PUCKED Up (10 page)

“
How many times have I tried to get in your pants?”

Sunny taps her lip with her finger. “You mean for sex?”

I release her leg and hold onto the arms of the chair again. My knees hurt from kneeling for so long, but I’m making a point, one I hope is going to win a lot of favors. “Yeah, I mean for sex.”

She looks down, her eyes on my chin rather than my face. “Never.”

“
That’s right. Never. So you tell me, Sunny. What do you think I’m here for?”

She peeks up, her expression sweet like those maple candies I steal from my sister all the time. “Just me?”

“
Not
just
you.
You
. I’m here because I want to be with you, and no other reason.”

This is way different than placating a bunny. I’ve only ever dealt with this once before, way back at the beginning of college when crushes crushed a kid. This is different; the feelings feel a lot more real now. It’s about more than how hard she makes me.

“
Come on, Sunny Sunshine. You know how much I like you. I’m trying hard not to screw it up.”

She exhales slowly, finally letting her guard down. She parts her legs and they slide along either side of me. It gives me the access I’ve been waiting for since I walked in her door. I’m not an idiot, though. I don’t move into the space.

Instead, I run my hand up the outside of her bare calf again. Stopping behind her knee, I stroke with my thumb before I reverse the movement, kneading all the way to her ankle. Sunny’s a big fan of the leg massage, and I’m damn good at it. On the way back up, I follow her shin bone with my thumbs. All her muscles are tight. Sitting back on my heels, I get a glimpse of pale blue cotton through the small gap between her shorts and her inner thigh.

Panties are panties: frilly, frilless, plain, fancy, lacy, cotton, satin. By the time I usually get to look at them, they’re about to come off. But for some reason, I want to know what style Sunny’s wearing. Will they be regular bikini briefs? Boy shorts? Cheekies? I want her to parade around in them, and then I want to get her naked and keep her that way for hours. But first I need to get her excited enough to want that. And I need to make her forget how frequently I mess shit up.

I continue rubbing up and down the back of her calf until she starts to sigh and shift. Her head drops against the back of the chair, and her eyes flutter shut. Her toes curl against my forearm, and her lips part, which tells me she likes what I’m doing.

“
You’re real tight. That feel good?” I go up higher, avoiding the ticklish spot on her knee, getting at her IT band and keeping my palms to the outside of her thighs.

“
I taught three classes and then ran five miles with this new greyhound we got at the shelter.”

“
You must be tired.”

She cracks one lid. “Probably not as tired as you. You’re the one who got on a plane and then drove here.”

“
I’m the one who caused you all kinds of stress today.” I might as well acknowledge it.

“
I’m over it.”

“
You sure about that?”

She traces one of the ugly flowers on the arm of the chair. “I’m mostly over it.”

“
Anything I can do to help you get totally over it?”

“
I don’t know.”

“
You don’t know, or you don’t wanna tell me?”

I spread my fingers wide, covering the tops of her thighs. When I’m a few inches from the hem of her shorts, I graze her inner thighs with my thumbs. It’s a sensitive spot, holding the promise of something way more fun, like wet fingers and Sunny’s little moans of excitement.

I’ve had my hand down Sunny’s pants a total of four times. It’s a fucking world record for me. Usually by this time I’d have bagged a bunny in every conceivable position.

The first time I ventured south of the border with Sunny I was nervous. Not because I didn’t think I could get her off—I’m almost as good at giving orgasms as I am at hockey—but I wasn’t sure what I was going to find. I’m not being a dick. It’s just the truth.

Sunny’s granola. She takes less time to get ready than I do. She doesn’t wear makeup, and I don’t think she has any idea what to do with hairspray, which is insane considering her mom must go through a can a day with the eighties hair band look she’s rockin’.

Anyway, my concerns had more to do with the potential for the “authentic granola experience,” as Vi so kindly dubbed it. She told me I was too accustomed to the bunnies. Those girls might wear too much makeup, but they’re always groomed. And by groomed I mean the only body hair they have is on their heads.

The first time I stuck my hand down Sunny’s pants, I was sure it was going to be the beginning of the end. Right where there’s usually smooth skin was a patch of soft fuzz. It was only two fingers wide, and it wasn’t like an overgrown bush or anything. I really like her, so I kept going, figuring I’d take one for the fuzz team if I had to. I could convince her to get rid of it eventually. I’d use promises of orgasm by mouth as leverage.

Turns out I had nothing to worry about. Once I passed the mountain and dove into the valley, I got nothing but smooth, soft skin and wet, warm pussy. It was a landing strip—pointing me in the right direction.

I’m not gonna lie, it was a goddamn relief. I got her off twice with my fingers. Then she held my dick. It was like high school, but way better. Sunny has great hands and super strong forearms.

Three months in now, and I still haven’t put the puck in the net. I haven’t even put my face in the net. Not for lack of trying, but opportunity hasn’t been on my side. More than once, Vi’s suggested that maybe I’m only into Sunny because she won’t give it up, and I like the challenge. In the past five years, I’ve never had anyone do anything but drop their panties and spread their legs—until Sunny.

It’s nice. So maybe part of it is the challenge. But when I see her, I’m pretty sure the tingly feeling in my dick matches that weird feeling in my chest.

That I’m willing to fly all the way out to see her, knowing there’s going to be a situation I need to handle, has to mean something, too.

I run my hands down to her knees and begin the slow ascent again. Sunny bites her lip and slouches in the chair, as if she’s trying to get closer, or get my hands to go higher. I’m not making a move, yet. I’ve held out this long; I’m sure I can manage a while longer.

I lean down and kiss the inside of her knee. “I’m sorry I made today difficult.”

“
I know.”

