Pucked Over (Pucked #3) (40 page)

Whatever. It’s been a couple of weeks, and I’ve been all mopey and heartbroken. Now I’m sexed up and excited. I have a boyfriend—a hot one, with a badass happy-face dick. I hold on to the back of his neck and stroke him through his jeans.

He’s hard, and I want to feel that between my legs since now it’s mine. Exclusively. I kick off my floppy slippers and get ready to either straddle him or pull him down. Both will work fine.

The knock on the window reminds me we’re in a car, and it’s eight in the morning, so there’s no cover of darkness. We’re also parked in front of my apartment building. I separate my face from Randy’s, ready to flip off whoever’s interrupting our make-up make-out session. Except it’s my mom.

So instead of swearing at her with hand gestures, I roll down the window. “Hey, Mom.”

She presses her hand against her chest and heaves what appears to be a relieved sigh. “For a second I thought that was Benji.”

“Uh, no.” I gesture to Randy. “As you can see, definitely not Benji.”

My mom looks him over as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. Definitely not.”

Randy waves. “Hi.” His face is beet red.

“Mom, you remember Randy. Randy, you remember my mom, Iris.” Wow. Talk about awkward.

“Of course I remember Randy. What a nice surprise. You two should go inside. I know the apartment’s a bit of a mess, but it’s cold out.”

The way she phrases it doesn’t give us much of an option, so Randy cuts the engine, surreptitiously rearranges his hard-on, zips his jacket, and gets out. My mom gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Nice to see you again, Randy. I hope this means we’ll be able to catch up another time.”

“Where’re you going?” I ask.

“Work, honey. It’s Monday.”

“Oh.”

“You two behave yourselves.” She pats Randy on the arm and leaves us on our own.

Randy picks up the box I dropped when I chased after his car and tucks it under one arm. I thread my fingers through his.

He follows me to the elevator. We’re the only two people in it, so I take advantage of the situation by tongue-fucking his mouth again. Randy pulls me against him via my ass, doing what he does best: the clothed humping. We pry ourselves away from each other when the elevator dings. The door slides open, and I take his hand again, dragging him down the hall. I’m all thumbs with the key, struggling to get it in the lock.

“Let me do that,” he murmurs.

I let go, and he takes over, sliding the key in the lock and easing the door open. As soon as we’re inside I’m on him again, pulling at his jacket, trying to unzip his pants.

Randy puts his hands on my shoulders. “Lily.”

“Winter sucks for layers.”

He pushes me back. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” I yank his belt free from the clasp.

He puts his hand over mine, as if that’s going to stop me. “That.”

I don’t hear anything, so I go with snark. “It’s the sound of my pussy crying for your cock.”

Randy laughs, then groans as I pop the button and slide my hand inside his boxers, finding him rock hard. “There’s water running.”

I pause, still holding his dick, and listen intently. “Shit.”

“Who’s here?”

“Tim-Tom.

“Who.”

“My other boyfriend.”

Randy’s expression goes dark.

“Sorry. Sorry, that was a terrible joke. I’ll never, ever say anything like that again. It’s my mom’s boyfriend. I thought he went home last night.” Still holding Randy’s dick, I tiptoe down the hall and peek around the corner. He has no choice but to follow.

The water’s still running, so we can definitely make it to my room without Tim-Tom knowing we’re in here. I let go of Randy’s man rod and motion to the door across the hall from the bathroom. I tiptoe stealthily, and Randy clomps across the parquet floor with his boots on. It’s smart not to leave evidence of his presence behind, apart from wet boot prints, that is.

I pull him into my room by his jacket, lock the door, and frantically undress him. “What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Getting you naked. What does it look like?”
Like, duh
.

“Your mom’s boyfriend’s here.”

“So? They bone while I’m here all the time. We’ll be quiet. If I get loud you can put a hand over my mouth; I kinda like that.”

