Pucked Over (Pucked 3)

“We talked about dicks and blow jobs. The usual.” Violet wraps her arms around his neck and tries to get one foot hooked around his waist, but she’s sloppy drunk. “You should take me upstairs so I can show you a new trick.”

Alex laughs. “Shh, baby, inside voice, remember?”

“That wasn’t a whisper, eh?”

“Not even close,” Miller says from across the room. He stretches and makes a big show of yawning. “Sunny, you wanna come snuggle with me?”

She glances at me, as if she’s afraid to leave me alone. It’s not like she needs permission. I’m hoping whatever’s going on with Randy’s dark mood can be fixed by some vagina prison.

Two by two, everyone heads upstairs to bed. And then it’s me and Randy. And for some reason it’s awkward. Maybe because everyone’s a couple, and we’re not. Maybe because of the conversation earlier in the night, or Violet’s mentioning it the second the guys walked in the door.

I unfold my legs and push up off the couch at his approach. As soon as he’s close enough, I hug his waist. He’s stiff. And not in his pants. His whole body. I slide a hand up his chest and around the back of his neck. He doesn’t resist as I pull him down. I don’t go in for a kiss; instead I bring my lips to his ear and whisper in what I hope is my sexiest voice, “Wanna go to prison?”

He skims my side, butterfly-wing soft. He turns his head so his cheek brushes mine. His voice is a hoarse whisper. “Yes, please. I’ve been waiting all night for prison.”

There’s heaviness in his words, like the joke between us has something darker tied to it. I take his hand and lead him up the familiar stairs to the same room where we had sex for the first time. Randy hits the lights as soon as we’re inside and the door’s locked. I don’t try to turn them back on. We move toward the bed, and as soon as we’re a foot away, he grabs me from behind and dive-bombs us onto the mattress.

I shriek and giggle, then sigh as his lips find my neck. “Did you have fun with the girls tonight?” he asks.

“Uh-huh. Did you have fun with the boys?”

“I woulda rather been here with you. Or at my place with you.”

“You’re here with me now.”

His hips are pressed against my ass. I can feel him, but he doesn’t seem hard. At least I don’t think he is. I can’t tell through all the unfortunate layers of clothing, and he’s not doing his typical grind. I try to flip over under him so I can see his face, but he presses his hips into me, keeping me face down. Now I can feel him. He’s definitely not as excited as usual.

He sits back on his knees, straddling me, and slides his palms under my shirt. His rough, hot hands glide heavily up my back. He gives my shirt a tug, and I raise my arms over my head so he can take it off.

The next thing I feel are his lips at the top of my spine, followed by the press of his cheek between my shoulder blades. It’s intimate and sweet and confusing. I don’t know what’s going on tonight. We started out with such a bang—or at least I did—and now I feel uncertain about everything. He kisses a path down my vertebrae and back up, one hand curled around my shoulder, his thumb brushing up and down along my nape.

I should be enjoying this soft, unhurried contact, but it’s unusual, and being around three women in highly defined relationships makes it glaringly obvious that’s not what I have. Or it’s not what we’ve said I have. At this point I’m lost because my previous relationship had very little of this involved. It shouldn’t matter. I should just enjoy it, but I’m not used to this kind of undefined status. The longer we keep it up, the harder it is to keep my emotions separate.

I push back the worries about what’s coming after this holiday and focus instead on being with him while I can.

“Randy?” I crane to look at him, but all I get is a view of his tattooed hand in my peripheral vision.

“Mmmm?”

“Let me up.”

He freezes. “What?”

“I wanna turn over.”

He hesitates. And sighs. Then he rises enough that I can flip over under him. I’m super quick, sliding out like a snake before he can trap me again. He looks worried, and for the first time ever, vulnerable. Maybe if I get naked first, he’ll want to follow.

I shimmy my pants over my hips, then follow with my panties. Now I’m naked, and he’s still fully dressed. His eyes are on me, hot, needy. This is the Randy I’m used to—the one who’s more animal than man in bed. I can work with this.