Pucked Under (Pucked #4.5) Read online

  I bow up off the bench; the loud tearing sound should concern me, but he does the finger curl. Then he drops his head and suctions himself to my clit. This is fairly atypical behavior for Randy. Usually he’s a tongue-only kind of tease with the eating out, so he must be going for maximum effect. I honestly try not to come right away, but he has all the control over my body, so I freefall into orgasm heaven. I bang my head on the bench and bring my hand to my mouth, biting the side of it to muffle my moans.

  Randy doesn’t stop sucking even after I’ve come. Instead he keeps going, aware he’ll be able to make me come a second time with minimal effort. Usually he gives me a short reprieve, though, allowing me to come down from the high before he sets me off again. Not so this time.

  Tears pool and run down my temples at the pleasure-pain. My entire body jerks and trembles as orgasm number two bitch-slaps me. When my motor function returns, I shove my fingers in his hair and yank, disconnecting his mouth from my oversensitive clit.

  He makes this low sound, kind of a growl, like he’s pissed that I’ve stopped him.

  “Jesus, Randy, what’s gotten into you?” A full-body tremor—like a legitimate aftershock—makes me lose my grip on his hair.

  His expression softens and then becomes panicked. “Lily? Shit.”

  The fullness of his fingers inside me disappears. My muscles contract around nothing and an odd, soft sob gets caught in my throat. He reaches out as if to caress my cheek, but realizes my orgasm is still all over his fingers, so he wipes his hand on his shirt. At least it’s white.

  He leans over me, sweeping shaky fingers across my temple. His eyes are wide, his thick swallow audible. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay? I didn’t mean to get carried away. I just wanted to make you feel good.”

  I still his hands. “You didn’t hurt me.”

  “But you’re crying. I made you cry. That’s not supposed to happen.”

  “You wouldn’t let me stop coming. It was intense.” I motion to my face. “These aren’t pain tears, they’re overwhelmed-by-sensation tears.”

  “Oh.” His relief leaves him on an exhale. “I didn’t know that was a thing. So you’re telling me you can come so hard you cry?”

  I’m actually surprised this has never happened to him before. His orgasm missions, along with his former reputation with the bunnies, are legendary.

  There’s something going on with Randy. He’s been extra needy lately. Only once this week have we not had sex multiple times a day. Maybe he’s stocking up in preparation for being on the road again once the new season starts. I’m not complaining; I just think there’s more to it than him being horny. The alarm on my phone goes off. It’s my final warning.

  “Oh, God. I need to fix myself and get out there!”

  “Told you I could get you off before you went on the ice.” The smug tone is there, but he’s missing the usual smirky smirk.

  My legs are wobbly as I stand and adjust my panties, then my stretched-out tights. The waistband on both are shot. They’ll have to go in the garbage after this. Also, a huge snag runs from waist to thigh on my right leg. I don’t have an extra pair of tights with me, so I’ll have to deal. The crotch of my leotard is loose now, too, which definitely isn’t optimal—especially since I’m about to teach pairs. I haven’t done pairs in years, so I’m relearning a bit as I’m teaching.

  Tonight I have a one-on-one session with Finlay to work on some of the lifts. Last session his partner, Giselle, twisted her ankle, so she’s taking some time to recover. I didn’t want Finlay to miss this session, though.

  I look up at Randy and gesture to my outfit. “Thanks a lot; this whole thing is ruined now.”

  “I’ll take you to get new ones.”

  “Hell of a lot of good that’s going to do me now.”

  “I’m sorry.” He jams his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I got excited thinking about the cottage and spending time with you without work getting in the way.”

  I don’t want him to feel bad for making me feel good. I share his enthusiasm, even if his timing could be better. I put a hand on his chest and give him a quick kiss. “I know. Me too. I gotta go, though.”

