Forever Pucked (Pucked 4)

“You’re not wearing your sling.”

I drop my purse on the counter and come up behind him. Snaking an arm around his waist, I press my boobs against his back. His skin is warm, and he smells like my favorite body wash.

“That’s what I wanted to tell you! Doc gave me the all clear. No more sling.”

It’s been over a month since the accident, but the doctors projected at least six weeks before he’d be out of a sling. “Really?”

Alex moves the pan off the burner and turns around so my boobs are pressed against his abs instead of his back. And now his snuffie is pressed against my stomach.

He tucks my hair behind my ear with the hand attached to the injured arm and shoulder. “Really. And it looks like there isn’t any negative residual impact from the concussion either.”

I hug him tightly, relieved. More than the broken body parts and obvious physical wounds, this was the part we were most anxious about. “That’s awesome news. Doesn’t this mean you’re ahead of what the doctors projected?”

“Yeah, by almost two weeks. The doctor said I can start a modified workout schedule to rehabilitate my arm.”

“That’s so good, Alex.”

“I think so, too. I’m looking forward to having my stamina back.” He shifts his hips so I can feel him growing.

“I love your stamina.”

He skims my arms with his fingertips, unhooking my hands from around his waist so he can see my fingernails. “You have a good time with the girls?” It’s a French manicure except for my index fingers. Those are painted white with the Super MC logo nail stickers I had made for shits and giggles.

“We had fun like we always do.”

He kisses the back of my hand. “I like these.”

“I thought you might.”

Alex has a weird fixation with nice nails. He’s definitely mostly hard now.

“You get anything else done today?” He kisses the tip of every finger.

“My toes.”

“Oh yeah? Is that all? You were gone most of the day.” Alex bites my pinkie.

“Nope.”

“What else did you have done?”

I shrug. “Just the usual.”

“The usual?”

“You know, waxing, plucking, that kind of thing.”

“Does that mean you’re too sensitive?”

“Too sensitive for what?” I pretend like I don’t know what he’s talking about; obviously he means his dick, because it’s hard.

“What do you think?” Alex runs his hands down my sides, then reaches around and palms my ass, pulling me tighter against him.

“What about the pancakes?”

“They’ll stay warm in the oven.”

“Wanna go upstairs?”

“Not really.” Alex pulls my shirt over my head. He doesn’t bother to do any pre-bra-removal nuzzling; he flicks the clasp and bites his lip as the straps fall and my nipples appear.

He sighs and cups my boobs.

“You know what I’ve really missed?” Alex walks me backward until my butt hits the island. Then he lifts me by the waist and sets me on the counter.

“What’s that?”

“Being able to use both hands on you at the same time.”

He cups my boobs again and bows his head, pushing his face into my cleavage. “And my mouth.”

The stitches across the bridge of his nose came out two weeks ago, and the scar isn’t as bad as I expected it to be, thanks to the plastic surgeon. The scar fits in with the slight bump from his nose being broken more than once.

I run my hands through his hair and over his shoulders. The muscles in his back flex with my touch, and his deep groan vibrates through my body.

Ever since the accident, Alex has been understandably frustrated by the restrictions and limitations. His inability to take control of things has been a source of angst and irritation. I tried to do what I could to make it easier for him, but I don’t think I realized how much it impacted his sex drive until now. Because when he lifts his head, the look on his face is eerily similar to the one he wore when he fucked me against the lockers at the arena.

Or the time he fucked me against the wall when I lived, however briefly, in that apartment building. My beaver perks right up, getting nice and drooly in preparation for what I’m thinking is going to be a seriously kickass sex session on our kitchen island.

Alex threads his fingers through my hair and kisses along my throat and over my chin. He backs up enough so I can look him in the eyes, though he’s still holding my hair. His eyes roam my face. God, he looks intense. And totally in control. Oh, Christ, I think my man is back.

“Do you know what I want to do right now, baby?”

“Make sweet love to me?” I breathe, hoping the answer is no.

His lip curls up. It’s more a lecherous sneer than his cute, dimple-popping smile. He shakes his head.

“You don’t want to have sex?” I’m playing dumb again. My beaver is so excited. If she had legit teeth she’d be gnashing through my panties to get to his wood.