“Anyway.” Violet turns back to me. “So you’ve only had sex with the lights off, you’ve only ever had your hand on his dick, and he doesn’t like blow jobs. Doesn’t anyone else find this odd?”
“I find it weird,” Charlene agrees.
“Maybe he’s shy,” Sunny says.
“Uh, have you read any of the stuff girls say about Balls?” Violet asks.
“You know I don’t look at social media. It creates problems,” Sunny replies.
“True. But some of it has merit.” Violet ponders while sipping her wine. “How big is his dick? I know what the bunnies say, but they all like to exaggerate.”
“It’s big.”
“Like, hammer of death big?”
“Um, we use the gold condoms, not the regular ones.”
“Well. That’s, uh…” Violet nods her approval. “High five, girlfriend.” I high five her. “So he’s packing, and I’m assuming it works fine.”
“We used an entire box of condoms the last time he came to Guelph.” I might be a little braggy about this.
“Holy shit. Over how many days?”
“One.”
Violet puts her hands on my shoulders. “Does your beaver have super powers? Is it made out of titanium?”
“Um, no.”
“That’s insane. How’d you manage walking the next day?”
“Carefully.”
“Okay, so let’s line up the facts and see what we know.”
“This is like the game of Clue, but about Randy’s penis,” Sunny says.
“Exactly!” Violet exclaims, clapping her hands together. “So once the wood is sheathed, lights come on and covers come off. No blow jobs, but no issues with longevity, and he’s hung. Do I have all this right, Lily?”
“Pretty much.” Individually, those things didn’t seem too odd. But now, talking about it with the girls—particularly Violet and Charlene, who seem to have a much broader wealth of experience in this department—makes me wonder exactly what the deal is. All together, Randy’s sex quirks add up to a big WTF.
“Is there anything else you can think of that might provide clues as to what the real issue is?” Violet asks.
“Oh!” I sit up straight. “He has a scar. It looks like it could be from an appendectomy, but way low, and it seems like he had a butcher for a surgeon. He has another scar on the inside of his leg. I saw it once—never mind, that part doesn’t matter.”
“So he has scars near the wood, eh?” Violet taps her lips again.
“Above the wood, and below, but that doesn’t mean one is related to the other.”
Sunny’s on her phone. She looks up and says. “Hockey accident.”
“Why would you think that?”
“’Cause that’s what Miller just said. I messaged him about it. He won’t give me details, but he said it’s from a hockey accident, and Randy doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“Wow. That must’ve been some accident if he ended up with a nickname like that,” Violet says.
“That’s a pretty awful nickname,” Sunny says.
“I’m sorry, Lily. I wouldn’t have made a joke out of it if I’d known Lance was being serious and not just a jerk.” Violet actually looks taken aback.
“It’s okay. I mean, I’m curious, too. I didn’t realize it was something so—”
“Sensitive?” Sunny says.
“Yeah.” Now I feel bad, too.
“Well, mystery solved, I guess.” Violet has recovered. She rolls off the couch and opens a set of cupboard doors. “We should play Scrabble!”
“I hate Scrabble,” Sunny complains.
“We’ll play partners,” I offer.
“And we’ll make it dirty. Only pervy words allowed.” Violet sets the game up on the floor because the coffee table’s too full of stuff.
Sunny’s first word is hoor. No one says anything about the spelling.
At midnight, the guys finally roll in—well, almost all of them roll in. Lance is absent. I assume he picked up a bunny and went back to his own house. Randy’s the last to come in. He stands at the back of the group, hands shoved in his pockets. He glances at me, gives me a small, strained smile, and then his eyes dart around the room.
I’m drunk, so I don’t have much of a filter left, but he looks uncomfortable.
Alex surveys the living room. The coffee table is covered in empty wine bottles and half-eaten bowls of chips and popcorn. Bits of food litter the floor. The Scrabble game is still set up and covered in dirty words.
“What’d you girls do tonight?” Alex leans over Violet and kisses her forehead. Then he adjusts her tank top so she’s not flashing so much cleavage.
“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.
I get up on my knees, mirroring his position. Except I’m more than six inches shorter than he is, so I’m staring at his chest. His shirt-covered chest. I remedy that problem, drawing it up over his head. He takes over when I get to his shoulders, pulling it off and tossing it over the side of the bed. I’d like to move right in on the belt, but I’m thinking that’ll make him jumpy. Also, it’s hypocritical of me to think I can forgo the foreplay, since Randy makes sure we get it every single time.
I run my hands up his chest, circle his little man nipples with my fingernails and follow with my lips. I’m rewarded with one of his deep groans. Nice. He must like this a lot. While I distract him with my mouth, I manage to get his belt undone. I carefully flick the button on his jeans and drag the zipper down.
I look up, fingertips brushing the head of his cock through his boxers. “Can I take these off?”
Again, there’s hesitation. Eventually he nods, and I push his jeans over his hips, leaving his boxer briefs on. He tries to pull me down on top of him, but I straddle him and put a hand on the center of his chest. Circling my hips, I lean in slowly and brush my lips over his. “Randy.”
He skims my sides. “Hmm?”
I’m not much of a dirty talker. I’ve never felt confident enough to pull it off. I’m going to try now, though. “I want your cock in my mouth.”
Randy stills, and his eyes flare with panic. “You don’t need to do that.” It comes out all gravelly.
“I know, but I want to.” I bite my lip. I’m definitely feeling less than confident with the way he seems so uncertain. I’m not sure how I’ll feel if he rejects me.