Tension makes her thighs clench. I’m between them, so they tighten against my ribs. I keep my hands where they are, thumbs rubbing circles close to her femoral artery. Her skin is flushed, warm; her pulse is racing. She’s exactly how I want her to be, turned on and distracted. Backing off, I rest my hands on her knees and bite the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling when she frowns.

“
I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore, ’kay, Sunny Sunshine? I’m trying my best. I know it’s probably not good enough, but maybe you can tell me what I need to do so I can get better at it.” I’m not feeding her a line, even though I’m notoriously good at those.

Sunny’s knees press hard against my sides for a long moment. Her fingers flutter close to her hair, likes she’s thinking about doing that twirl thing. I can tell she’s trying to keep her hands to herself, that she wants to stay angry a little longer, but can’t. I’m not sure what it is about me that makes her fold—’cause let’s face it, I’m not prime boyfriend material—but whatever she sees, I’ll take.

She reaches up and pushes her fingers through my hair. Her nails scratch my scalp. I love it when she does that. Then her fingers tighten and release, over and over. I love it when she does that, too. If I had a tail, it’d be thumping on the ground about now.

“
Stop letting the hooker bunnies take pictures.”

“
They’re fans.”

“
They’re sluts.”

“
They’re also fans.”

“
Who have their hands all over you.”

Her fingers tighten again so I smooth my hands up her legs and squeeze when I get to the hem of her shorts. I’m diverting her attention again. It’s not fair. She makes a good point. I wouldn’t like it if it was the other way around. I don’t always have control of where other people put their hands. I can only control what I do with mine.

“
You’re the only one who matters, though.”

Sunny’s uncertainty is obvious in the tightness of her jaw and the flexing of her fingers in my hair. Some people avoid confrontation. I don’t. This whole situation is the perfect catalyst for a sweet make-up session. Keeping her on the edge of anger and fusing it with desire is the best way to finally get what I’ve been waiting for all these weeks.

Her anger simmers like almost-boiling water. Sunny cups the back of my neck and yanks me forward, our lips connecting. It’s amazing after two long weeks of nothing.

Kissing is an art. It’s the most important part of foreplay. Everything I’ll do to the rest of her body with my fingers and—sweet Christ, please let this be the night—my dick is simulated with kissing.

She tries to be aggressive, to push her tongue past my lips, but I nip her with my teeth. She makes this pained sound, frustrated and needy at the same time.

As soon as her lips part I slip my tongue inside, stroking slowly. She tastes like the cinnamon and clove toothpaste she uses. It reminds me of gingerbread cookies. Interesting. That means she stopped to brush her teeth before she answered the door. Even as pissed as she was, and maybe still is, she prepared for this.

I run a hand up her arm and across her shoulder until I’m cupping her cheek in my palm. Then I suck on her tongue. It drives her fucking crazy when I do that.

Sunny groans and winds herself around me, hooking her feet at my waist, fingers twisting in my hair to keep me from backing off again. That’s not part of my immediate plan. I’ve had far too few make-out sessions with Sunny to stop right after we’ve started.

I inch my palm up her thigh until the tip of my middle finger is under the hem of her shorts. Sunny mashes her chest against me, getting as close as she can. I ease my hand back down her thigh to her knee, staying away from all the most exciting places.

I’m playing with her. It might seem mean, but she’s enjoying it, and I’m having a good time getting her all excited. If I’m ever going to get her naked, I have to get her to the point where all she can think about is the orgasms I’ll give her if she lets me.

“
I hate it when the hooker bunnies are all over you, and I hate being jealous,” Sunny mumbles around my tongue.

I back up until her face comes into focus. “You don’t need to be jealous. You’re the only one I want all over me.”

Sunny’s hands leave my hair and ease down my back. Her palms find my ass, and she shifts forward. It’s magic for my dick. Anything besides my own hand is beyond awesome. She wiggles her fingers under my waistband. I’m commando. Underwear is mostly useless. My balls like to be free, not confined by material. This time I feel the sharp bite of her nails when she grabs my ass.

I’m cool with this kind of aggression. I’ve had sex with all kinds of women, from the quiet ones who like missionary, to the ones who think it’d be fun to tie me up and take control—not that I’ve ever let that happen.

I move the hand on her upper thigh to her waist. I don’t even try to go under her shirt. I keep it at her ribcage, my thumb two inches shy of the underside of her boob. Sunny has smallish boobs; they fit in my palm. And her nipples are little and pink. She can do the braless thing if she wants without it being obvious. They’re fucking awesome. I can’t wait to have them in my mouth.

The less I touch where she wants me to, the more frantic she gets. Sunny’s hand retracts from the back of my pants. She grabs the hem of my shirt, pulling it up. I don’t break the kiss right away. Instead I keep going back to suck on her bottom lip and nibble on her chin. When she makes a frustrated noise I back off. She yanks my shirt over my head and tosses it on the floor, then sighs.

I’d say it doesn’t inflate my ego at all, but that’d be a total lie. Sunny knows exactly how hard I have to work to stay in shape. She appreciates the time and energy I spend conditioning my body. So, yeah, she’s ogling, but it’s not because she can’t wait to tell her friends she got to bag an NHL player.

She runs her fingers through my hair, nails scratching lightly down the sides of my neck. When she reaches my shoulders she pauses, her eyes moving over my chest and down my abs.

“
You look so good without a shirt on. I wish it was summer all the time.”

“
I won’t wear one while we’re in the house.”

“
Or by the pool.” Her fingertips drift down my arms.

“
I won’t even wear shorts, if that’s what you want. I’ll swing free all weekend, just for you.”

“
Just for me, eh?”

There’s the cute Canadian twang I like so much.