Pucked Over (Pucked 3)

Randy gives me that sexy grin that makes my panties want to crawl off my body and into his pocket. Except I’m not wearing any. All my girl parts get tingly as soon as he cups my face in his palms. He smoothes his thumb along the contour of my bottom lip, wiping away a mint crumb. Then he leans in.

I can’t help myself. I still don’t understand what it is about him, but all I want is to hump all over him the second he starts touching me. I immediately shove my tongue in his mouth and moan. His laugh is muffled by my tongue thrusts.

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.