, Charlene and I order takeout and look at cute baby stuff online until I pass out on her shoulder. She’s kind enough to wake me up and forces me to go upstairs to my bed so I don’t wake up with a crick in my neck. Charlene is a great bestie. If I have a girl, I hope she has a bestie who’s as awesome as Char.

  I sleep until noon the next day. I would’ve slept longer, but the doorbell keeps ringing. I grab the sleeve of soda crackers from the nightstand—apparently, it helps with morning sickness, which I don’t have yet, but is supposed to hit around the eight-week mark—and get my ass out of bed so I can answer the door.

  It isn’t until I open the door that I remember I have a whole bunch of stuff arriving today, and it appears as though I’ve slept through several deliveries based on the number of boxes at my front door. The current delivery is the cake.

  The delivery guy has a hard time making eye contact, which is my fault since I’m wearing a T-shirt with no bra that says HANDS GO HERE over my chest. I sign for the cake, send the delivery guy on his way, and carry the box carefully into the kitchen. I cry when I open it, because it’s absolutely perfect. Also, I’m pregnant and everything makes me cry.

  Aside from the text that reads Super Sperm Gets the Job Done, it’s also decorated with a sperm wearing a cape. He’s swimming toward an egg with her arms outstretched and heart eyes. I’m aware eggs don’t have arms or eyes, but for the sake of the cake they do.

  Once I get myself together, I bring in all the other items from the front porch. Then I sit down and drink half a gallon of orange juice because I’m thirsty and eat most of a sleeve of soda crackers because they taste okay and I’m too lazy to make anything else. While I eat, I open the rest of the boxes. The fake champagne label is inscribed with Congratulations Alex! You knocked me up!

  Once I’m done with breakfast, I bring the throw pillows upstairs and arrange them on our bed, which really means I toss them in with the other seventy-five million pillows I’ve purchased since we got married. The new ones say We Made a Baby Here and MOMMA to be and DADDY to be.

  It’s already one in the afternoon and Alex will be home soon, so I get in the shower, clean all the sleep off my body, and prepare it for Alex’s arrival. If I’d had time, I would’ve gotten my beaver bedazzled, but my new underpants will have to do. I did manage to get my nails done, though. They’re yellow with little tiny diapers and bottles drawn on them.

  By the time I’m done in the shower, I’m already wishing I could lie down and take a nap. I guess the whole pregnancy thing explains why I’m so tired all the time and why I’ve been falling asleep at eight o’clock every night.

  I pull on a pair of leggings that Alex thinks are particularly flattering on my butt. Then I carefully wrangle my sensitive boobs into my new bra. I’m up another cup size, which sucks because now I’m at the point where I’ll have to get them all custom made, and I’ve been told they’ll only get bigger as pregnancy goes on.

  I pull the shirt over my head and frown at how tight it is across my chest. Also, there’s an insane amount of cleavage since it’s a V-neck. Hmm. I guess I should’ve gone up a size. Oh well, it’ll serve its purpose, and I assume it won’t stay on long since Alex will likely want to celebrate his knocking me up with sexy times.

  The sound of the alarm beeping downstairs signals that Alex is home. I cup my boobs and look at my reflection in the mirror. “Look alive, girls, we’re about to drop the baby bomb!” I do a shimmy shake, then cringe, because that hurts.

  I rush downstairs—carefully, though, because I’m not known for my coordination, and the last thing I need is to fall. I grab my purse from the bottom of the stairs and root around until I find the pregnancy test, which I quickly stick a bow on and set on top of the cake box in the kitchen.

  I take a deep breath and head down the hall with the goal of intercepting Alex. The door connected to the garage swings open and Alex steps into the front foyer. He drops his bag and scoops me up in his arms, lifting me off the floor and crushing me to his chest. “God, it’s so good to be home.”

  He nuzzles into my neck, lips moving along my jaw to my mouth. I don’t even get a chance to tell him I missed him before his tongue is in my mouth and he’s wrapping my legs around his waist. I indulge in the mouth fucking, because Alex is a fantastic kisser. He kneads my ass as he carries me across the foyer. I realize he’s headed for the stairs, which will totally mess up my plan, so I cup his cheeks and disengage our mouths long enough to say, rather breathlessly, “Kitchen.”

  Alex smirks. “Feel like a little counter fucking, eh, baby? Does that mean you bedazzled your beaver for me again? Wait. Don’t tell me. I want it to be a surprise.” Annnndddd . . . we’re back to the mouth fucking.

  Alex is so focused on making out that he doesn’t notice the elaborate setup as he drops me on the counter. He yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor. Then he cups my boobs, covering the majority of the lettering decorating them, and lowers his head. “Fuck, I missed you.” His voice is muffled by my cleavage.

