Get Inked: A Pucked Series and Clipped Wings Crossover Novella (Pucked #5.5)(17)

Alex makes a sound of agreement as he circles one with his finger. He keeps doing that until it’s perfectly hard. Then he does it some more.

“What do you think of nipple rings?”

His finger stills. “What?”

“Pierced nipples. How do you feel about them?”

“You mean how would I feel about having my nipples pierced?”

“No. How would you feel about me having mine pierced?”

He puts a protective palm over my nipple, as if he’s shielding it from our conversation. “Uhhh…I don’t really know. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about.”

“So you’ve never been with someone who had nipple piercings?”

“No. Why the sudden interest in putting extra holes in your sensitive parts?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Charlene has hers pierced.”

“So you think you need to have yours done to match?”

“No. I was just curious. You liked it when I bedazzled my beaver; I wondered if you’d like my boobs bedazzled, too.”

Alex checks out my naked, unbedazzled beaver. “That was so f*cking hot.”

“I can do it again if you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“I’ll be a little more careful so they last longer…whenever you decide you want to decorate your pretty *.”

I shiver—not because I’m succumbing to heat stroke, but because of his * reference. “I’ll make an appointment next week.”

“Or I could set up a spa day for you.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“You’ve been working really hard lately; you deserve a day of pampering.”

As much as I’ve tried not to succumb to it, I kind of love being doted on by Alex. “You’re so good to me.”

“I try, baby.” He holds up the aloe lotion. “Why don’t you roll over, and I’ll rub this all over your sexy, naked body.”

“And then you’ll rub Super MC all over my sexy, naked beaver?”

“You read my mind.”





Chapter 6


STEEL

DARREN




I check my email while I wait for Waters. His most recent text, which came two minutes ago, tells me he’s running a little behind. This isn’t abnormal, even if it’s Saturday. Particularly since he got married.

I don’t think it’s Violet’s fault, though. Of the two of them, she’s way more prompt than he is.

Another message comes in while I’m email scrolling. It’s from Charlene, the woman I’ve been seeing for the past year. It’s a pretty casual thing. Sort of. We have fun together, and we’re into the same things, so it works out well. Most of the time, anyway. Things got a little tense when Alex and Violet got married a few weeks ago, but they’ve settled down since we got back from Vegas, so we’re status quo again.

I flip to my messages. The one from Charlene is brief and to the point.



Busy 2nite?



I hate text speak. She knows this. Also, this is Charlene’s way of asking if I’m available. My reply is far more direct.



Do you want to see me?



The dots appear, telling me she’s composing her response. They stop for a second, then start again. Then stop again before a message appears.



Yes



I type a reply. It’s not a question.



Dinner at 7



Her reply is much faster this time.



What shld I wear?



Charlene is more than capable of choosing her own outfits, but if she’s asking, it means she wants me to pick for her. I consider that for a moment, mentally filtering through her wardrobe, both dresses and lingerie.



Do you have time to get something new?



She sends one back right away.



Yes. Any color pref?



I tap my lip, pondering some more.



Purple dress. Lavender lingerie. Use the card I gave you.



The next message doesn’t come for several minutes. This time there are images accompanying the message with possible screenshot lingerie options.



I can’t wait 2cu.



I flip through the pictures she’s sent: the first is sweet, the second is sexy, the third is slutty. Charlene likes to keep things interesting in the bedroom. Frankly, so do I.



Option one. Looking forward to dinner.



There’s a tap on the trunk, and I look in the rearview mirror to find Alex waiting for me to pop it. When I do, he tosses his bag inside, closes the trunk, and comes around to the passenger side.

He drops into the seat, grinning. “Hey, man, sorry I’m late.”

“No you’re not.” I shift the car into gear and pull into traffic, heading for the gym.

“You’re right. I’m not.” He adjusts his seat—Charlene was the last one to sit there, so his knees are currently hitting the dash. “Why does Charlene sit so far forward?”

I shrug, because answering that will tell him far more than he needs to know about what happened the last time she and I went for a drive. “You have an actual excuse for being late, or you just couldn’t get your lazy ass out of bed?”