Pucked Love (Pucked, #6)(34)



I actually have almost the exact same corset ensemble. I’ve worn it a couple of times for Darren. I’m a big fan of the collar with the metal ring at the throat. There’s something empowering about letting someone you care about deeply take control of your body and cater to your needs. And this outfit screams submission and trust.

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” I cock a brow.

“Uhh . . .” Lily glances from me to Violet and back again.

“Send a picture to Balls and see what he has to say?” Violet asks.

Lily chews on her lip and then hands me her phone. “Okay.”

She strikes sexy poses while I snap a bunch of pictures. We scroll through them and comment on how it makes her cleavage look great before she picks one to send to Randy.

It takes all of thirty seconds before he responds.





Lily grins as she types her reply, and Violet and I leave her to change back into normal clothes. Skye is already at the register with her own purchase.

“I gotta say, I’m super glad I don’t live in my parents’ pool house anymore,” Violet says.

“Right?”

We find Poppy and Sunny huddled with sleeping baby Logan over by the sweeter sexy things in pinks and greens and florals. I glance around, wondering how soon we can get out of here now that I’ve seen my mom. I note a couple in the porn star area. There are actual stars signing posters and old school DVDs, and even some VHS tapes for the serious diehard fans. Which is kind of sad.

“Hey.” Violet elbows me and points to the right. “Doesn’t that guy look like an older version of Darren?”

I follow her gaze and note the couple, probably in their fifties, posing for pictures. The woman is outfitted in a silver mini-dress and has definitely had her boobs done, and likely a lot of other things, including her face, but she still looks mostly human. The guy is tall, wearing only black leather pants with a zebra stripe down the side. He’s still rocking a pretty decent body for being older, complete with four pack, even if it’s the tiniest bit saggy.

I scan all the way to his face and take in his dark, slicked-back hair. “Huh. That’s weird. He does look a lot like him.”

“You need to take a picture with that guy. Tell Darren you found his future self—and he’s a porn star! The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?” Violet turns to Poppy and Sunny, who both nod their agreement.

I give in and let her drag me over. My mom seems to know them personally, so she flits on over and introduces us. “Rod and Cherry, this is my daughter, Charlene. She needs a photo with you!” Rod and Cherry. I guess subtlety isn’t their thing. My mom squeezes me between them and snaps a million pictures.

I send one to Darren with a laughing emoji and the caption: Your next profession could be a porn stunt double for this guy.

“So you’re a Chicago hockey fan, Charlene?” Rod’s smile is blindingly white and eerily like Darren’s.

“I am.”

Rod leans in closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

It’s starting to creep me out how much he looks like Darren. His voice is even deep like Darren’s, and he has the same icy eyes.

“Uh, sure?” I’m hit by an odd sense of foreboding.

“My boy plays hockey in Chicago.” Rod’s grin grows even wider as he looks over my shoulder. “And you’re wearing his name on your back.”





DARREN

I typically sleep on the flight home, but this time all I can do is tap on the armrest and count down the minutes until we land.

My worries revolve around Charlene. After the picture and caption, I fired back a message telling her not to talk to them. I tried to follow it up with a phone call, but it went right to voicemail. In my panic, I made some irrational demands, to which she responded that this certainly wasn’t a phone conversation, let alone one to be had over text messages.

I honestly never thought there would be a reason to tell her about my birth parents since they had almost no hand in raising me.

I go directly to her place from the airport, even though it’s unlikely that she’s home from work so we can have a discussion. The Uber drops me off in front of her house. I have my hockey gear with me, which is somewhat inconvenient, but I didn’t want to stop at home first. Charlene’s car is missing from her driveway, and in its place is a mini red Winnebago hooked up to a small SUV.

The Winnebago is a shock, mostly because Charlene has a thing about RVs, regardless of size. I know this because once on our way to Alex’s cottage we stopped at a gas station and she nearly had a panic attack when one pulled into the bay next to us. She refused to let me get out of the car until it left.

When I tried to pry more information out of her, she mumbled something about where she grew up and how she associated RVs with bad men. At that point I knew little about her upbringing, but I’d never seen her in such a state of panic.

So seeing this Winnebago in her driveway brings up all sorts of questions. Ones I’d like some answers to. I run my sweaty hands down my thighs and gather myself before I finally ring the bell. When it swings open, I’m face to face with a woman dressed in a black leather corset and a pair of heels that could double as murder weapons.

She slides her hand up the doorframe and the other one goes to her hip, which she juts out. Her brow arches and a grin forms on her wine red lips. “Well, hello there. If you’re trying to get me to go to your church, I’m afraid I’m far too sinful for that. Would you like a demonstration?”

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