Pucked by Helena Hunting Read Free Book Online

his head, careful of his busted lip and bruised jaw. Not bothering to hide my appreciation, I exhale on a low whistle. Tattoos accentuate each bicep. The left boasts a waving Canadian flag—long live patriotism—and the right has a set of hockey sticks crossed over a puck.
    I can feel Alex’s eyes on me as I trace the hockey tattoo with a fingertip.
    “ You really love hockey, don’t you?”
    “ Yeah. It’s kinda my thing.” His hands drift up my thighs, arms flexing.
    “ I bet you could bench press me.”
    “ There’s a good chance.”
    His fingertips breach the hem of my shirt. When my body jerks, he hesitates.
    “ Should I stop?”
    “ No, thanks. I’m ticklish.”
    “ Is that so?” He looks up from under abnormally thick lashes, wearing a devilish smile.
    “ Just here” — I point to my ribs —“ and here.” I indicate the crook in my knee.
    “ I’ll watch for that.”
    His hands ghost along my ribs. I suck in a breath and hold back a giggle.
    As soon as he reaches my breasts, his thumbs sweep over my nipples. I moan like a street walker. Like, really, it’s an outlandish porn star moan. My face and chest heat with embarrassment.
    Apparently Alex is good with the moaning. Still cupping my boobs, he looks me in the eye, waiting for the okay to take this further. With every kiss and every touch so far, he’s asked permission to move forward. It makes him infinitely sexier and harder to say no to.
    I raise my arms in silent assent. Of course, when he removes my shirt, my glasses get caught in my hair. Alex wrestles them free and sets them on the arm of the couch where they’ll be safe.
    And now we’re both topless. Alex stares at my boobs. It’s no furtive peek. He’s full-on staring. He cups them in his hands, which are huge—his hands, not my boobs; those are average sized. Then he bounces them around a bit.
    He’s like a kid who’s figured out Jell-O jiggles if you poke it.
    “ I told you they were nice for real ones.” The way he’s staring makes me self-conscious, so my comment comes with extra snark.
    “ They really are. They’re so soft,” he murmurs, squeezing. “And perky.” He brushes his lips across my nipple.
    His eyes lift at my gasp, maybe realizing I’m attached to the boob he’s making out with.
    “ Can I . . .” He trails off as his tongue peeks out, not quite touching my skin.
    “ Please and thank you.”
    He closes his lips around the taut nipple and sucks gently. I bite the inside of my cheek in an effort to derail the sound forcing its way up my throat. I manage to keep it to a whimper as Alex massages one boob and makes out with the other one. I can’t seem to shut up with all the little noises of bliss.
    His low chuckle follows. “You really like that, don’t you?”
    It’s rather obvious I do, but I breathe out a so much and grind against him to punctuate my affirmation. While he’s engrossed in loving the shit out of my boobs, my hands are everywhere: in his hair, feeling up his arms and chest, going lower to skim his waistband.
    Alex is in serious boob nuzzle mode. I almost expect him to do the whole motorboat thing. Fortunately, he doesn’t. He winds an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him. At my slightly desperate whine, he shifts his hips.
    What I’m about to do will make me a full-fledged hockey hooker. Whatever, it’s only for tonight. I’m resigned—and excited—as I try to slip my hand past his belt and into his pants.
    “ We could go to the bedroom, if you’d like.” Alex’s hands have migrated down the back of my jammie bottoms.
    “ The couch is good.”
    “ The bed’s more comfortable.” His lips move up my neck to my chin.
    I’m sure it is, which is the problem. I know where this is going. I won’t say no to him. I’ve seen Alex play hockey; he has incredible stamina. The point is moot, but the denial makes my failed attempt at resistance seem less offensive.
    He kisses me, soft and searching. Like gummy