Pucked (Pucked 1)

No problem. Dinner is covered; there’s a salad in the fridge, and all I have to do is put the steak and potatoes on the barbecue. Afterward, we can have dessert on the dock. I’ll ask her to be my wife while we watch the sun go down. The mosquitos better keep the fuck away.

After a day of dock hopping, Violet is tired. She stretches and yawns. This is perfect. I’ll be able to set everything up while she’s having a nap.

“Maybe you should lie down for a while before dinner,” I suggest.

“Mmm. That sounds nice.” Violet takes a few steps toward the bedroom. When I don’t follow. she stops. “Aren’t you coming?” She pulls her shirt over her head and drops it on the floor.

“Maybe for a few minutes.” A little pre-nap sex wouldn’t hurt. I can get dinner started after she falls asleep.

As soon as I’m on the bed she straddles me and pulls the tie on her bikini top, setting her boobs free.

She usually lets me take the lead. Occasionally she doesn’t. This is one of those times. Violet pushes on my chest to keep me down and then brings her fingers to her lips. “I think I want you here first.” She goes lower, running her index finger between her luscious breasts. She lowers her voice to a sultry whisper. “Or maybe you’d prefer here.” Skimming past her tanned stomach, she cups her pussy. “And we can finish here.”

“I’m game for whatever you have planned, baby.” I grip her hips and restrain myself from flipping her onto her back to get things started.

Violet leans over to the nightstand where we keep the lube for such occasions. Which are admittedly frequent. The curtains are drawn, making it difficult to see. She rummages around in the drawer for a few seconds.

“Dammit. This isn’t lube.” She sits up, turning the package in her hands. “What is this?”

It’s at that very moment I realize what it is: the engagement ring. This isn’t part of the plan. I don’t intend to ask her to be my wife prior to a tit fuck.

“It’s nothing, give it to me,” I order, reaching for it as she holds it above her head.

“Did you buy me a sex toy? Is it a set of those weird ball things you shove up your beaver?”

“Weird ba—give me the box, Violet.”

Ignoring me, she flips the lid open. Inside is a second, smaller box covered in black velvet. The pale blue box drops to the bed. Violet is still topless. Still straddling me. I’m still sporting a hard-on.

“Alex?” She blinks in confusion.

“Give me the box, baby.” I need to fix this, stat. I don’t want this to be the way I propose to her, half-naked in bed. I want a story we can tell people. Not one we have to censor.

“What’s in here?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“I’ll show you later.” My fingers close around her wrist.

“Why can’t you show me now?” She strokes the velvet. She knows. I can tell by the way her eyes widen. “Alex?”

“Let’s have dinner first.” It’s a plea.

“Is this—are you?” Her gaze lifts, her smile soft as she clutches the box tightly in her hand. “It’s not a pair of earrings, is it?”

“Nope.”

All my careful last-minute planning will go to shit if she opens the box. Or I could go with the flow. I sit up in a rush, and Violet finally let’s go of the box. Lifting her from my lap, I scan the bed for a shirt. One of mine is hanging on the footboard.

“Give me your arms,” I say, holding it out so she can put it on.

“But I thought—”

“We need to talk first.”

She blinks nervously but complies. I slip her hands through the sleeves and pull it over her head. Then I drop to one knee and flip the lid open.

“I love you, Violet Hall. You make every day an adventure. Marry me.”

Violet bites her lip and stares at the ring. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred and ten percent.”

“We’ve only been together for six months.”

My hand is starting to shake from the anxiety. Is this how rejection feels? If so, it sucks. “We can have a long engagement.”

“I don’t like big weddings.” Her panic is clear. “All those people make me nervous. I’ll mess up the vows and say something inappropriate.”

“It doesn’t have to be big. It can be just the two of us if you want. We can wait until next summer—or the one after if a year isn’t long enough. We can get married up here by a justice of the peace on the end of the dock at sunset. A damn Rastafarian can perform the ceremony if that’s what you want. I don’t care about the wedding part. All I want to be is connected to you in the most significant way possible. I want you as my wife.”