Pucked Over (Pucked 3)

Chapter 20Almost TruthsRANDYI’m fucking Lily like it’s the last time I’m ever going to have sex. That’s kind of how it feels. I almost thought about going bareback. Okay, not almost. I totally thought about going bareback with her, but then I’d have to explain about blood tests and how I never go bareback with anyone, ever—not even in high school when guys made notoriously bad decisions by saying things like they couldn’t feel anything with a condom.

That’s a load of shit. Guys can feel fine through latex. Does it mute the sensation a bit? Yeah, sure. But that’s not a bad thing considering how fast I’d blow if I wasn’t wearing one. At least when Lily’s involved.

I don’t know what it is about her. I don’t know why I’m so hung up, but I do know there’s still a whole storm of conflict going on inside me over that stupid girl at the bar. I almost told Lily before I got inside her, which probably would have screwed things up—screwed the screwing. I stop worrying about things that didn’t happen and focus on the feel of Lily around me.

She’s moaning my name and clawing at my back and shoulders. She’s about to come. The wave of goosebumps and her increase in volume tell me that. I reach between us and pinch her clit. Lily throws her head back and cries out. If I had a free hand I’d skim the long, smooth line of her throat. But I’m keeping her from falling backward on the bed right now. I want her close.

Threading my fingers into her hair, I grip the satiny strands, forcing her chin down. Her eyes are fluttering up, her low sound of desire pushing me closer to the edge. Her pussy contracts around my cock, so I rub her clit until she covers my hand in a silent request to stop.

I keep one hand fisted in her hair, the other I press against her sternum. I move her over me, harder, faster until the entire universe comes to a screeching halt with the force of my orgasm. It’s like a goddamn hurricane, blasting through my body, blowing me apart.

When I’m done coming, I press my face into her neck. She’s sweaty, but she smells sweet. She pushes her fingers through my hair, over and over.

“Randy? You okay?” she whispers.

I shudder and shake my head instead of nod like I’m supposed to.

“What’s wrong?” She strokes down my back.

I don’t know how to feel about her gentleness. I want it. I like it. I’m not used to it. I hold her tighter. “There was a bunny at the bar.”

Her whole body goes rigid. It’s understandable. I’m still inside her. I don’t know why I feel compelled to disclose this.

“She wanted to come back to my room with me.”

Her reply is quiet, reserved. “You don’t have to tell me.”

It almost sounds like she’s pleading with me not to. But I can’t stop.

“Nothing happened. I turned her down. Then I finally got your messages.” My face is still buried against her neck. “And then you were here, and that’s all I wanted.”

Her voice wavers. “I’m glad I could come, then.”

I lift my head and take her face in my hands. “Me, too.”

I don’t tell her the things I want to: that I haven’t been with anyone else since we messed around at Alex’s cottage. That was months ago, and we didn’t even have sex. I don’t tell her how I think about her all the time and have to stop myself from texting her on a daily basis. Or that for a minute I considered sleeping with that girl in the bar because I was angry she couldn’t make tonight work. And I don’t tell her that my almost-actions have freaked me out because they’re another way I’m like my dad. I don’t say anything about how I want this to be more than just fun, but it can’t be because I’m too much like my father.

One night Lily won’t be there to save me from making the wrong choice, and I’ll do to her what my dad did to my mom. I don’t want to be responsible for wrecking anyone’s life but my own.

So instead I kiss her, grab another condom, and do the thing I’m supposed to. What we’ve agreed on. I keep her up all night, providing endless orgasms.

At five forty-five in the morning, she calls for a ride. She looks exhausted. She has dark circles under her eyes. I’ve left a bunch of hickies on her chest—at least it’s not her neck. I pull on a pair of sweats and a shirt while I watch her dress. Then I decide I want one more quickie. I bend her over the dresser, flip her skirt up, pull her panties down far enough that I can get inside her, and make her come again. Once I’m finished straightening her up, I follow her out into the hall.