He stands there blinking at me like maybe I’ve gone a little crazy, so I pull my sweatshirt and tank top over my head and push my flannel moose pants down over my hips. And voila, I’m naked. It does the trick. Randy shrugs out of his jacket and takes off his hoodie and T-shirt. I shove his pants and underwear down his thighs and drop to my knees.

“Look at him! He’s so happy to see me, grinning like a fool.”

Randy laughs and inhales as I trace the scar with a gentle finger.

I don’t bother with a warm-up. It’s unnecessary and a waste of time. All I want is to lube up his cock and get it inside me. The best way to accomplish that is by slobbering all over it. Or putting as much of it in my mouth as I can and sucking, whichever sounds classier.

I lick along the shaft and engulf the head. I look up as I take more of him in. Randy’s mouth drops open, and his hands go into my hair. I hold on to his ass, and he cradles my head. I suck as if blow jobs are an Olympic event, and I’m going for the gold medal.

“Holy fuck, Lily.” Randy puts a hand on the wall to steady himself.

His knees buckle at my loud slurping noise. Guys are so funny about having their cock in a mouth, and based on Randy’s previous experiences, I’m turning into his blow-job goddess.

All my hot spots are lighting up like a Vegas slot machine when Randy fists my hair and pulls me off. A string of saliva connects the head to my bottom lip. From my perspective it’s gross, but Randy’s a guy, and for whatever reason, they seem to like all the suction sounds and bodily fluids.

He bends over me, panting, muscles straining. His cock is inches from my face. He’s still holding the wall with one hand and my hair with the other. I won’t lie. It’s superhot. I may be on my knees, but I’m definitely the one with all the power. I run my hands up his thighs and bite my bottom lip, being coy. I trace the white line across his hip, then sweep a single finger all the way down the shaft, over the smiley scar, to the tip. Randy’s eyes roll up, and he shudders.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” I’m saccharine sweet about it.

He pulls me up by my hair and crushes his mouth to mine. Oh, man. This is going to be some serious get-back-together-now-I’m-his-girlfriend sex. He must forget that his pants are still around his ankles, because he stumbles and has to shuffle to the bed. We fall in a heap on the mattress. My comforter is a rumpled mess, and I didn’t even bother to put my suitcase on the floor before I went to bed last night, so I had to sleep on an angle.

We slither-flop up the bed so half our bodies aren’t hanging off the end. Randy’s heavy on top of me. His cock is nestled in tight between my legs. And of course, he’s already started with the wet-humping.

At this point I’ve stopped being surprised by how quickly he makes me come. I think it’s just the way we are together. With the next roll of his hips, the head rubs my clit. I dig my nails into his ass and arch. He slips low. The head breaches the Vagina Emporium’s front door.

Randy breaks the kiss, and we do the stare off. We don’t need actual words to convey the question we’re both silently asking. Is it okay? Can we do this without a condom? He hasn’t had sex with anyone else in a long time.

“I’m clean.” Randy cringes, embarrassed. It says more than his reassurance. “I’ll get a condom.”

“It’s okay.”

“You’re sure.” He sinks in a little more.

“I’ve been on the pill forever.”

Randy’s hands are on my face. He goes deeper, maybe testing out whether or not I’m serious. I don’t stop him, so he keeps going. His groan is loud and low. “Don’t judge me if I come fast.”

“As long as I come before you do, we’re good.”

“No promises.”

His back expands and contracts with every breath. He’s definitely not in control. His entire body is trembling. I lock my legs around his hips and skim his cheek with my fingertips. “Hey.”

His eyes flip up to mine.

“Be with me.”

He releases a sharp exhale and starts to move. It’s not some gentle, let’s-make-love bullshit. It’s hip-slamming, bed-creaking, full-out make-up fucking. There’s no way we’re being quiet. I’ll be surprised if we don’t break my bed. Thankfully, I don’t need it in Chicago.

