Pucked (Pucked 1)

Once I’m sufficiently primed, he lifts me up and lowers me onto him. Alex slams his hand against the wall every time he thrusts. It’s hard and fast and loud, which is what he intends. At one point, the music stops completely—right in the middle of one of my epic declarations of cock love.

The music returns immediately, louder this time. This pisses him off even more; he channels his anger into my pleasure, loudly. This makes me the recipient of two stellar orgasms.

When he finally comes, he leaves a dent in the drywall with the side of his fist.

I can’t stand on my own after he sets me down. At first, he’s worried he’s hurt me, and then he realizes he’s fucked me until I can’t walk again.

“Here, baby, let me help you out.” He carries me to the couch, his annoyingly cocky grin fixed in place. I’m too much of a limp noodle to do more than glare from a semi-prone position.

Alex is a big fan of post-sex meals. I don’t have a personal chef who prepares such things for me, so we have to go out to get something. I’m too post-orgasm dumb to argue against it, so I try to figure out how to use my legs again and get dressed, with Alex’s help.

I tiptoe quickly past Melvin’s door. Alex has other ideas; he knocks hard enough to make the light above us rattle. Melvin peeks out with the chain lock still attached. His eye—the one I can see—flickers to me and away. His face goes beet red.

Alex wrinkles his nose as he takes in the rank odor emanating from Melvin’s apartment. His smile is dark, and he keeps one arm wrapped protectively around me. “Hey, buddy. You mind keeping your music down a little in the future? Violet’s too polite to ask. It makes it hard for her to function.” Alex stresses the “funk” in function, making it sound like fuck-shun.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, sure.” Melvin nods, his wide eyes on Alex.

“Thanks, man.” Alex guides me down the hall with his hand on my ass. I’d protest, but it’s actually kind of funny.

Two horrifyingly embarrassing weeks after the wall-sex fiasco—during which Melvin avoids me and Ms. Bullock gives me knowing winks—the pipes in my kitchen burst and flood my apartment. The landlord tells me it’s going to take a week to fix it.

Alex totally overreacts and comes over to let my landlord know it’s unacceptable. My landlord’s “not my problem” attitude pisses off Alex. After a yelling match, where Alex questionably threatens to kick his ass with his hockey stick, my landlord says he’ll do his best to get the pipes fixed as quickly as possible. Alex doesn’t seem terribly worried about the pipes, to be honest.

I hastily throw a bunch of stuff into an overnight bag, and we head to his place.

Alex rubs the back of my neck. “You can stay with me until the pipes are fixed.”

“Okay.” I hadn’t really considered any other options, although my parents' pool house is always open if I don’t mind my mom popping in without warning.

“Maybe you should think about looking for another apartment.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“I don’t know; maybe because your landlord is an asshole and your neighbor humps the adjoining wall while you sleep.”

That’s a creepy thought. “It’s so close to my work, though. The music thing isn’t bad.”

He pulls into his driveway. “Violet.”

“Okay. It’s bad. I can still manage, and I really don’t want to pack up all my stuff again. It’s such a pain in the ass.”

“Right. Okay.” His face falls.

I put my hand on his arm. “Alex, Melvin is harmless. He smells worse than Buck’s hockey bag. He’s not a threat.”

“I know, baby. Let’s go inside and get you settled.”

I’m surprised he doesn’t suggest I move in with him; maybe I’ve avoided giving him an answer so many times he’s afraid to ask again. I bring my overnight bag upstairs. Alex lies on his bed and watches me as I hang a few outfits in his closet. Then I move to the dresser; I have a drawer reserved. Mostly it contains a variety of underwear, some sexy, some comic-book inspired.

He takes off his shirt and unbuttons his jeans. “Hey, wanna go for a swim? I hiked the pool up to thirty degrees today.”

“That’s below freezing.” Which is technically impossible since it’s July and we’re in the middle of a heatwave.

“Centigrade, not Fahrenheit.”

“I don’t have a bathing suit with me.”

“So? What do you need a bathing suit for?” His grin is full of sex and promise.

“Good point.” I strip out of my clothes while Alex watches from his bed. Naked, I sprint down the stairs and out the patio door to the backyard. I glance over my shoulder to find him chasing me, shedding his shorts and nearly face planting in the process. I’m almost across the lawn when he loops an arm around my waist and lifts me off the ground. He doesn’t slow as he races toward the edge of the pool. I scream when we take flight, and we land in the balmy water with a massive splash.