Pucked Under (Pucked #4.5)

by Helena Hunting

“I don’t want him to see me like this,” Sunny whispers.

  “Hasn’t he seen you in a lot less than this recently?” I whisper back.

  Sunny frowns as she ponders this. “Well, yes.”

  “So why are you worried about him seeing you in a bikini that’s too small?”

  Sunny twirls her hair around her finger and rubs it over her lips. It’s what she does when she’s thinking, and sometimes when she’s nervous. She did it a lot when she and Miller were first dating and she wasn’t sure she could handle being with someone who had such a terrible reputation with women. He’s a reformed manwhore.

  “I-I don’t know?”

  “So I can open the door for him?”

  “I-I guess.”

  I flip the lock and open the door. Miller’s arm is stretched over his head, holding the jamb.

  He looks at me, and then at Sunny. His eyes go wide as he takes her in with a low whistle. “Wow.” Miller raises his hands like he’s cupping her chest. “Your boobs.”

  Sunny adjusts one of the cups; it doesn’t make her boobs any less booby. “The top’s too small.”

  Miller clears his throat. “Yeah. Just a little.”

  “I’ll get a spare from Violet.” I step around Miller, who’s still holding his hands up like he’s waiting for an oracle to drop into them. Or Sunny’s boobs.

  I pad down the hall to Violet and Alex’s room and listen for a few seconds, crossing my fingers that they’re done banging each other. There are no sexy sounds coming from inside, so I knock and wait.

  Violet opens the door. Her long hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail. She’s wearing a sheer, gauzy bathing suit cover-up over a red bikini. I’m immediately drawn to her cleavage. I can’t even imagine how big her boobs are going to be when Alex knocks her up. And I assume that will happen sooner rather than later since Sunny’s already started the trend and Alex likes to be first at everything.

  “Hey! Wow. I didn’t expect to see you for at least another hour or two,” Violet says.

  “We’re not that bad.”

  She makes a face.

  I don’t defend myself further. I suppose Randy and I are usually that bad. When we went to Vegas a few months ago, Randy insisted we get our own suite so we didn’t have to worry about getting called out on the amount of sex we have. If we still used condoms, I’d suggest we buy them in bulk.

  I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having a healthy libido.

  “I need to borrow a bikini top,” I tell her.

  Violet’s eyes dart to my rack. “Umm…”

  Six months ago I might’ve been offended. I used to be self-conscious about the size of my boobs, or the lack of size. But Randy loves them—he loves every part of me, actually—so I’m not nearly as hung up on how small they are anymore.

  “It’s not for me. It’s for Sunny.”

  “Oh.”

  “She’s busting out of her bikini and having a bit of a meltdown over it.”

  Alex appears in the doorway behind Violet. His hair is wet, like he just got out of the shower. “What’s going on?”

  “Sunny’s boobs,” Violet replies. “Hold on. I’ve got options.” She brushes past Alex, who looks confused.

  “Do I even want an explanation?” he asks.

  “Sunny’s boobs are preparing to be feedbags,” Violet calls from the bedroom.

  “Oh. Right. Okay. I’ll meet you girls down at the dock then.” He steps around me, as if he can’t get out of here fast enough.

  Violet rummages through her dresser, slinging bathing suit tops over her shoulder.

  “Wow. How many bikinis do you have?”

  “A lot.” She holds another one up, shakes her head, and tosses it on the dresser. “You know how some guys buy lots of baseball caps and some women have shoe and purse fetishes?”

  “Sure. I guess.” I’m not sure what this has to do with the ridiculous number of bathing suits Violet owns, but often her conversation starters don’t make a lot of sense.

  “Alex has a bikini fetish. He buys them for me all the time. Actually, he buys them for my boobs. I think he gift wraps them so he can address the cards to my boobs.”

  “You two are crazy, you know that?”

  “Oh yeah, totally.” She shoves the drawer closed with her hip, and I follow her down the hall. “I have bathing suit options!” Violet announces as we step into Sunny and Miller’s room.

  The door is wide open, so that should be a sure sign it’s safe to enter. It isn’t.

