Puck by Wilder Jasinda

  At what seemed like the last second, he leveled out, and this time he was maybe twenty-five feet above the water, so close I could see the individual whitecap waves.

  All we'd done was a rising loop, going up and around back down so we were heading in our original direction, yet it had felt like an entire airshow's worth of death-defying tricks.

  I gasped for breath as Harris slowed back down. "I hate you, Nicholas Harris."

  "That was nothing," Layla laughed. "You wanna really toss your cookies, go up in one of his actual vintage fighter jets. He just got his paws on a Harrier, so now he can do some really crazy shit."

  "No thanks," I gulped. "I don't even like rollercoasters, much less death-defying aerial acrobatics."

  "Death-defying, she says," Harris said with a sarcastic guffaw. "We can't even break the sound barrier. We're in a goddamn helo, for Chrissakes. You want death-defying, let me take you up in my Phantom. I can make you shit your actual pants."

  "Truth," Puck said. "I went up with him in the Phantom, and I did actually poop a little."

  "I'm good." My voice was, once again, a sissy squeak.

  The rest of the flight was thankfully uneventful, even a little boring. It was the week before Thanksgiving, and the entire A1S family was heading down to Kyrie and Valentine's guest village. Yes, that's exactly what I meant: an entire village. Roth had gone whole-hog, as he was apparently prone to doing, and bought a tiny little island near the one their home was on, and he built a village on it. Renewable energy via wind and solar, plumbing and water reclamation, Internet, a post office-slash-general store, and ten individual two-bed one-bath homes, each with its own private beach access. Fucking ridiculous, was what it was. He'd sent e-mails to all of us with a link to a Dropbox account, containing a hundred-plus photos of the village, with detailed descriptions of the amenities available. Of course, throughout the year he rented the homes on a week-by-week basis to tourists, but it was officially "closed" from Thanksgiving to New Year, so all of us at A1S could come down for as long as we wanted.

  I'd worked my ass off and saved my vacation time throughout the year and had gotten the entire holiday season off, mainly because I'd closed on more accounts myself than any other three people combined. It's amazing what being truly happy could do for a woman, especially when that happiness was derived from regular orgasms thanks to Puck's talented fingers, tongue, and cock. I kept him happy with all the sex and blowjobs he could want and then some, and in return he made sure I rode a near-constant high from my own orgasms. It was a perfect scenario. He'd be gone for a week at a time with work, and I'd worry my tits off, and then he'd come home and we'd fuck for an entire weekend, not leaving the bed for anything except food and to use the bathroom--and to shower, but that also ended up with more sex.

  He wanted to flat-out purchase my apartment, but I refused to let him, leading to our first blowout fight, because I refused to let him take over my finances, and he wanted to "take care of me," which was nice, but fucking no; I'd been taking care of myself since I was sixteen and wasn't about to let any man, even Puck, have that kind of control over my life, even if I did trust and love him without reservation. So we compromised, and he bought a penthouse suite in downtown Manhattan, thanks to a literal steal of a deal via Valentine--meaning, Roth had bought the entire upper floor of a building, renovated it, and "sold" it to Puck for a sixteenth of its actual market value. It was a breathtaking place, glorious, jaw-dropping, with floor-to-ceiling windows on all four sides, an expansive kitchen . . .

  And a personal chef whenever we wanted him, a personal trainer, and a valet--which didn't just mean someone to park cars, but do our every bidding. Perks of the condo, Valentine had said, with a subdued laugh in his voice. And shit, it was amazing, so how could I say no? It was literally a five-minute walk from my office, and, oh yeah, did I mention the helicopter that was only a text message away, ready to take us wherever we wanted to go? Apparently, when Valentine Roth decided he wanted to thank someone with extravagant gifts, he didn't accept no for an answer.

  Puck kept working for Harris, of course, and I kept working at my import-export firm, but we accepted Roth's generosity and took full advantage of it.

  And now I had a month and half of vacation time, paid, and we were going to spend it in the Caribbean with the whole gang, drinking excessive amounts of alcohol, sitting on the beach around a fire, and of course, absolutely inordinate amounts of time spent naked together.

  Sounded perfect.