  “Alex.” It’s part moan, part protest. My nipples are super sensitive these days.

  “Is it just me or are your boobs bigger?” He backs up a little and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Is this a new bra? What does your shirt say?”

  “You’ll have to let go of my boobs so you can read it.” I grab hold of his wrists and encourage him to release them. He’s understandably reluctant.

  He reads the words stamped across my chest, brow pulling together as his lips turn down. “MILF in Training?” He drags his eyes away from my chest and arches a brow.

  Usually my husband is smart, but it’s obvious his hormones are in control right now, and the head below the belt is doing all the thinking for him. I reach behind me, which happens to make my chest jut out, and feel around for the pregnancy test. I hold it up in front of his face and say, “Tada!”

  “What do I need a pen for right now?”

  I check to make sure that’s not what I’m holding. “It’s not a pen, Alex.” I shov
e it between my boobs since that’s where he’s looking.

  He plucks it aggressively from my cleavage, slightly annoyed, and pries the bow off. It takes about two and a half seconds before he reacts. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open when it finally registers that he’s holding a pregnancy test. With a blue plus sign. He brings it closer to his face, inspecting the little box where those lines intersect each other.

  “Baby?” His gaze flips up to mine and then back down to the pregnancy test, then to my boobs and back to my face. “Vi? Does this mean what I think it means?”

  “If you think it means that your super sperm have managed to swim the mighty beaver channel and you managed to knock me up, then the answer is yes.” I really wish I had my phone on me, because his expression is priceless and getting a video of this moment would’ve been epic. Too bad I’m already suffering from baby brain and all my best ideas happen when it’s too late to do anything about it.

  “You’re pregnant?”

  “According to that test I am.”

  “This isn’t a joke, right? This isn’t like one of Sunny’s old tests and you’re just doing this to get me all excited?”

  I make a face. “Uh, no, Alex, I’m not touching something your sister has peed on.”

  “How accurate are these?” He waves the pee stick around in the air.

  “A hundred percent.”

  “So you’re really pregnant?” He blinks four thousand times in a row, like he’s halfway between crying and freaking out with excitement.

  “I’m really pregnant.” I watch his expression shift as the news finally, truly sets in.

  Alex’s grin lights up the entire world. Man, my husband is pretty. “We’re having a baby!”

  I return his smile. “How do you feel about that, Alex?”

  “I feel fuckin’ awesome! This is better than winning The Cup!” He fist pumps and follows it with, “Fuck yeah!”

  He places a palm over my still mostly flat belly, eyes alight with excitement usually reserved for my bare boobs. “I’m gonna be a dad!”

  “You are, and you’re going to be amazing.”

  And I know without a doubt that’s true, because he puts a hundred and ten percent into everything he loves.

  Kick Stand Kid

  Alex

  WHY DID I write this? You’ll find out at the end, because I don’t want to spoil this for you ;)

  I CAN’T FIND my wife.

  Normally, this isn’t much of a worry, but she’s very, very pregnant. She’s also five days overdue and pretty desperate to get this baby out. Her car is in the garage, though, and she didn’t mention going anywhere today, so she has to be around here somewhere.

  It’s possible she’s napping. It’s also possible she’s gotten herself stuck somewhere. Last week, she got trapped in the living room lounger and had to resort to texting me for help. I tried not to laugh, but I failed. Boobgate went into effect until I bought her apology flowers and her favorite non-dairy shake. Violet has been craving a lot of ice cream during this pregnancy, which is not ideal since she can’t handle lactose.

  I call her name for the tenth time as I head upstairs. I check the most obvious places first. Our bedroom is empty and our bed is made, the bathroom door is open and there’s no Violet in there, and she’s not in the nursery or her sewing room either. I check the guest bedrooms and bathrooms just in case, but still no Violet.

  I head back downstairs, my concern growing. I check the office, but again, no wife. I continue down the hall, past my workout room to the library. Which is exactly where I find her. Doing something she definitely shouldn’t be considering her current state. She has earbuds in, which accounts for the reason she couldn’t hear me calling her name.

  She must catch the movement in the doorway out of the corner of her eye because she glances my way and startles, dropping the armful of books she’s carrying. “Shit!” she yells, then starts hopping around, smashing into the waist high towers of books arranged in haphazard piles around her.

  The domino effect is rapid and impressive. One tower goes over, knocking into the next one and then the next.

  “No! Oh God, no!” Violet tries to save the next pile from going over, but all she succeeds in doing is causing the ones behind her to tumble when she bumps them with her butt.

  Within thirty seconds, all but one of the book towers has fallen. Her face crumples and she bursts into tears. “I organized it all for nothing!” She lowers herself to the floor, slowly. It’s more of an actual crouch and a gentle plop, but it still causes the remaining tower to fall.