We can’t kiss because the pounding is too vigorous. All I can do is hold on while he goes ballistic. It’s awesome. I come twice and bite the shit out of his shoulder. We’re rocking the bed so much my suitcase falls to the floor with a loud crash.

Randy slows down with the knock on my door. “Everything okay in there?” It’s Tim-Tom. I guess he’s out of the shower.

“It’s fine. I dropped my suitcase!” I call.

Randy’s face is buried in my neck, and his shoulders are shaking.

“Need any help?”

“Nope. I’m good! Thanks, Tim!”

“Okay. I’m going to work. See ya later.”

Randy circles his hips, slow and tight, while we wait for Tim to leave, but even after the door closes he doesn’t go back to the vigorous, intense pounding. Instead he stays close and kisses me deep. When he comes, it’s like he’s trying to climb inside my body and stay there forever.

I run my hand down his back, smiling at the shiver I create. Randy lifts his head from the crook of my neck, eyes soft and warm. “That was a lot of fun.”

I laugh and touch his lips, brushing over the scar. “It sure was. We should do it again.”

Couch Confessions

LILY

Three months later

I drop down on Randy’s couch and throw my legs over his lap, cradling my snack bowl.

He leans over and peers inside. “What the hell are these? Why’re they red?”

“They’re ketchup chips.”

Randy makes a face. “Ketchup?”

My mom sent them in a care package. I love living in Chicago, but there are a few things I miss about Canada. Ketchup chips are one of them, my mom is another, and maple-flavored bacon completes the list.

I pop one in my mouth and make a sound similar to the one I make when Randy’s face or fingers or incredibly amazing cock is between my legs. “They’re so good.”

He stares at my mouth, watching while I chew. I swallow, then take a sip from the glass of cider he’s poured for me. It’s my favorite kind—not too sweet, with the perfect level of dryness. As soon as I put my glass down, he lifts the bowl out of my hand, sets it on the coffee table, and tackles me, taking me down to the cushions.

He’s got some serious skills with the way he’s able to get his knee between my legs without me even realizing it until I start auto-humping. He cups the back of my head, his fingers pressing in. I don’t know why it makes me so hot; it’s like he’s holding on so I can’t get away from his mouth. Not that I’d want to.

He presses his lips to mine, sniffing. He backs off, giving me the funky eye. Then he goes in for another kiss, a little longer this time. He sucks my lip, running his tongue along it, and pulls back again.

“Ketchup?” he says.

“They’re the best.”

Randy resumes kissing me, and this time he slips his tongue into my mouth. After a few seconds of exploration, he breaks the kiss and shakes his head. “Nope. I don’t like it. You need to brush your teeth. That tastes like shit.”

He’s still got a knee between my leg, and he’s kind of thrusting against my pelvis. I can feel his hard-on. He can’t be all that negatively affected by my bad breath.

“Just try one.” I reach over and pluck a chip from the bowl, bringing it to his mouth.

He leans in and sniffs again, his nose wrinkling.

“Eat it.”

“I’d rather eat you.”

“Pretty sure ketchup-chip breath is better than vagina breath.”

“That’s debatable. I love the way your pussy tastes.”

“Like I’m made of maple?”

“Exactly.”

“Open your mouth.” I press the chip against his bottom lip, but he keeps it closed. I keep pushing until the chip breaks and crumbles in his beard and onto my chest. A few crumbs tumble into the V of my shirt.

“Oh! Look at that. Your shirt’s dirty now; it needs to go in the laundry.” He shoves his hand under my top and pulls it over my head. I’m braless, as is normal when I’m at home—his or mine.

“I thought we were going to watch a movie.”

“We could make our own.” He waggles his brows, his grin devious. “I need a new one for next week.”

Randy leaves in the morning for a series of away games. He’ll be gone for ten days. It’ll be our longest separation since I moved to Chicago. We spend most of our free time together. It’s almost a good thing he has to travel; otherwise I feel like we’d be immersed in just each other, all the time. This way I get to hang with Sunny, Violet, and Charlene.