  I close my locker and head for the ice on unsteady legs in a skating outfit that fit a lot better less than ten minutes ago. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror before I push through the doors to the rink. My hair is all messed up in the back, so I quickly finger-comb it. My tights are sliding down because the waistband is so loose. My cheeks are flushed, my lips swollen, my eyes bright. I can smell Randy’s cologne all over me, and I’m pretty sure I also smell like an orgasm, but that could all be in my head.

  There’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m annoyed that I look like such an unprofessional mess, but hopefully Finlay is too focused on learning the routine to notice.

  He’s already out there when I hit the ice. Finlay turned nineteen recently and has been skating competitively since he was a child. He’s an incredible skater, but I know he’s worried about the lifts and the jumps. Since I know this routine, my boss called in a favor and asked if I would be willing to coach him and his partner. They’ve already made state, and now they’re looking at nationals. Those two are magic together when they’re on. It’s an honor and a big deal to be asked to do this. Summer hours mean I have the time, so I couldn’t say no.

  Finlay looks antsy. He’s been great, if not a little unsure of himself, the two times I’ve worked with him and Giselle so far. I’ve heard he can be a bit of a perfectionist, and hard on himself and his partner in terms of expectations. I’m hoping this session will help keep things smooth and easy between them. He’s feeling some guilt over Giselle’s minor injury, even though it wasn’t his fault.

  He glances at the clock. I’m two minutes late. “I thought maybe I got the time wrong.”

  “Sorry. One of my laces broke; I had to relace with a spare.” The lie comes smoothly.

  He looks down at my skates, eyes moving over my outfit. My freaking tights are already falling down. Randy’s going to hear it from me later.

  I clap my hands together. “I guess we should warm up.”

  “I was a little early. I’ve already warmed up.”

  “I meant together. I’ve been on the ice all day, so I’m about as warmed up as I’m going to get, but I’m happy to do a few laps to get us in the groove.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, of course.” He bobble nods. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  I skate a tight circle around him and then speed off down the ice, adjusting my damn tights. At least the little skirt covers some of the issue. I’m kind of nervous about this session. It’s one thing to teach other people how to skate together; it’s totally different when I’m the one involved in the togetherness. Pairs requires a lot of trust and communication. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to skate with another person. And now, on top of dealing with the newness of this situation, my attention is divided because my tights keep sliding down, and all I can think about is how that happened. Goddamn Randy and his magic tongue and fingers.

  Still, all I have to do is invest an hour, and then I’m free for the weekend.

  After a few laps around the rink, the guy in the sound booth cues the music, and we start the routine. Finlay has the first part down, but whenever he has to make physical contact, he gets all twitchy and unsure of himself, especially when there’s a lift.

  “Are you okay today?” I ask when he fumbles me for the third time.

  “Uh, yeah, just…there’s a guy in the stands, and he’s been watching us for, like, ten minutes. He looks really familiar.”

  I look around the arena and spot Randy sitting in the stands.

  Randy rarely stays to watch me, and I have a feeling it’s no coincidence he’s decided to stick around while I’m teaching Finlay. His neediness this week, his sneaking into the locker room, the “impromptu” orgasms he couldn’t wait to give me, my smelling like I’ve doused myself in his cologne—all this le
ads me to believe his behavior is orchestrated and intentional. And I don’t know quite what to make of that.

  When the song ends, I suggest we take a short break and grab some water.

  Finlay looks to where my problematic boyfriend is sitting. “That guy totally looks like Randy Ballistic.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s because he is.”

  His eyes go wide. “Holy shit. What’s he doing here?”

  “Being a pain in my ass.”

  “Huh?”

  “He’s my boyfriend.”

  I almost enjoy his shock. “Wow. I wasn’t sure if that was a rumor or not.” He gestures between us, looking understandably nervous. “So is this a problem?”

  “No. He’s waiting because he doesn’t have anything better to do. I’ll be right back.”

  I skate over to Randy, because I’m not exactly sure it isn’t a problem, based on what happened in the changing room. He’s reclining in a chair one row back from the boards with his arm slung casually across the seat next to him. He flashes me a smile that’s anything but easy.