  Eventually, we landed on a helicopter pad built on one end of Roth and Kyrie's private home island; the landing was smoother than an elevator ride, with barely a bump as we touched down. Kyrie was waiting, a little girl of three or four years at her side, and a brand-new baby on her hip. Apparently she'd been pregnant when she was snatched and hadn't found out until a month later.

  Layla, too, was showing a bump, which was a more recent development.

  Nothing here, nor would there be anytime soon, although I had noticed Puck surreptitiously browsing for engagement rings online. I'd say yes in a heartbeat, obviously, but neither of us was in any way ready for kids. Jeez, just the thought made my spine shiver. I loved babies, loved kids, they were sweet and fun and cute, and I liked to be able to give them back.

  Which was why I was puzzled when Kyrie handed me her little one, and my heart melted as the adorable little towheaded, blue-eyed boy gurgled up at me and yanked my hair in a slobbery fist, and I found myself thinking maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

  Also weird was that I carried Cal, the baby, all the way from the helipad to the house, and continued holding him as the gang all gathered on the deck and started the usual bullshitting, teasing, joking banter. I didn't give him back until Kyrie needed to feed him.

  Puck noticed.

  We were sitting in a deep, comfortable chair near a fire on the beach, me on his lap, his hands in my hair.

  "You ain't gettin' any ideas, are you?" he murmured.

  Why not test him? Stupid and bound to backfire in some way, but fuck it, right?

  "Umm . . ." I shrugged, as if unsure. "I mean, no. Right? No. That's a stupid idea." I didn't sound like I believed it.

  And the dumbest part of the whole thing was . . . I wasn't entirely sure I was testing him, or myself. Or that I wasn't actually speaking the truth.

  "Cole, honey. You for real?" He shifted sideways so he could look into my face.

  "I wasn't at first, but for some reason, it doesn't sound too terribly crazy. Does it?"

  Puck didn't answer for a very long time, sipping his Scotch and staring up at the stars. "I'm a wild man, Cole. I don't know the first fuckin' thing about kids."

  "You're not so wild," I said. "And I don't know anything about kids either. But . . . why not?"

  "Why not doesn't seem like a valid reason to have kids."

  "I know. But, I'm not saying we should, just that maybe it's not a crazy idea, and it's worth talking about."

  He sighed slowly, heavily. "Between you and me, sweet thing, the idea scares the shit outta me."

  I searched his face. "Why?"

  "Because . . . my old man was a piece of shit."

  "But he didn't raise a piece of shit," I told him, cupping his face. "You're an amazing man, Puck. A good man. You've got some rough edges, but then hell, so do I. So does Layla. And Harris, and Duke, and Thresh, and Lola. Not Temple, but she's a freak like that."

  He laughed. "Yeah, she's kind of absurdly perfect, in an annoying way."

  Duke was sitting near us. "She farts in her sleep and doesn't know the first thing about taking care of herself. She's as helpless as a kitten by herself. Can't even boil water. She tried to make me plain ol' Kraft Mac 'n Cheese once, and nearly burned down the fuckin' condo." He grinned at us. "She ain't perfect. Nobody's perfect, bro. Not even me, if you'll believe it."

  "You? Nooooo," Puck drawled sarcastically. "Why, I'll bet you shit roses and fart rainbows."

  "Nope, just kittens and puppies."


  I laughed. "Not even mac 'n cheese? For real?"

  Duke chortled. "She put all the ingredients in at once, right at the beginning, and then turned on the heat. When it wouldn't cook right, she put it in the fuckin' oven, pot and all."

  "And you just watched this happening?" I demanded.

  "Hell yeah, I did!" Duke said, laughing. "Also, she told me to shut up and let her do it, even if she was doing it wrong. Hell, I even told her to follow the directions on the damn box."

  Temple came up as Duke was finishing. "Shut up!" she shrieked, whacking his arm. "You are not telling that story, you colossal dick."

  "It was relevant," Duke said.

  "To what?" Temple demanded.

  "To the fact that our boy Puck here is scared to have a kid because he's worried he ain't perfect."

  "That's not--" Puck started.

  "Oh my god! You guys are having a baby too?" Temple said it loudly enough that the whole group heard.

