PUCKED (A Standalone Romantic Comedy) (The Pucked Series Book 1)
PUCKED: Epilogue

ALEX

“Violet, are you ready to go? We need to get to the airport.” I check the bedroom. She’s nowhere to be found. I could’ve sworn she said she was getting her bags together. This is unusual—where there’s Violet, there is rarely silence. “Violet?”

“Whatcha doin’?” Violet scares the crap out of me as she comes out of the guest bedroom we’ve turned into her “private space,” which she uses to store her unpacked boxes.

“Trying to replace you. Are you ready?” I look her up and down.

She’s definitely not ready to go. She’s wearing underpants and a tank top with no bra. We need to leave in the next fifteen minutes so we can make our flight. She’s not wearing a bra.

She covers her chest with one of the books she’s holding. It only hides one of her boobs. She does the same thing with her other hand, shielding her straining, erect nipple from my greedy eyes. The damage is already done. I’ve seen them. The monster in my pants has awakened.

“See what you’ve done.” I motion to my crotch.

“I’m sure we can sort it out.”

Violet lowers the books, taunting me. Boobs are the best thing ever created. My dick is in agreement. He punches at my fly, trying to strong-arm his way out of my pants and get to Violet’s boobs—and possibly between her thighs since that’s his favorite place to hang out.

“We don’t have time, Violet.”

She sways her way over and rubs against me. I can feel her nipples through the thin fabric of both our shirts, which exacerbates the swelling in my pants. I can’t deal with hard-on ache for the next three hours.

“I’ll solve your problem on the way to the airport; as long as you can multitask.” She pats my dick through my pants.

Lust barrels its way into my brain. I’m positive I heard an allusion to road head.

“What can I do to help?”

“I guess you can hold my boobs for me.” She looks pointedly at her chest.

I’m already cupping them.

I give them a squeeze and try for a kiss. This leads to some over-the-clothes cock-to-pussy friction until my phone alarm goes off; we have five minutes to get in the car and go, or we’ll miss our flight. We pry ourselves off each other. Violet throws on a pair of yoga pant things, and I load the car. I surreptitiously check my carry-on bag one last time to make sure the Tiffany’s box is still in the front pocket.

Once we’re on the road, Violet fiddles with the radio, ducks under her seatbelt, and follows through with her problem-solving strategy. I recline the seat to give her more room to do her thing. She’s considerate enough to put her hair in a ponytail so I can see what she’s doing while she’s doing it.

I’ll admit it’s rather difficult to concentrate on driving while Violet’s lips are wrapped around my cock. I’m willing to perfect the art of multitasking should she decide she wants to do it again. It’s not until I’m groaning and coming that I realize I’m going almost a hundred miles an hour. We make it to the airport in record time. I’m lucky to evade a speeding ticket and an indecent exposure charge.

The flight from Chicago to Toronto is short, and I’m super relaxed, thanks to Violet and her mouth. We pick up the rental car once we land and leave the city, driving north—away from skyscrapers and into the dense forest and rocky landscapes.

“Where, exactly, are we going again?” Violet asks as I turn off the highway onto less traveled roads.

“Lake Muskoka.” Up until now, I’ve kept the details vague. “We’re only about a half hour away.”

“Is there indoor plumbing? I’m not going to have to pee in a bush or one of those outhouse things, am I? My mother sent me to Girl Scout camp as a kid. There were spiders in the bathroom!” She shudders and pulls her knees to her chest as if reliving the memory.

I laugh. “There’s indoor plumbing. You don’t need to worry about peeing on spiders.”

She grumbles something about it not being funny as she searches in her bag. Producing a lip balm, she slathers it on liberally, making them glisten. It reminds me of what they look like when she pops off my dick. Dammit. I need to settle down. I’m way too excited for this vacation.

Violet replaces a music station she likes and belts out the lyrics to eighties rock ballads. She’s tone deaf, but she’s still adorable.

“This isn’t a cottage,” she says when I turn off the dirt road and down the tree-lined driveway.

“Did you expect a rundown shack?”

“Well, yeah, I guess I did. This is a house, Alex. A nice house on a lake. I figured we’d be staying in a trailer or something.”

I only get to come here a few times a year. I wanted something comfortable and functional, if not a little excessive.

Violet takes in her surroundings; the two story cottage with peaked roof and stained-wood siding is set close to the waterfront, providing a stunning view of the lake. The sun peeks through birch and pine trees, shining down on her upturned face. She closes her eyes and breathes in deep. She likes it. I like that.

I take her hand. “Come on. Let me show you the inside.”