  Sunny’s sitting on the bathroom vanity, with Miller standing between her legs. His bathing suit shorts are pushed down so half of his Day-Glo white ass is showing. She’s got one hand in his hair, and the other is grabbing a handful of ass cheek. They very well may be having sex, based on the way they’re moving against each other.

  “Goddamn it! Are you boning? Why the hell is the door open? Your yeti ass is blinding me!” Violet throws the bikinis up in the air and spins around. “Just you wait, Buck! I’m going to get you back for this, and I promise it’s going to be a million times worse than your hairy bare ass,” Violet yells as she walks out of the room.

  “I’ll come back later!” I pull the door closed behind me.

  Violet huffs. “I need a damn drink.”

  “I need to bleach my brain.”

  “I’ll see you down at the dock.” Violet grumbles to herself about therapy and yetis as she disappears downstairs.

  I can feel the flush in my cheeks as I hurry down the hall away from Miller and Sunny’s room. I’d prefer not to hear Sunny’s moans of pleasure if I can avoid it. I fully expect Randy to be down at the dock already, having given up on getting into the Vagina Emporium, so I’m surprised to find him lying on the bed when I enter our room.

  He’s wearing his swim shorts, but they’re undone and his cock is peeking out of the waistband. He’s hard. There’s a notecard sitting on his chest. This should be interesting.

  I close the door and lock it, then tiptoe over to the bed. He could be asleep. It’s not unusual for him to be sporting wood and unconscious. I lean in and whisper, “Raaaandy,” close to his ear. I get nothing. Not even a flinch.

  I pluck the note from his chest and giggle at the block letters written across the top in Randy’s rushed scrawl. It reads:

  RIP

  Randall Ballistic

  COD: lack of access to Lily’s Vagina Emporium

  To revive me, you can try the following (remember to start with step one):

  1. Sit on my face

  2. Kiss moody dick (full-mouth hugs are always welcome)

  3. If steps one and two fail, give moody dick an all-access pass to the Vagina Emporium

  I toss the card on his chest with a snort and take a step toward the bathroom.

  Randy latches onto my wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I stumble and drop down on the bed. His eyes are still closed. “I thought you were resting in peace.”

  I get no response this time, just a tiny tic in his left cheek. He releases my wrist and goes back to playing dead. I have no idea what to expect. I assume using the bathroom to freshen up is out of the question, though. I also don’t think we’ll be making it to the dock prior to him getting inside me.

  I take off my dress and panties, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Climbing up onto the mattress, I kneel beside him. I take a few moments to appreciate how beautiful he is. I don’t know how I managed to make this man mine, but I love him in an intensely consuming way. I run my hand down his chest. When I get to his navel, he stops my hand.

  He cracks a lid. “Step one.” He closes his eye again and releases my hand.

  “You know, you’re pretty demanding for someone who’s supposed to be dead.”

  His mouth twitches, but he remains still otherwise. He’s in a funny mood today. I’m interested to see how the rest of the weekend plays out. I circle the head of his cock with a fingertip, then bend down to give it a quick kiss before I move int
o position on his chest.

  I run my fingers through his hair and trace the arch of his eyebrows, admiring him for a few seconds because I don’t always have the chance. As I’ve mentioned, Randy doesn’t usually like to wait for what he wants. This notecard approach is something new. I lean forward and kiss the end of his nose. He tilts his head back. I can see a hint of his honey eyes through the slit in his lids.

  He cups the back of my head, and his tongue darts out to lick my mouth. “Wrong set of lips, luscious.”

  “You’re impatient today, aren’t you?”

  “You would be too if you had to wait all damn day to get inside your girlfriend.”

  “All damn day? You’ve finger-fucked me, tongue-fucked me, and pussy-fucked me all in the last five hours.”

  “All of that was too rushed to count. Now get your ass up here and get on my face.”

  I shriek when he slaps my behind. Losing my balance, I topple forward, allowing Randy to move me into position. He shifts me so my knees are on either side of his head. Running his hands up my legs, he grabs my ass and pulls me down over his mouth.