  I covered my face in embarrassment as everyone turned toward Puck and me, beginning to offer congratulations. "No, no, no. We were just . . . discussing the possibility."

  Temple saw my mortification and looked chagrined. "Oh. Um, shit. Sorry, Colbie."

  I waved her off. "It's fine. Just a misunderstanding."

  Layla waddled over and plopped down on the chair on our other side, hands over her belly. "Hey, I'm a perpetual fuck-up, and Nick is a grouchy asshole, and all of us do dangerous shit for a living. Yet here I am, fat as a goddamn whale, about to have a kid, and I'm no way ready for this. I wake up at night in a panic, because I'm absolutely certain I'm gonna fuck this kid up."

  Roth, who had Kyrie perched on one leg and Cal on the other, spoke up for the first time. "I was a high-level arms dealer. I ran in a circle with the most dangerous men and women on the planet. My father was a cold, hard, unforgiving, unloving bastard, and my mother was a simpering pet who did whatever she was told." He kissed Kyrie's temple, and then Cal's hair, and Cal reached up and poked at Roth's eyeball. "Yes, buddy, that's my eye, thanks," he chuckled. "I'd say I'm a pretty good father, all things considered. Point is, if I can do this, any of you can do this."

  Kyrie nuzzled his cheek. "You're an amazing daddy, Valentine." To the rest of us, "And he's right. Obviously, it's not easy, and it's scary, especially at first, but give them your love and your attention and just try to give them everything none of us had as a kid; they'll be fine."

  The conversation then shifted to our childhoods, and all the crazy fucked-up shit we'd all been through, which turned into a bizarre competition for who was the most fucked-up, but it was a competition no one person seemed to have a lock on, as we were all equally fucked-up in different ways.

  Later that night, after Roth's smaller yacht dropped us all off at the guest island and Puck and I were in bed, naked and sweating and still gasping, he cradled me against his chest and kissed my cheek.

  "You're serious about all that?" he asked.

  I didn't have to ask to know what he was referring to. "Only about it being worth discussing. In a more private setting, though."

  "Like this one?"

  I stroked my fingers through the hair on his chest. "Doesn't have to be now, Puck. I guess I'm just more curious as to whether you're even willing to consider the possibility, or hell, if I am."

  He caressed my ass, thinking before responding. "It's no crazier of an idea than us jumping headfirst into a relationship less than forty-eight hours after meeting, and having it actually last."

  "You see this lasting, then?"

  He spanked my butt in a sharp swat. "You're not getting rid of me, Cole. You're stuck with me, now. Too late to back out."

  I tugged on his beard. "Good."

  He reached over, slid open the drawer of the nightstand, and came back with a small black box. "We could make it official."

  I stopped breathing as he opened the top to reveal a two-carat princess cut diamond solitaire. "Puck?"

  "Marry me, Cole."

  I kissed him, slowly, deeply. "Yes, Puck. Yes. A thousand times yes."

  He slid the ring onto my finger, and I felt myself crying, but I didn't bother trying to stop them. Puck himself seemed . . . choked up as we watched the dimmed lights glint off the diamond.

  I palmed his cheek. "I do have one small condition for marrying you."

  He frowned down at me. "Okay . . .?"

  "Your name."

  He sighed, chuckling. "It would be that, wouldn't it?" Puck yanked on his beard, which told me he really didn't want to tell me, but I waited silently, and eventually he spoke. "Okay, well my name really is truly and legally Puck. No middle name, just Puck Lawson. But it wasn't always. I turned eighteen just after I'd finished boot camp. I'd hated my name my whole life and had been going by Puck since I was thirteen."

  "Why Puck?"

  He shrugged. "When I was thirteen, my seventh-grade literature teacher took our whole class to Little Rock for a performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream. I thought Puck was the coolest guy in the whole play. All the other kids were going on about Titania and Oberon and whoever, but I was all about Puck. The way the actor played him was as a trickster, a sneak, a practical joker, the kind of guy who could annoy you to death as easily as charm your pants off, and sometimes both at the same time. I just . . . loved the character. I went home and read the play myself, and I didn't understand shit, but I loved all of Puck's lines. And since I hated my name, and had hated my name since I was old enough to hate anything, I decided to start going by Puck. Annoyed the fuck outta my dad, because I was adamant about it. Just wouldn't answer, acted like I didn't hear him or my teachers unless they called me Puck. The old man even tried to beat me out of it, but I was back at it as soon as I could move my jaw again."