  I point a finger at him as soon as I’m close enough. “I’m on to you.”

  His eyes flare slightly before he cocks his head to the side, giving me his signature grin. “On to me? It’s not like I was hiding out. I’m just watch—”

  I cut him off. “Don’t even think about lying.”

  He opens his mouth and then closes it. Speechless Randy is new. He has a quick retort for just about everything.

  I take advantage of his silence. “Yes or no, you ambushed me in the locker room so I’d smell like you and orgasms when I came out here to practice with Finlay.”

  “What kind of name is Finlay, anyway?”

  “That’s not a yes or a no.”

  He runs a hand over his beard and mumbles something.

  I crook a finger. “C’mere.”

  He regards me with something like chagrin before he unfurls from his seated position. Randy’s a big man. He’s well over six feet tall, broad and weighing in at more than two hundred pounds during the off-season. He has to work hard to keep that weight on during game season because he burns calories faster than he can consume them. He may look intimidating to some, but he’s not to me.

  He jumps the seats to stand in the first row. Only the boards separate us. His tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip as he looks me over. I have to adjust my tights for the eleven-millionth time. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s hard. He likes me feisty.

  “I didn’t quite catch that,” I say softly.

  Randy grips the boards, his fingertips going white as his gaze lifts over my head, likely to my skating partner, before it settles on me again. “Can you blame me?”

  “Blame you for what exactly?”

  “Wanting you to smell like me.”

  I totally called it. “So you’re aiming for twenty-first-century caveman, now? Is this your version of peeing on a tree to mark your territory?”

  He frowns. “Dogs do that, not cavemen. Or evolved cavemen, like me, apparently.”

  I prop a fist on my hip. “You know what I mean. It’s the same thing.”

  “It’s not even remotely the same.”

  He’s being antagonistic on purpose. He knows it gets me hot. Right now I’m legitimately irritated, though. And I’m offended that it seems a lot like he doesn’t trust me. Although, now isn’t really the time to have it out about trust issues. “We’re not arguing about this now.”

  “I didn’t realize it was an argument at all. That guy has his hands all over you. We have sex to this song all the damn time. I think it’s reasonable for me to want him to know you’re not available.”

  I didn’t even consider how often we get it on to the song. “And you thought the best way to accomplish that was by eating me out in the locker room ten minutes before I had to be on the ice with him?”

  “You seemed to enjoy yourself.”

  My magic marble agrees. “That’s beside the point. We’ll be talking about this later.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. You can tell me exactly what you liked best about my eating your pussy in the changing room and if there’s anything you’d want me to do differently next time.”

  “I’m not kidding.”

  “Neither am I. I take eating your pussy very seriously.” Randy manages not to crack a smile. “Wanna introduce me to Finlay?”

  “So he can run when he sees you coming for him?”

  “Pretty much.”

  2

  GET OFF MY GIRL

  RANDY

  So maybe I’m being somewhat unreasonable, but I’m also still new at the girlfriend thing. And this guy seems like a dick. Or maybe that’s me being overprotective of what’s mine. Not that Lily is a possession, but she’s my girlfriend, and I don’t want anyone putting the moves on her. Especially not this guy. I did some research before I decided I should stay and watch Lily skate. Apparently Finlay has had a relationship with his last two skating partners. I get that Lily is his instructor, not his partner, but today is a one-on-one session. I want to make sure he’s aware that she’s not a viable dating option.

  It’s not that I don’t trust Lily. I do. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself, but I don’t ever want her to be in a position where that’s a problem. She’s gorgeous, and talented. I get a little nervous. I’m also a whole lot stressed about the beginning of the season and being away from her for extended periods of time. I’ve gotten used to being home with her, seeing her every day. The upcoming season is going to be an adjustment.

  Lily motions for the guy to come over so she can do the introduction thing. He’s shorter than me by a good four inches, and I definitely outweigh him by at least forty pounds. Based on what his spandex business doesn’t hide, I’m also way more equipped to take care of Lily’s needs in the bedroom.

