Pucked Over (Pucked #3) (13 page)

Lily bends her knees, her toes curling against my ribs. She hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them over her hips. “I don’t think we have enough time for all this teasing. Someone’s going to notice we’re gone. You should probably get in there and do your thing.”

I glance up. Her cheeky grin falters a little, and her throat bobs with what could be a nervous swallow, or possibly anticipation. “You rushing me?” I ask.

“I’m just saying.” She shimmies her panties down a little farther until they hit my nose. “We can always sneak up here again later. It’s not like this is going to be the only opportunity. Right?”

“Here’s hoping.”

Do it in the Dark

LILY

Randy tears my underwear off. Just shreds them with his bare hands. Okay, no he doesn’t. I asked him not to. But he does stare at me intently as he removes them, slowly. It’s almost unnerving. It’s also superhot. I’m so naked. There’s nothing but skin and his hands. Shadows move across the wall as lights flicker outside, highlighting all the defined, insanely hot muscles flexing in his arms.

Randy’s broad shoulders are right between my thighs, and that mouth of his is about to hit my hot spot. I’m so ready. I’m also a little worried about how fast I’m going to come. Everything’s already starting to tighten up, and I’ve got that familiar tingly feeling going on. It’s not from the mint-cucumber wipes, either. I don’t want to give him anything else to brag about. He’s smug enough as it is.

He smoothes his rough hands over the insides of my thighs. God, that tattooed arm is sexy as hell. I hope those fingers are the ones he puts inside me. Apparently Randy takes me seriously on the time-constraint business; he doesn’t bother teasing me anymore. Instead, he lifts my ass and drops his head.

I don’t know what I expect. Maybe a little kissy-kiss on the lips first, or one of those flat-stroke test licks, or even a nose rub. That sure isn’t what I get. Randy closes his mouth over my clit and sucks like he’s the black hole of cunnilingus. I have zero control over my body’s reaction. I jolt like I’ve been shocked. And honestly, that’s kind of how it feels—like I’ve been zapped in the vagina.

I bow off the bed, fighting to stay at least a little composed. The last time he did this—against a bathroom wall while I was sitting on his shoulders—I couldn’t stop the orgasm from bitch slapping me across the magic marble. Randy lifts me higher and does a crazy swirl thing with his tongue.

I don’t have traction anymore; my feet are barely touching the mattress. I find purchase on his thigh and turn my head into the covers so I can groan without letting anyone in the hall know how much I’m enjoying being Randy’s dinner, or dessert, or his goddamn sex buffet. His teeth graze my clit as he resumes sucking. I can’t handle it. I’m right at the edge, knocking on orgasm’s door.

“Holy fu—” I bite the side of my hand to stop all the sounds from coming out. That’s when the trembling starts. Every single cell in my body is electrified. I wish there was more light. It’s mostly shadow where his head is, and his hair keeps tickling my thighs, adding to the sensation. Not that it matters right now—the entire world goes white. The comforter bunches in my hands. I know I’m writhing around, probably making it difficult for him to keep his mouth on me, but I can’t help it. It’s the best orgasm I’ve had in my entire life.

There’s movement on the bed that isn’t associated with my ridiculous thrashing. Randy’s legs are no longer on either side of me, under the covers, preventing me from throwing myself off the bed in my orgasmic zeal. Not to worry, though, now he’s right in my face. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth and then his lips are on mine: hard, demanding, and oh so hot.

I don’t even have time to recover. He finds my wet, swollen clit—at least I’m guessing it’s swollen based on how much sucking he did—and starts rubbing again. I don’t think I’ve even finished having one orgasm and already he’s inciting another. It’s insane.

Just when I’m sure I can’t handle any more, he goes low and slides a single finger inside me. After two slow thrusts, he adds a second one. I’d say it’s unnecessary preparation, but based on the domes he’s packing, I think it might be wise to let him finger-bang me. Besides, who am I to say no to yet another orgasm? He breaks our kiss and sits back on his knees. Even with the subpar lighting situation, I can see he’s tenting his boxers. And yes, he is using the fingers on the tattooed arm to get me off.

I don’t know why it’s so sexy. I’ve never been into tattoos before. Or beards. Or man buns. I don’t dislike any of the aforementioned accessories, though the tattoos seem like a lot of pain and a substantial commitment. But all that marked skin makes the ride on the orgasm train that much better. I push up on my arms, hoping to get a better view of what’s going on between my legs.