  “Oh, God,” I groan as he licks from my entrance to my clit, then drops his head back on the bed. His smile tells me he thinks he’s won whatever game he’s playing.

  He kisses the inside of my thigh. “How many times you think I can make you come like this, eh, luscious?”

  “Hmm.” I tap my lip thoughtfully. “Maybe once or twice?”

  Randy makes a disbelieving sound. “I’m gonna say at least four.”

  “Pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  He bites the juncture of my thigh, his beard rubbing sensitive skin. “Pretty soon you’re gonna be begging to be full of me.”

  “Oh, you think so, do you?”

  “I know so.” He’s so cocky.

  He lifts his head like he’s going for my clit. Before he can latch on and start sucking, I plant a palm on his forehead and pin his head to the mattress.

  “You don’t want me to eat you?”

  I sure as hell do. Randy usually leads in the bedroom. I don’t have an issue with that. After seven years with an apathetic lover, it’s amazing to have someone who wants to make me feel good all the time. It’s Randy’s personal life mission to outdo every orgasm with an even better one the next time. But sometimes I like to change it up, like now.

  I want to capitalize on his current playfulness since this week has been tense. I sweep my fingertips over his lips. When he tries to nip them, I snatch them away, bringing them to my own mouth. I still have a hand on his forehead. He’s more than capable of removing it and taking what he wants, but I think he’s as intrigued to see what I’m going to do as I am.

  I bite my knuckle then suck on my finger, swirling my tongue around the tip, like I would if it were his cock. The hand on the back of my thigh tightens as I drag my finger down my chin and over my throat. I veer left and circle my nipple on the descent, rolling it between my fingers.

  “Lily.” It sounds like a warning.

  “Randy.” It’s almost a moan.

  He starts to lift his head.

  “Not yet, baby,” I murmur.

  “Not yet? What the fuck do you want me to wait for?”

  I grin as I circle my navel and dip lower. I sigh as I skim my clit. I’m hovering about six inches above Randy’s face. I know I’m driving him insane. His hot stare is fixed on where I’m touching myself as I slide a single finger inside. I ease out and circle my clit, repeating the circuit a few more times.

  “Want this?” I ask, holding the finger that was inside me two inches above Randy’s lips.

  “Give it,” he growls.

  “Mmm, on second thought—” I snatch it away, but Randy’s fast. He grabs for my hand, so I react instinctively and jam it in my own mouth—not my whole hand, just the finger.

  “Fucking Christ, Lily.” He squeezes my ass, and I have to hold on to the headboard so I don’t lose my balance again. There’s no warm-up. He flat-tongues my clit, then seals his mouth around it, sucking hard.

  I cry out because the sensation is everything I expect it to be. When I’m not at risk of falling over anymore, I lean back and thread my fingers through Randy’s hair. His nose is mashed against my pelvis. I’m not sure how he’s managing to breathe, considering the way he’s devouring me, but he hasn’t passed out from lack of oxygen yet, so I’ll put the worry on hold.

  After the first orgasm, he detaches from my clit and holds up a finger. “That’s one.” And just like earlier today, there’s no reprieve. He reattaches and starts sucking again. The second orgasm comes fast and hard. “Two.”

  He changes it up after that, lapping at me with slow strokes that might not have the same effect if I hadn’t already come twice. I shake my head as a third orgasm washes over me and notice the door to the bathroom is open. From here I have an amazing view of me straddling Randy’s face in the mirror. He’s holding my ass, fingers digging in as he rocks me over his mouth. His cock is hard, pushing against his swim shorts and more than half exposed now, just waiting for me to ride it. Which I’m ready to do, but Randy’s still eating, and when he has an orgasm goal, he won’t stop until he reaches it.

  “You getting bored, luscious?” He nibbles at my non-face lips.

  “What? No.” I glance back at him.

  “Whatcha looking at?”

  “You eating me out in the bathroom mirror.”

  “Oh yeah?” And suddenly I’m airborne.