  “Be nice,” Lily hisses.

  I extend a hand and smile instead of punching him in the face. I need to get a handle on this jealousy. “Hey, I’m Randy.”

  “Hey, hi. Finlay.” He takes my offered palm.

  “I’m Lily’s boyfriend. She lives with me. In my house.”

  Lily makes a sound like she’s choking, or coughing, or both. I glance at her. I don’t think that was the right thing to say.

  “Right. Okay.” Finlay blinks and swallows. “I, uh, I read that somewhere—”

  Lily slaps a palm on the boards. “We should probably get back to it.” She gives me an overly sweet, somewhat annoyed smile. “You know what I’d love?”

  Judging from her tone, I don’t think it’s another changing-room orgasm. “What’s that, luscious?”

  “A tea.”

  “You want me to get you one from the concession stand?”

  She makes a face. “The tea here sucks. Oh! I’d like a chai latte. There’s a Starbucks down the street. It’s, like, a ten-minute walk. You don’t mind, do you? Finlay, do you want anything?”

  Finlay looks uncomfortable. “Uh, no. I’m good. Thanks.”

  Clearly Lily’s trying to get rid of me, which means I’ve definitely said the wrong thing. I tried to be nice. Okay, maybe I didn’t try that hard, but I can make up for it with food. “You want anything besides a chai latte? I can get you one of those oat bar things you like.”

  “That’d be great.” This time her smile holds less tension.

  I lean in to kiss her, but she gives me her cheek. I back off, and when she turns her head, I manage to connect her mouth with mine. The PDA must be too much for Finlay because he says something about it being nice to meet me and skates away.

  “Did you even wash your face?” she whispers when he’s out of hearing range.

  This time I don’t bother to hold back my grin. “Why? Can you smell yourself on me?”

  “You’re unbelievable. What about your hands? Please tell me you washed those.”

  I hold a finger up under my nose and then offer it to her. “Wanna check?”

  “Oh my God. No.
” She bats it away.

  “Smells like luscious lilies.”

  “You have a problem.”

  “What can I say? I’m an addict.”

  “You’re insane is what you are. Go get me a latte. You’re making Finlay nervous.”

  “Good. That’s exactly what I want him to be.” I consider how my presence might affect Lily in this situation. “Am I making you nervous?”

  “No. Just harder to do my job.”

  “Horny?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  She pushes on my chest. “Can you go? You’re such a distraction.”

  I take her hand and kiss her fingers. “Are you mad at me?”

  “The jury’s still out on that. Now go, and don’t rush back.” She pulls her hand from my grip and skates off, flipping me the bird behind her back. She also has to adjust her tights, which means she draws attention to her ass. That would be fine if it was just me checking it out, but I’m about to leave, which means Finlay will have plenty of opportunity to stare at it while I’m gone. Damn it.

  I want to be back to the rink as fast as possible, even though Lily doesn’t seem to want me there, so I take my truck instead of walking. It only takes two minutes to drive to Starbucks. But it’s the kind with no drive thru, so I end up having to circle the block and find a spot down the street.

  There must be some kind of event going on nearby, or a fucking field trip, because the place is packed with people—and not just with the usual laptop-toters. There’s a huge line waiting to order and a sizable group congregated at the counter, still waiting for their drinks. I get asked for an autograph three times, and of course there are subsequent selfies to be had.

  By the time I get back in my truck, Lily’s session with that Finlay fucker is already over. Fucking tourists and their frappe-lappa-what-the-fuck-evers and their ridiculous indecision. When I’m back at the arena I check the rink anyway, in case they’re still there, but it’s now filled with little kids bumbling around. I head for the changing room to find the door locked.

  Shit.

  I really hope she isn’t super pissed at me. That would not be a good way to start our weekend. Particularly since I’m hoping it will contain a high amount of nudity and sex.