The cottage is open concept with windows across the front, giving me an uninterrupted view of the lake. The master bedroom is no exception. Facing west, it has its own private deck, complete with hammock. We can lie out there and watch the sun set. I can’t wait to have outdoor nature sex with Violet. I don’t even care if she’s loud and the neighbors hear. Well, maybe I do. If I was into the BDSM stuff she likes to read, I might try a gag or something. I’m not. We’ll have to play the “see how quiet we can be” game instead.

Violet falls in love with cottaging. She also falls in love with Sea-Dooing, kayaking, and my speed boat. I have two sets of everything; one for the cottage here and the other for the lake front property in Chicago. I even try to teach her how to water ski. Try being the optimal word.

Our neighbor has a nineteen year-old kid named Louis who’s semipro. I consider asking him to teach her while I drive the boat. Except Violet is wearing her new bikini. The one I bought specifically for this trip. While I can understand why he’s checking out my woman’s rack, I’m not interested in him getting close enough to really appreciate all she has to offer.

I get his dad to drive the boat while I show her how to ski and Louis gives her pointers on form. There’s a lot of ass and junk grabbing under the water. It may have had an impact on Violet’s inability to figure out skiing.

Later in the afternoon, we kayak to a natural whirlpool and have hot, outdoor, whirlpool sex. By late afternoon, we’re exhausted from all the activity and the sun, so we crash out on the couch and watch a movie.

I must pass out hard because I open my eyes to the sound of giggling and the flash of a camera. I blink blearily as consciousness slowly returns. Violet’s lips curl in an uncommonly devious smile.

“What are you up to?”

My question is rewarded with more snickering and a very cute, worrisome snort. “Your snuffie is a super hero.” Violet bursts into a fit of laughter.

I glance down at my semi hard cock. “What the fuck? Are those googly eyes?”

Violet nods excitedly. How I’ve managed to sleep through this will forever be one of life’s unsolved mysteries. My dick is wearing a cape, the googly eyes are stuck to the head in such a way that the hole at the tip looks like a mouth, and—“Did you draw a mustache on my dick?”

“I wanted him to be French Canadian.” Violet pets my dressed-up dick and adjusts the cape.

For a few seconds, I debate whether or not this is a messed-up dream. However, the up and down motion of her hand is a good indicator it’s not. It’s difficult not to react to the petting, despite the really fucking weird scenario going on here. “Why French Canadian?”

“He’s suave, you know, like French guys? And romantic.” Violet gives my dick an affectionate stroke and leans in and kisses the tip—below the drawn on mustache. “I had a dream awhile back; Super MC had a French accent.”

“Right.” Because dreaming about my dick as a superhero isn’t strange enough. He’s got to have an accent.

“Once, I dreamt he was wearing a tuxedo and we went to prom.” Violet circles the head with a fingertip. “The prom penis even had glasses.”

I’m losing focus. I’m still shocked by the emasculated state of my cock, but her hand feels nice. She leans forward as though she’s about to kiss him again. She does. Even I’m referring to my cock like he’s his own person. This is so bizarre. Suddenly it’s painful.

I sit up and groan as my shaft engorges further thanks to Violet’s caresses. The cape has a little bow tied under the head; it’s cutting off the circulation.

I’m only about three-quarters of the way hard. I’m a grower. There’s more to go. She’s going to decapitate my dick. “The cape! It’s tied too tight!”

“Oh! Oh God! I’m suffocating Super MC!” She pulls at the tie, but the bow unfurls into a knot. “Shit!” Her high pitch fuels my panic.

I push her hands away. “Let me try.” Maybe if she’s not touching me, my dick will stop growing. Violet stands. She’s wearing a pair of superhero briefs and a sheer tank. She’s not wearing a damn bra again. Shit. I scream like a little girl as the pain intensifies.

“I’ll get scissors!” Violet runs from the room, taking her perky nipples with her.

“What?” I yell after her.

Images of a severed penis flash through my mind, deflating my cock marginally. The problem is the blood already trapped above the neck of the cape is slow to drain, and I’m still mostly hard.

Violet returns with an enormous pair of scissors. The idea of any sharp object close to my dick is not appealing. “What the fuck, Violet? Don’t you dare come near me with those! Don’t you have a pair of nail clippers or something not so fucking huge!”

“Your snuffie is suffering! I promise I’ll be careful.” Violet motions to the head of my cock as if I’m unaware of the problem.

“So help me God, if you cut me—” I let the sentence hang. If I can’t have orgasms for the rest of the trip, neither can she.

“I won’t, I swear. Let me help.” Her voice shakes and her bottom lip trembles.

I hold out my hand. “Give them to me.” I don’t need a crying woman with scissors near my dick.

