Pucked Over (Pucked 3)

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.