Pucked: Pucked Over Part 18

His tongue peeks out to touch the scar on his top lip, the one I like to run my tongue across before I stick it in his mouth. I am so s.e.xed up right now. I need to get a razor and fix my forest-style legs. Beyond that, I need to make out with this man again. I'm so busy thinking about what I want to do to him, I almost miss his snappy response.

"I have things that need stroking more than my ego."

I shouldn't want to launch myself at him for being such a c.o.c.ky b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but I do. I manage to keep it together enough not to offer to eat his c.o.c.k for lunch.

Instead I fire back with some snark, because it's more acceptable. For me. "Would you like me to leave you alone for a few minutes so you can take care of that?"

Randy grins. "I'm good. I can wait until after lunch. Why don't we stop at your place and you can change, if it isn't too far."

Nothing in Guelph is far away. Everything is twenty minutes, give or take. But there's no way in Satan's hairy ball sac I'm letting Randy see where I live. I'm not ashamed of my apartment-but I know exactly how much a professional hockey player makes a year. It's a lot of money. Randy wears nice clothes. His underwear is expensive-I ruined them knowing this. And I bet he drives a sweet ride with leather seats.

I don't need him to know my life isn't as easy as his. Then he might feel like he needs to "save me" or "take care of me" or something like that. It'll make things weird. Well, weirder than this casual-s.e.x thing that apparently includes lunch dates. I need to learn more about how this works.

If I start telling Randy about my life and the c.r.a.ppy stuff, it'll be less about having a good time. I don't need that either. Also, I have no idea if my mom's at home, and she definitely cannot meet Randy. Ever. And the fact that I'm almost twenty-two, have finished university, and still live with my mom is another reason we won't be stopping to get me a change of clothes, even though I could use one.

I make a face I hope is convincing. "I live on the other side of town. It takes forever to get there. Plus there's construction, and you'd have to go the long way around. I'm not even that hungry."

Randy taps on the headrest beside my ear. "We could go back to my hotel room and order room service."

"You have a hotel room?"

He shrugs. "I figured maybe you'd wanna hang out again after your other s.h.i.+ft, so I got a room."

"Hang out? In your hotel room?"

I can't tell whether his grin is sheepish or smug. "We could have a sleepover, with a naked pillow fight and everything."

"Those are my favorite!" I clap my hands together and bounce in my seat.

"Awesome." His smile widens. "Mine, too."

But seriously, if he wants to have a naked pillow fight with me, I'm all over that. After my legs are shaved.

Randy fiddles with his phone and the GPS, and we hit the road. I'm super nervous. This is different than spontaneous bathroom make-out sessions followed by s.e.x. This is planned. On his part.

I ask him to stop at a Shopper's Drug Mart, the Canadian equivalent of a CVS. I buy a three-pack of the nice razors, soap, oil for my sensitive parts, deodorant, gum, a Listerine pocket pack, a toothbrush, a pack of those insanely huge condoms he uses, a hair brush, and some candy, just because. If they sold underwear, I'd be all set. I pa.s.s the Depends and consider, for a second, if they're better than going commando. No. Never. Maybe I can wash my dirty pair in the sink and let them dry overnight.

Oh, G.o.d. I'm having a sleepover with Randy. I doubt there'll be much sleeping. I rush back to the Jeep, my purse filled with important junk.

"Got what you needed?" he asks as I climb back in the pa.s.senger side.

"Yup."

"Awesome. Let's. .h.i.t the hotel." The way he says that, combined with the way he's looking at me, makes me think room service is going to be last on the to-do list.

Guelph isn't a big place. It doesn't boast much in the way of quality hotels, so the best he can do is the Hilton, but Randy's managed to secure the nicest room. It has a huge king bed and a couch I'm not sure we'll need, considering the bed is enormous and there's a TV on the wall across from it. We can watch while we take breaks from our s.e.x-a-thon.

The second the door closes, Randy has me pressed against the wall with my face in his hands. His mouth crashes down on mine, tongue sliding along the seam. He groans, the sound deep and needy. Sweet mother of wet v.a.g.i.n.a, these sweats are going to need a wash after we're done.

As is typical with Randy, his knee goes between mine, and he immediately starts with the slow hip circles. If I don't stop him, he's going to take off my clothes. I'd be totally cool with this if I didn't need to manage my leg issues first.

I push on his chest. He backs off right away, steps out of my personal s.p.a.ce, and exhales a harsh breath. "s.h.i.+t. Sorry."

"It's fine. I mean, I've kinda been waiting for that to happen. It took you long enough to kiss me. I figured you'd have at least tried to make out with me in the car, or go for a b.o.o.b grab. I just need to use the bathroom."

"I can come with you if you need help holding something."