Violet passes them over. Sinking to the floor in front of me, she wrings her hands in distress. I take a deep breath and think of Grandma Waters without her teeth. It seems to help with the deflation enough so I can slip the scissors between my shaft and the string. With one snip I’m free, and the circulation to the head returns. I flop back on the couch, heaving a huge sigh of relief as the blood flow equalizes and the ache fades.

“Alex?” Violet asks in a small, watery voice.

I don’t open my eyes because I don’t want to see her crying. Then I can’t be mad at her any more. Considering I’ve had a pair of scissors against my dick, I definitely want to be angry for a few minutes.

I grunt.

“I guess that wasn’t a very good idea.”

“Ya think?” I snort derisively and crack an eyelid. Then I feel bad; she’s crying.

“I’m sorry. I thought I tied it loose enough.” She plucks the small cape from my lap. “I even measured it against the circumference of my hand span.” Violet demonstrates by forming a circle with her forefinger and thumb. “I thought Velcro would chafe.”

My dick is still hanging out of my shorts, shrinking slowly. I notice lettering on the back of the cape. I grab it out of her hand and inspect it. The M and C are designed in such a way to mimic the S on a Superman cape. It’s also blue and red.

“Where did you get this?”

“I made it.”

“You made a cape for my dick?” I expect weirdness from Violet because frankly, sometimes she’s a little weird. Or a lot.

“I thought it would be funny.”

I continue to stare at her.

“I guess I was wrong.” She looks down at her hands, biting her lip.

“I guess so.”

“I could make it up to both of you.” She looks at me with wide, not-innocent eyes and tentatively puts her hand on my thigh about six inches away from my mostly-soft-but-starting-to-get-hard-again dick.

While I don’t want Violet to think she has to perform sexual favors in order to redeem herself for almost causing permanent damage to my dick, my superhero cock feels differently. Violet smiles softly and she walks her fingers up my leg.

“Mouth or boobs?” She gently peels the googly eye stickers off the head. Thank God she didn’t use glue.

“Both.” I’m feeling selfish.

“Okay.” Violet kisses the tip, looking me in the eye before she engulfs the head. She pops off for a second. “But I want you to finish inside me, if that’s all right with you.”

“I guess I can do that.” That’s me being generous.

In homage to the near fatal choking of my dick, Violet makes her own Play-Doh so she can fashion a replica. We make a trip to Bracebridge so she can buy craft supplies and fix the cape. This time she uses Velcro to secure the tie. She dresses up the penis replica as Super MC. It’s the centerpiece on the kitchen table, so we can look at it whenever we’re eating. It’s bizarre and something Violet would totally do.

And I still love her. In fact, for some crazy reason, I love her even more than I did before this whacked out vacation. I’ve got the ring tucked safely away in the nightstand drawer. Now, I need to put it on her finger. Over the past couple of days, I’ve come up with what I think is a good plan for a proposal. Violet isn’t flashy; she’ll appreciate something less ostentatious than, say, a public profession of unending love. Besides, I’ve already done that. Tomorrow is our last day here, and then it’s back to reality. I need to bite the bullet tonight.

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.”

She strokes my cheek. “I love you so much.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. It’s a yes.” Her smile is radiant, like the rising sun reflected on still water. I get to see it every goddamned day of my life.

I exhale in relief. “That’s good, that’s great. I almost thought you were going to say no.” I slip the ring onto her finger.

“I couldn’t say no to you from the beginning. Why would that change now?”

I thread my fingers through hers, kiss the back of her hand, and move to her lips.

“I’m sorry I ruined your proposal.”

“You didn’t ruin it.”

“I sorta did.” Her hands drift down my chest.

“I have some ideas if you feel like you might need to make up for it.”

“I bet you do.”

We make love as the day fades into evening and stay wrapped in each other until the sun disappears below the treeline.

Violet shudders. At first I think it’s because she’s cold, but then a stifled giggle bursts free.

“What’s so funny?”

She giggles again. “I was thinking about Super MC.”

It looks like Violet has given my dick a superhero name. It’s better than snuffie. “That’s not much of a surprise since he’s been making you come for the past hour.”

“Fishing for compliments?”

“Just stating facts.”

“I’m going to make him a tuxedo.”

“A tuxedo?”

“And I’ll make a veil for my beaver. They can have their own private ceremony.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Super MC. He needs a tux, but no tie. That would be dangerous.” Violet’s entire body shakes with pent-up laughter.

I take her face between my hands. “This ridiculousness right here”—I kiss her—“is why I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Her hands cover mine, her smile full of tenderness and love. “I’m so glad you fought for me. You’re the best chance I’ve taken.”