The way Randy’s body is positioned makes it more, rather than less, difficult to see what’s happening. It’s better than no view at all, I suppose. What I really want to do is reach over and hit a bedside lamp, even if it means people will know we’re in here. Instead I go for the one other thing I want almost as much as a good visual: Randy’s cock. It’s awkward getting to his boxers, but I’m determined to put my hand on him while he’s got his fingers in me. Then maybe I’ll give blowing him a try.

As soon as I touch the waistband, Randy grips my wrist—gently but firmly—and shakes his head. “I don’t need the distraction.”

“Maybe I do.” I try again with my other hand, but he swats it away, too.

“You’ll get some of that soon enough.” He has this dark, intense look on his face.

Then he curls his fingers and hits that spot I have to work so hard to reach on my own. I give up trying to get to his trouser anaconda and let him give me yet another nerve-shattering orgasm. When I’m done coming, I discover I’ve been magically repositioned on the bed so my head is on a pillow. Randy runs his hand over the comforter until something crinkles.

He holds up one of the gold foil wrappers. “You still interested in this?”

“Pretty sure that’s what I came up here for.”

“Are you always this snarky?”

“Mostly.” I don’t mention that part of it is nerves and being outside of my comfort zone. None of the guys I’ve been with in the past are anything like Randy. Not as hot, not as well endowed, not as skilled, not as smooth.

“I like it.” He pulls the covers over us, cocooning us in cotton, or whatever these extra-soft sheets are made of. “Mostly.”

I hear rather than see him tear the wrapper. He must be a master condom roller because he’s suddenly between my legs. I don’t know how he lost his boxers, but there’s just hot skin against hot skin. And latex, of course. Randy runs the head of his cock along my slit a few times.

“I’m goin’ in,” he whispers.

I laugh, then exhale sharply as the head probes low and he shifts forward—just the tip, though.

“Okay. I’m in.”

I snort.

He pushes in a little farther. “That’s all I’ve got.”

I bite his shoulder, or some part of him. I can’t see to know since we’re still covered in blankets. “Seriously, Ballistic? What’d you do, put your balls inside the condom, too?”

He makes a noise like he’s holding back a laugh. “You’re not last-naming me while I’m fucking you, are you? That’s a no-go, right there.” He pushes up on his arms.

“I think you’re forgetting I’ve had my hand on that cock. I know there’s more to it than a button in a bush.” I wrap my arms around his neck and hook my ankles at his waist. Essentially he’s doing a pushup with me attached to his body now. I tilt my hips and, despite being suspended in air, I manage to get him to go a little deeper.

“I don’t have a bush.”

I’m almost positive he’s gritting his teeth. “It’s a figure of speech.”

“Is it, now?”

I have eighteen years of figure skating under my belt. I’m strong, fit, and limber. I can do things with my body most people can’t—including remaining suspended in air for a significant period of time. I’m also heavier than I look. I might be what girls call “skinny,” but I’m one-hundred-percent muscle. Okay, not quite, but I have seriously low body fat. And I have zero cellulite. Girls hate my ass. Literally, it’s perfect. I got a nice ass instead of nice boobs; it’s a fair trade, I guess.

“Okay, maybe it’s more of a euphemism, but I’m not sure why that matters. Why aren’t you fucking me like you’ve been talking about doing for the past goddamn month?”

Randy lowers himself until my back hits the mattress again and his chest is pressed against mine. Then he shifts his hips forward. “You mean like this?”

And there it is. The reason for the Magnums. Mother of all things holy, is he ever equipped. I think I might moan. I’m not sure.

“Or do you mean more like this?” He starts to move—filling and retreating, over and over, harder and harder.

“Oh my God.” It’s definitely more groan than words—not like it matters. I’m sure the way I’m clinging to him is a decent indicator of exactly what I mean.

Randy throws the covers off, which is a relief because I’m getting sweaty under these blankets, and I’m wearing actual makeup. I don’t want it to start melting. At least the sheets are dark, so it’s not going to stain if any of it rubs off on them. He leans to the left, and the angle is beyond stellar.