"That's a nice offer, but I can handle this on my own. I'll only be a minute." I pick my purse up off the floor where I dropped it, thanks to the brief hump-off.

"I'll be waiting." Randy adjusts his erection, in case I'm confused about what he'll be waiting for.

I close the door, lock it, and turn on the fan, but it doesn't work. d.a.m.n it. How am I going to be incognito about this if I don't have a fan? I turn on the water and dump out the contents of my purse. The package of razors is adult-proof, so I have to fight to get it open. I don't know why they make them so hard to get into.

I finally get a blade free and strip out of my clothes. I think my best plan here is to shave and come out of the bathroom naked. That'll save me issues with my lack of underwear and ugly sports bra. It's not my style to be that forward, but I seem to have issues with keeping my lips and other body parts to myself where Randy's concerned, and we did come back to his hotel room for the express purpose of s.e.xing, so why not be brazen about it?

Randy's clearly already been here and set up all his stuff. He's a tidy guy based on the organized line of man products. I take a peek in his small black case, checking for shaving cream. Bingo! He has one of those pint-size travel containers. I shake the contents and squeeze it into my palm. I check out my legs before I lather it on. The old razor I used at the rink has left streaky red marks on my s.h.i.+ns.

I'm almost afraid to check out my vag, but she doesn't look quite so ma.s.sacred, thankfully. We can turn out the lights (of course), and hopefully it'll be too dark to see what I've done to my legs.

Randy knocks on the door. "Everything okay in there? It's been more than a minute."

"Everything's fine." I reach over and flush the toilet. "I'll be right out."

Two minutes later he knocks again. "The water's been running for a long time. You sure you're okay?"

"One more minute!"

I manage to get the right leg done and only nick myself twice. I'm halfway through the other leg when the door swings open.

"What the h.e.l.l? Is this Groundhog Day?" It's exactly like the first time we met, except totally different, because back then I didn't want to have s.e.x with him.

He looks me over. "What are you doing?"

"Performing a voodoo ritual. What does it look like I'm doing?"

I consider covering my nakedness, to be modest, but Randy's already mentioned he's a fan of me unclothed, so I don't bother. He shoves his hand in his pocket and does some rearranging. So I'm thinking the fact that one of my legs is covered from ankle to knee in shaving lotion isn't a big concern.

"Are you using my shaving cream?"

"Maybe." I drag the razor up my leg and nick myself again.

"Is this why we stopped at that store?" He gestures to my pile of c.r.a.p.

"I wasn't expecting to see you. I figured you'd find a nice, willing bunny and get yourself good and laid last night. The last thing I antic.i.p.ated was you showing up at my work looking to spend the afternoon naked in your hotel room. My legs were unfit for viewing or touching."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"I a.s.sure you, it was that bad." It wasn't that bad.

He takes a step closer. The bathroom is s.p.a.cious, but he's got long legs, so he's right up on me. "I'd like to point out that I offered to take you out for lunch; it wasn't all about getting naked on my end."

"You're the one who started humping on me the second the door closed."

"You're the one who suggested we come here in the first place."

"I did not! I suggested a drive-thru!"

He takes the razor from me and frowns. "What're you doing to my legs?" He touches a spot where blood has welled.

All my parts get excited at the possessive reference. "They're my legs, and I was in a rush thanks to all your knocking."

He sets the razor down and he lifts me onto the vanity. The porcelain is cold on my a.s.s. A wave of gooseb.u.mps breaks out across my skin.

"What're you doing?"

"Helping out." Randy pulls his s.h.i.+rt over his head and drops it on the floor on top of my discarded pile.

His eyes stay on mine as he rests his palms on my thighs, above my knees. I don't particularly care if we have s.e.x while I'm still covered in shaving lotion, but it'll be messy. Not that there isn't a shower right here. His eyes drop, and he gives my thighs a squeeze, fingertips digging in. I check myself out. He's focused on my vag. It looks fine, no stray hairs making a mess of things.

I have a nice v.a.g.i.n.a when it's taken care of. It's this pretty shade of pink, and only a tiny glimpse of c.l.i.t peeks out to say hi. When I'm really turned on, obviously everything's a little more prominent. Like now.

His eyes lift, heavy with l.u.s.t, or need, or just plain old desire. Any which way I look at it, he's turned on. The alternative would suck a lot. For a few seconds I think he's going to drop to his knees and stick his face between my thighs. Which would totally be welcome. Instead, he releases his grip and lifts my shaving-cream-covered leg.

Randy rests the sole of my foot against the center of his chest. I'm a little confused until he picks up the razor. I try to pull my leg away, but he grips my ankle tightly.

"You don't trust me?"

"To weed-whack my forest?"