  I land on my back on the bed. Randy checks out my previous view, then decides the bathroom mirror is too far away and the one over the dresser provides a much better, much closer view of events.

  He kicks off his swim shorts, his erection jutting out. At first I don’t quite get what his plan is as he lays me on my side and checks the view in the mirror. He positions himself behind me, kisses my hip, and trails a finger along the outside of my thigh. Then he lifts my leg and ducks under, his gaze on the mirror across the room as he kisses a trail down the inside of my thigh. I giggle at the tickle of his beard, and moan when he licks me again, soft and slow.

  “You should use your fingers this time,” I suggest.

  “Should I now?”

  “Uh-huh,” I half moan as he circles my clit with the tip of his tongue.

  “My tongue isn’t good enough for you?”

  “I love your tongue. It’s amazing. I’m just saying, fingers are great, too.” Randy rarely adds digits to the eating equation. I used to think it was because he finds the multitasking distracting. That has nothing to do with it.

  He hums against me, and I feel his thumbs or fingers near where I asked for them, but he doesn’t follow through. Instead he goes back to devouring me. He has to hold my hips with both hands to stop me from thrashing around and potentially kicking him in the face. When orgasm number four body-slams me, he shifts so he can run the head of his cock over my hypersensitive clit.

  “I should suck cock,” I mumble, making a half-assed attempt to sit up.

  Randy snickers. “You can do that later.”

  He props my leg up on his shoulder and holds the other one open, observing his actions in the mirror for a few seconds as he continues to rub his tip around and around my clit. He goes lower and circles the Vagina Emporium entrance, but he doesn’t make a move to get in there. Tease.

  “How you feeling?” he asks.

  “Ready for cock.” It comes out raspy, probably from all my moaning and coming.

  “Is that right?”

  “Mmm.” I lift my hips, hoping to encourage him to go ahead and give it to me, like I’m sure he wants to.

  He taps my clit, causing me to jerk. His grin is downright evil. “How bad do you want it?”

  I can’t believe he’s still holding out. Usually after an epic lick-off, Randy doesn’t take any time putting his dick where he wants it, or where I do. “On a scale of one to ten?”

  “Sure. That works.”

  I should be sated after fo
ur orgasms. But I’m not, and I think I’ve figured out why: often when Randy eats me out, he uses only tongue. And while I may come like a machine, the lack of fingering makes them somehow unsatisfying. It’s like my vagina is aware there’s something missing. And Randy must have figured it out, too. So I have to assume he’s done it on purpose—and then I remember him saying I’d be begging to be full of him. Damn it. He’s so not winning this game of his. He should already feel like he’s won with the four orgasms.

  I bite my lip and go for the innocent look. “Mmm, about a five.”

  His eyes narrow. “Five?”

  “Okay, how about a six?”

  He pushes my leg off his shoulder and sits back on his heels. He’s holding his cock in his fist, thumb sweeping back and forth over the tip. “Maybe I should take this to the bathroom and finish myself off in there if you’re that uninterested.” He sounds frighteningly serious, and he’s got one foot on the floor.

  “What? No.” I scramble to my knees and wrap my arms around his neck. His erection pokes my stomach. “One hundred. On a scale of one to ten, I’m at one hundred.”

  “I don’t know if I believe you.” He’s still fisting his cock; his knuckles rub my pelvis.

  I press my chest against his. “I thought we were playing.”

  “So now that you think I’m gonna take away your fun, you decide you want me?”

  I shake my head.

  “No? You don’t want me?”

  “I need you that bad.”

  This gets a smile out of him. My man needs to be needed these days. I don’t have a problem with that, as long as I understand where the insecurity is coming from. Which I think I do.

  I pull him back on the bed, and he settles between my legs. I don’t rush him this time. Instead, I let him tease me, and eventually I do exactly what he said I would: I beg to have him inside me.

  When I’m on the verge of coming, he props himself up on one arm and splays his other hand across my sternum. His eyes stay on me as he moves, hips rocking slowly, so different from the eating-orgasm marathon.

  I cup his cheek and pull him closer. “I love you,” I whisper against his lips.

  “I love you back.”