Page 28 of My Puckin' Luck
The devilwho satisfied me in the pool has a tongue that should be classified so naughty it deserves its own list. Like everything in life that is too good—carbs, for example—now I’m addicted.
For a week, he’s graced me with his talented tongue so good. He’ll be my downfall. But when I beg every single time to have him inside of me, he leaves, promising I’ll get him soon. He says he’s enjoying the slower pace of our time together.
Guess I should be happy he isn’t treating me like a silly puck bunny. But this is way too slow. I need all of him. Right now.
I can’t function, with fantasies about us playing in my mind nonstop. As I sit here at work, I turn to the old-fashioned way of writing by hand, pen to paper, to clear my creative mind of any blocks. The only thing that pours out of me is the start of a sexy Halloween novelette about an angel and a devil at a masked ball.
Far cry from two chaste characters who are only supposed to kiss at the end of a two-hour movie about the Christmas spirit. I’ve been stuck in the messy middle of this script for days, trying to figure out the conflict. There’s just something missing and I’ve been too distracted by a blue-eyed man to concentrate.
Speaking of, my phone lights up with a call from Saint, giving my heart a little dance of joy.
“Hey angel girl, just finished practice. I’m going out with the guys to an indoor golf range this afternoon to build a little camaraderie. I’ll bring home dinner. In the mood for Chinese?”
“Only every day of the week.”
“Hm. In the mood for me?” He growls in that sexy tone that vibrates down to my core. I shift in my seat and grin.
A week of nightly sexy times with Saint has left me in a dreamy state. I haven’t told anyone, especially not Misty, because she’ll tell me how she told me so since I indeed opened up and let a little magic in. Now Saint and I are the two lovable side characters who just might save each other after all.
“I’m biting my lip because you already know the answer to that,” I tease.
“Careful,” he warns. “I might get hard. It’ll affect my golf swing.”
I giggle. “I like having an effect on you.”
“You know what’ll have the most effect on me? If you wear the black number tonight.”
I moan, thinking of his recent lingerie gift for me, a strappy leather and lace thing that is almost too confusing to figure out where all the straps go. Every day, it’s something, like donuts delivered to work or flowers he brings home or chocolate hearts waiting on my pillow for me or clothes and shoes and perfume—I told him he doesn’t need to spend so much money on me. He says it makes him happy and to let him do it. I think he doesn’t want to admit he has a nasty shopping habit, but I suppose there could be worse vices.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer me naked waiting for you in your bed instead when you get home?” I ask in a coy voice.
“I warned you; get me hard and I’ll be useless this afternoon.”
“I need you, Saint.Allof you. Tonight.”
“Fuck, woman. What are you doing to me?”
“Everything I can.”
There’s a quiet moment before he speaks again. “Oh, shit. Mom’s calling. I’ve been ignoring her since Halloween.”
I quickly flip from temptress mode to…supportive-roommate-not-yet-girlfriend-because-we-haven’t-talked-in-depth-about-our-relationship-status mode. “You should take it. Could be important. She might need you, what with all the news surrounding the end of her character on the soap next week.”
“Please don’t tell me you’ll always take her side.”
“No. I’m totally on your side. But that’s why I encourage you to deal with things and not let them eat away inside of you. Things like that can only bring you down, even though I like a brooding playboy type,” I quip and chuckle. But he’s quiet again. Did I push too far and hit a nerve? “Saint?”
“You’re too good for me, you know that, angel?”
“And don’t you ever forget it.”
“I won’t. See you tonight.” He clicks off.
I slump in my chair and turn back to my script, chewing a pen cap. Something is missing in the script and I need to focus and figure it out. I wonder how the call between Saint and his mother is going.No, no, focus.
My brain strays too easily. The entertainment news has been covering the end of Barbara St. James’ illustrious career in the long-running soap opera nonstop. From her early days as a villainess to her role as matriarch of the show, every detail is on display for fans to devour.
“That’s it,” I gasp and bolt straight up in my office chair. “I need a Barbara in this script.” I’m missing a good villainess to wreak havoc in my character’s lives, but of course by the end of the script, with Christmas magic, she’ll reform and have a heart of gold, saving the entire town and Christmas for everyone.