That grin of his makes my toes curl. G.o.d, he's s.e.xy. And I'm naked, totally on display for him. When did I become such a wh.o.r.eburger?

"I'm good at shaving. I bet I'll do less damage than you have."

"You don't even shave." I point to his beard.

"I sure do shave, and trim, often." He shows me the side of his neck and the perfect line where his beard ends and skin begins.

"Just be careful."

He presses a kiss to my ankle, where there isn't any shaving cream. Then he touches the blade to my leg and slowly skims away the lotion. With the arm with the sleeve. I won't lie. It's kind of hot to have this huge, bada.s.s-looking, tattooed hockey player shaving my leg for me.

He goes over my s.h.i.+n first, then lifts so he can get the back. "You're flexible, huh?"

"It's all the figure skating."

"I love the figure skating."

I laugh out of embarra.s.sment.

"Seriously. It's s.e.xy. I would've liked to watch you. Maybe I can tomorrow before I leave."

"If you want. I teach at nine."

"That's kinda early for a Sunday."

"It's better than the six-am ice time for hockey."

Randy nods his agreement and makes another pa.s.s with the razor. Finis.h.i.+ng up, he tosses it in the sink and holds a washcloth under the warm water. He then runs it over my skin, was.h.i.+ng away anything left over.

"I think I did a nice job." He presses another kiss to my ankle. "Don't you?"

"I think you did great. Thanks for not cutting me." It comes out all breathless.

He lowers my leg and fits himself between my thighs. Sadly, he's still wearing pants, and a belt, so getting him to the same state of undress as me is going to take more than a quick tug.

He slides his fingers through my hair and tilts my head back. He doesn't go right in for one of those all-out tongue-war kisses. Instead his lips touch the edge of my jaw, then my chin. It's nice, sweet, unexpected.

I close my eyes and wait for his lips to reach mine. I can feel his breath wash over my face; it smells like cinnamon gum. I feel the faintest brush of lips and then... nothing. My eyes pop open. He's not in my face anymore. Instead he's on his knees.

He pulls me forward until I'm teetering on the edge of the vanity. It makes a faint creaking noise. I hope whoever installed it did a decent job of attaching it to the wall. I don't have time to worry about it. Randy bites the inside of my leg and sucks hard. At my gasp, he releases. Then he nuzzles my thigh, his beard tickling the already sensitive skin.

He stays like that for a few long seconds, his back expanding and contracting with deep, heavy breaths like maybe he's trying to stay composed. I have no idea. All I know is he's s.e.xy as h.e.l.l on his knees in front of me.

I pull the tie, setting his hair free. Wet kisses bring him closer to where his mouth will provide the most pleasure. The first c.l.i.t lick is soft, followed by a tentative circling of his tongue.

I moan. It's loud, or maybe it sounds a lot louder than it actually is because we're in a bathroom-again-and the acoustics are killer. His eyes lift to mine, and he does that sucking thing. Sweet lord. I can't even imagine how much practice he's had eating p.u.s.s.y.

He disengages long enough to say, "Not as much as you'd think."

"I said that out loud?" I make a face that's probably unattractive. I'm not sure if I should apologize for that comment or not.

"No, I can read minds."

I squeeze my legs together, and he chuckles. "I'm surprised you haven't come already."

"If you stop talking smack and start licking, I'll get there a lot faster."

"Like this?" He flat-tongues me.

I almost fold forward, but I'm too close to the edge of the vanity, and I'll topple over if I do. Instead I grip his hair with one hand and brace my free palm on the counter. I'd like to lie back, but the taps are behind me. He sucks my c.l.i.t, following with a teeth-graze.

And the show's over. I come so hard I'm sure brain cells start dying. I'm moaning his name and bucking against him. The vanity makes an accompanying sound. I'd like to get off of it, but I don't have control of my motor function, so I'm relying on Randy to keep me from breaking it while I come all over his face.

He must realize we're putting too much pressure on the counter. Suddenly I'm not sitting anymore. I'm standing-well, that's untrue. Randy's got one arm around my waist, keeping me from dropping to the floor. This time when he kisses me it's the kind I've come to expect from him: demanding, hard, dominating.

I don't even have the ability to fight back with my tongue. I'm still shaking. My muscles are still contracting, like they're grabbing for the d.i.c.k that isn't there, yet. I fumble around, searching for his belt so I can either return the favor, or we can get down to it. It takes me a few tries to get the buckle undone, but I'm determined when necessary. I manage the b.u.t.ton and the zipper as well.

Before I can get my hand down his pants, Randy spins me around. He presses his hips against me, the zipper digging into my a.s.s cheek. He clamps his tattooed forearm across my chest and nibbles from my shoulder to my neck, meeting my s.p.a.ced-out gaze in the mirror. "Wanna watch me f.u.c.k you?"