“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 surprise. 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?”