Page 42 of Don't Puck Up

You’re the only person who’s had my ass. You’re my first and only

I swallowed, my belly flip-flopping at the thought of the two of them together.

So hot. I always liked watching Chris with another man, but with you it’s different. The way he takes your cock, the way he begs for it, and that time you made him come hands-free were as hot as the sun

Next time we’re together, I want to watch the two of you together without me. I’ll have Stan to keep me company

Who. The. Fuck. Is. Stan?

I laughed at V’s response.

Stan is a very lovely black vibrating dildo that I was gifted by a certain possessive masked man

Well, in that case…

***

I was curled up in front of the muted television, reading a book Cara had given me. The fire crackled in the fireplace, the flames licking at the log I had in there. It wasn’t cold enough to warrant one, but I wanted warm and cozy. My empty wine glass sat on the table with my half-eaten platter of cheese, crackers, and salami.

It was late. I was waiting for Chris to get back to his hotel. The game had finished ninety minutes ago, so he should be there soon. He’d playedso well. I was so damn proud of him. He was a solid wall on the ice, he and Mironov back to their best together. I had no doubt they’d be on the first line again soon. Cohen and Agosta were doing well enough, but I was biased and wanted my hubby back in the position he was born for.

A noise had me pausing. It sounded like the snick of a door handle latching closed. But the doors were all locked.

A lump formed in my throat, and dread pooled in my belly. Silently, I put my book down and tiptoed across the hardwood floor, carefully picking up one of Chris’s hockey sticks to make sure I made no noise. Holding it like a baseball bat, I crept through the living room, then went down the corridor toward the mudroom.

Darkness surrounded me. The only light was a faint glow from the fireplace.

I wasn’t scared. I was angry.

This wasmyhouse, and if someone thought they could fuck around, that bastard would soon find out what it was like for their face to be on the receiving end of a hockey stick.

I looked into Chris’s office as I sneaked past it. I couldn’t see a damn thing in the inky blackness in there.

I took another step, getting closer to the mudroom.

Strong arms gripped me from behind.

One arm went around my shoulders. His other hand covered my mouth.

I screamed and thrashed, but the noise was muffled by his palm, my cries barely more than a croak.

I dropped the hockey stick, the clatter loud in the otherwise silent house.

I gripped the intruder’s forearm, trying to break his hold. But it was no use. He was too strong.

I gasped for breath.

Tears pooled in my eyes.

“Shhh,” he soothed. But it made me panic more.

This was how I was going to die. Why the fuck didn’t I call 911? Why didn’t I dash out the front door? What was he going to do to me?

No. Fuck no. I wasn’t going down easily.

I kicked out at his shin. My socked foot did nothing as I scraped it down over his jeans to his booted foot.

My heart was hammering in my chest, my throat already raw from my screams. I sucked in another breath and tried to scream louder, but terror had stolen my voice.