All of a sudden I’m blinded by light. Not the light of orgasm, but the light of the bedside lamp. Randy cradles my head, his palm resting at the nape of my neck.

“Now you want the lights on?”

“I want to see your face when I fuck you.”

I don’t dare close my eyes. Blinking almost isn’t an option. Any snarky comment dies when he stops thrusting and starts grinding.
Holy fuck
. I’m not prepared for this. At all. I’ve never seen anyone look so
…
primal? Like he wants to
…
ravage? Consume?

The hand that isn’t holding my head skims my hip and hooks behind my knee, drawing it up until it’s at his ribs, making him go even deeper. I think I may actually implode when this orgasm hits. I can feel it, traveling through my spine, spreading like electric fingers across my skin. I figure I might as well go one step further and rest my ankle on his shoulder.

And there it is. My cells are grenades. My nerve endings blast like tiny land mines, centered in my clit. The tremor in my body is uncontrollable. It’s a whole-system failure. The moan that comes out of me is so loud I scare myself. I’m trying to keep my eyes open, but nothing registers aside from the orgasm.

And Randy keeps going, and going, and going, hips pumping and muscles straining as he holds himself over me. At least I can see again, for now. His jaw is tight, eyes on fire, breath washing over my face in hard pants. He’s so close, still watching me. Jesus. This man sure knows how to fuck.

I think I’m fully recovered from the last orgasm, and another one punches me in the clit. His name comes out all garbled. I latch onto his hair, then worry with my lack of control that I’ll rip it out, so I hold onto his shoulders instead. I can’t rip those off.

His steady thrust turns erratic and harsh, his coordination faltering. His eyes roll up and flutter shut briefly as this sound comes out of him—it’s exactly the noise I’ll associate with man-orgasms for the rest of my life.

When he opens his eyes again, they’re heavy and lust-soaked. He sinks into me, his weight pushing me into the pillows and mattress like he’s trying to get deeper inside, which isn’t possible because I’m as full up as I can get. Lily’s Vagina Emporium is at maximum cock capacity.

Randy’s mouth crashes down on mine, his tongue pushing past my lips. I’m not sure if he’s having a seriously long orgasm, or he’s drawing it out, or he doesn’t want to stop, but he’s still going. He’s changed from thrusting back to a slow hip roll. Eventually he stops moving and breaks the kiss.

He pushes up, the muscles in his arms twitching. “How’s it goin’?” It comes out all gravelly. Even his post-sex voice is hot.

I clear my throat. “Uh, pretty good.”

His eyebrows rise. “Pretty good?”

I blow out a breath. It makes his hair flutter around his face. It’s almost the same length as mine when it’s not up in his little man-bun thingy. I shrug. Well, I try to, but it’s not all that easy with the way I’m lying down, my head half sunk between two pillows. “Yeah, pretty good sounds about right. I’d give that a seven out of ten.”

“Seven?” It sounds like a vulgar expletive.

Oh, God. He looks pissed. This is way too fun. I should probably stop while I’m ahead, but I can’t. “Seven-point-two?”

“Don’t kid yourself, Lily. That was a ten-point-oh. No questions.”

“You think you’re that good a lay, do you?”

“I’m not talking about my performance; I’m talking about yours.” He puts his mouth to my ear. “
Oooh, Raaandy
.”

It’s actually a decent impression of me, though highly embarrassing.

“But seriously, you had fun?” His fingertips are soft on my cheek.

“Yeah, I had fun.”

He smiles, and it’s beautiful. “Good. That’s what I want. As long as you’re having a good time with me. We’re just going to have some easy fun, okay? If that changes or, like, the sex drops below nine-point-oh or things start getting too intense or whatever, you let me know.”

I think it’s already intense, but I get what he’s saying without him having to spell it out. We’re just enjoying each other, and this—what we’re doing right now—is as far as it’s going to go. Which I already knew.

A knock on the door prevents me from responding.

Randy opens his mouth to speak, so I do the most reasonable thing I can think of: I grab his hair and bring his face to mine. He still tries to talk, but it’s a lot more challenging with my tongue in his mouth.

He doesn’t fight me on the kissing. Instead he starts back up with the humping. I’m not nearly as full as I was before—I’m assuming that’s because he’s getting soft—but it still feels good. I forget there’s a reason for the spontaneous making out until another more-vigorous knock startles me.