  "Jesus, Puck."

  He waved a hand. "Bah, that was twenty-five years ago."

  "So what was your birth name?"

  He blew out a raspberry. "You don't wanna know."

  "Yes, I do."

  "Well, I don't wanna tell you."

  "How about if I suck you off? Would that help?"

  "No hands."

  "Deal," I said, kissing his chest.

  I slid down his body and used my lips and tongue and mouth to play him into erection. He watched and waited until I was ready to start really going down on him, and then he finally sighed yet again, heavier than ever.

  "You cannot tell fucking anyone. I mean anyone. Ever."

  His voice was hard enough that I knew he wasn't even remotely joking. "Jesus, Puck, it must be really bad. Of course, baby, you have my promise I won't ever tell."

  He closed his eyes as I took him into my mouth. "Bartholomew Bucephalus."

  I had to back off so I didn't choke on him as I laughed. "Holy shit, that is bad."

  He laughed with me, thankfully. "No shit. Do I seem like fucking Bart to you? That's what everyone called me. Bart."

  "Dear god, why would anyone saddle a poor innocent child with a name like that?" I asked.

  "My grandfather and his father were both Bart. My dad was Bucephalus, went by Buck."

  "And you chose the name Puck, when your dad was Buck?"

  He chuckled. "I got him off my back by telling him I'd picked it to sound like his name, which was a dirty lie, but he went with it, and I went by Puck from then on. Soon as I turned eighteen, I changed my name legally to Puck."

  "I'm glad you did. Your name fits you perfectly."

  "You know what fits perfectly?" he asked, a smirk on his lips.

  "Your big cock in my mouth?"

  "Exactly." He moaned as I resumed fulfilling my promise, taking as much of his cock into my mouth as I could. "Although that wasn't what I was gonna say."

  I glanced up to communicate the question my mouth was too occupied to verbalize.

  He groaned, watching me. "You marry me, take my name, you'll be Colbie Lawson."

  I brought him to the edge and took him over, swallowing every last drop as he grunted and groaned and fisted my ha
ir. "I love the sound of Colbie Lawson." He hauled me up his body and kissed me. "And I love the thought of being your Colbie Lawson even more."

  We lay together, drifting off to sleep.

  I woke in the predawn gray to Puck's mouth between my legs. "Good morning, my love."

  "Good morning, future Mrs. Puck Lawson."

  I sat up enough to watch him, holding on to his head. And then, as he brought me to a swift, shuddering orgasm, I had an idea. He finished licking me through my aftershocks and then crawled up my body.

  "Puck, baby?"

  He groaned as I welcomed him into me, bare. "Yeah, love."

  "I have a really crazy idea."

  "I don't put a condom on?"

  "I'm on the pill, silly. I don't want you to put one on anyway--this feels too good." I clung to him, arms around his shoulders, legs around his ass. "What if--oh god, oh god, Puck--what if I become Mrs. Lawson while we're down here?"

  He faltered. "What? Really?"

  I nodded. "Really. Why wait? Everyone we care about is already here, and I know I want this, I know you want this, so why not?"

  "You're sure?"

  "As sure as I'm sure I'm gonna come in about four seconds."

  "For real, Cole. Like, now?"

  "Maybe next week. Enough time to get some flowers and an off-the-rack beach dress or something. Doesn't have to be fancy or elaborate. Just you, me, and the Alpha One Security family."

  He moved faster, and faster, and faster, and I clung to him through it, breathing my love in his ear, and then I bit his shoulder as I came, and my orgasm triggered his, my pussy clamping down around him and throwing him over the edge, and he came bare inside me for the first time.

  A week later, on Roth and Kyrie's beach, we were married. I wore an off-the-shoulder, off-the-rack dress, and Puck wore a tux barefoot. The rest of the gang were all there, and it was simple and fun and cute and romantic, and I didn't wear any underwear, and I was relatively certain Puck impregnated me during the reception, since we'd agreed I'd stop taking birth control and see what happened.