  Here’s the thing about my wife. She’s not usually super dramatic. Quirky? Yes, which is one of the traits I love most about her. She also says what’s on her mind when it’s on her mind, something else I love about her, even if it means sometimes she says things that embarrass her.

  But pregnant Violet is a whole different story. She’s not only dramatic, she’s also emotional and hormonal. Individually, I can handle any of those things. The hormonal part I manage exceedingly well. I’m more than happy to service my wife and her needs as often as she likes. Which has been very, very often all throughout this pregnancy. I’m also aware as soon as this baby comes I will no longer have access to the boobs, or the rest of her for a while, so I will take what I can get when I can get it.

  The emotional side of my wife is something I’ve had to learn how to deal with because she’s generally not much of a crier. Sure, when we went through a rough patch back when we were dating and I was an asshole, there were tears. And when I had that accident and ended up in the hospital with a severe concussion, there were more tears, but other than that, she’s really pretty level.

  At least until I got her pregnant. Now she cries at tissue commercials, or cute stuffed animals—pretty much anything will bring the waterworks, really. And with her being five days overdue, she’s extra sensitive.

  “Baby, what’re you doing?” I carefully step over the mountain of books surrounding her.

  “I was organizing books until you came in here and ruined it all!” she sobs.

  “But the books were already organized.” We used the Dewey Decimal System to set them up. Every shelf is organized based on book genre and then they’re alphabetized. Violet insisted on it.

  “All the romance books weren’t organized by sub-genre, though. The contemporary romance was in with paranormal romance and the new adult fiction and the classics. It was all wrong. I needed to fix it. And Sunny said exercise will help get this baby out. I just want to be able to see my vagina again. That’s all. And my feet without sitting down.” She dashes away the tears. “Look at this mess! And I’m too tired to clean it up now.” Her shoulders slump and she exhales a long, exasperated breath as she rubs her belly.

  “Come on, baby. I know it’s comfy in there, but I really want you to come out so we can meet you. And so I can see my feet again and Alex can stop worrying that he’s poking you in the spine every time we have sex.” Her head snaps up. “We should have sex. Maybe an orgasm will get him out.” She grabs the hem of my shirt and starts pulling it over my head.

  “Do you want to go upstairs? The bed will be more comfortable.” My words are muffled by fabric.

  “Let’s be spontaneous and have sex here.”

  “Okay.” I’m not going to argue with Violet, not when she’s offering sex and she’s so emotionally reactive.

  Now that Violet has decided she wants to have sex, she’s on a mission to get me naked. My shirt is still half on and covering my face, but she abandons it and goes for my belt. I pull my shirt off and toss it aside. She pops the button on my jeans, unzips them halfway, and then pushes my pants and boxers down. I’m already mostly hard, so my erection gets caught in the fabric.

  Violet reaches in and frees me from my boxers. I groan at the sight of her perfectly manicured nails, one of which has my jersey number painted on it, wrapped around my shaft.

  She leans in and presses a kiss to the tip. “I really n
eed you to work superpowers on my vagina and give me an orgasm, Super MC.”

  “I’ll give you more than one,” I promise as I help her out of her shirt and unclasp her bra, setting her boobs free. I cup them and very carefully nuzzle between them. “I love you.”

  “Are you talking to my boobs or me?” I can hear Violet’s brow arching.

  “Both.” I kiss each nipple, then suck them, but gently because Violet’s boobs are ultra sensitive these days. She gasps, then grabs my hair and moans when I do it again.

  I finish undressing her and try to find a place to lay her down, but fallen books surround us.

  “Wait.” She puts a hand on my chest. “I can’t lie on these! I might bend the covers!” Violet is a little weird about the state of her books. She hates it when her paperbacks have creases in the spines or dog-eared covers.

  “We can move to the couch? Or I can take you upstairs?” I figure giving her the option of a bed again is smart.

  “I guess the couch is still spontaneous.”

  “Totally spontaneous and far more comfortable than the floor.” I help her up and we navigate our way out of the circle of books. Once she’s sitting down, I drop to my knees between her thighs and kiss her.

  “I can’t wait until I can see my vagina without a mirror again.” She moans when I circle her clit with a finger, dragging it down and easing inside her. It doesn’t take me long to make her come. I pull her to the edge of the couch and give her a second orgasm with my mouth. Then I position myself between her thighs and rub a few extra circles on her sensitive clit. “Is this position good for you, baby? Are you comfortable?”

  “I have a bowling ball in my stomach. I’m never comfortable, Alex, but this works. I can sort of see what’s going on down there.”

  I ease in, slowly, groaning at how insanely tight she is. I don’t mention that, though, because Violet is terrified that she’s going to end up with a baggy vagina—her words—after this baby comes out. So I go with, “You feel so good.” It’s true, and a lot safer.