“It’s really not nec—”
“Please?” If someone ever told me I’d beg to give a blow job, let alone to a professional hockey player, I would’ve laughed at them. Before it was curiosity that had me wanting to perform this act, now it’s a genuine desire to return all the favors.
Randy glances over at the bathroom where light filters through, cutting a line across the bed. When he doesn’t say yes or no, I start kissing a path down his throat, going lower, stopping at his nipples before I continue to the mysterious beast in his boxers.
I reach the waistband and peek up at him. His expression is tight, a combination of anticipation and what appears to be terror. I can’t understand what would be terrifying about getting head, unless sharp teeth are involved. I kiss the pale scar a few inches from his left hip and push his boxers down.
He’s maybe semi-hard. Every other muscle in his body is locked tight. His hands are balled into fists at his sides.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, exhaling a long breath.
“You think me sucking you off is a bad idea?” I’m glad it’s dark, because I’m blushing at my own words.
Randy groans.
I drop a wet kiss on his scar. Instead of pushing his boxers farther down, I brush my nose along the length of his semi-hard erection through the material. When I reach the head I press my tongue against the cotton and suck. Randy’s abs tighten, and his hands flex by his hips.
I repeat the same series of motions, eventually slipping my fingers into the pocket to touch him. This time he doesn’t protest as I push the waistband down a little farther and follow the scar. It stops abruptly a few inches from his pelvis.
“Lily.” Randy reaches for me.
I take his hand before he can take mine. I bite his knuckle, then kiss it, licking his finger—mimicking what I plan to do to his cock. If he’ll let me.
“Please, Randy?” I lay my cheek on the damp fabric, right over his erection.
The noise he makes is pained, but he slips his thumb into my mouth, so I swirl my tongue around it. I push his boxers down again until the head peeks out. Keeping my eyes on his, I kiss the tip.
Randy exhales a shuddering breath, and his eyes flutter closed. I do what I did to his thumb, swirling with my tongue. At the shift of his hips, I cover the head with my mouth, applying the gentlest of suction.
“Oh, shit.”
I pop off. “Is that okay?”
Randy nods.
“I can do it again?”
“Yeah. That’d be great.”
I repeat the same kiss, swirl, suck pattern a few times before I ask, “Can I take these off now?”
His expression is heartbreaking. It’s obvious he wants to say yes, but he’s afraid to. Someone must’ve done or said something awful to him. His lids close in what looks like resignation, so I whisper, “Eyes on me, baby.”
They flip open, locking on me as I slowly move his boxers over his hips. I put my lips to his skin and keep the connection. Randy’s semi-hard erection jumps on his stomach.
I glance down. Even in the dim light I can see very clearly the scar that cuts across his lower abdomen. There’s a two-inch gap on his stomach where the scar ceases to exist.
And that’s when I notice the very pale, very significant scar slicing a line across the center of his cock. My eyes flip back up to find him staring at me intently. It’s like he expects me to freak out or something.
I’m not going to lie, my stomach twists. I’m not repulsed, though; I’m stunned. This injury was caused by a skate. And based on the damage, I’m going to have to assume Randy’s lucky to have everything still attached to his body. It’s a damn miracle it still works.
Returning my gaze to his, I grip his cock and press a soft kiss to the top of the scar on his hip. I don’t have to look at it to feel it beneath my lips. I keep kissing until my chin bumps his cock. Then I glance down.
I don’t want to think too much about how horrible it must have been. The line across his cock looks like a frown. I press my lips to it, and Randy shudders. “Does that feel okay?” I whisper against the soft skin.
“Yeah.” Randy clears his throat. His hands are fists again.
This time I part my lips and stroke the shaft with my tongue. Randy grunts, which I take as a good sign. His cock throbs in my hand, growing a little.
I keep kissing, moving from base to tip. Circling the head with my tongue, I make my way back down. The frown has become a straight line. He’s harder now, too.
On my next trip up, I take in the entire head. He keeps growing, getting harder with each shallow stroke. I pop off and lick around the head, then down the shaft again. I think he might be fully hard now. He feels pretty damn solid.
I take him back in my mouth and keep going until the head hits the back of my throat. Randy shoves his hand in my hair. I pause and meet his hot gaze.
“Okay?” I ask with a mouthful of cock.
He seems to understand. “So fucking good,” he rasps.
I smile as much as I can with a dick in my mouth.
Chapter 23
Reverse Blowjobology
RANDY
Lily’s mouth is bliss. Those luscio
us lips are stretched around my cock, and she’s sucking like a goddamn champion. I can’t take my eyes off her as she lets me guide her.
She moans, and the sound vibrates through my body. I keep going—deeper, harder, faster—and she doesn’t seem to mind one bit. She strokes the shaft and cups my balls. The sensation is way more intense than I ever remember it being, although it’s been a lot of years since I had a blow job, so my memories are vague at best.
I’m getting close to coming, faster than usual. One of the perks of having nearly lost half my dick is that I can go for a long time thanks to some loss of sensation. But right now, watching Lily’s mouth makes everything hypersensitive.
“Lily, baby, I’m gonna come soon.” I figure I should warn her so she can make a decision about where she wants that to happen.
Her gaze flips up to mine, and she takes me deeper, sucking harder. I can’t take it anymore. The orgasm checks me to the boards. I shudder violently with the sensation. Lily swallows, God bless her, which makes it even better.
When I’m finally done, she slowly eases off. The cold air is a shock. Lily runs a gentle finger across my cock. She must be touching the scar, because the sensation is muted.
She giggles.
“What’s funny?”
She rests her head on my hip. “Did you know when you’re soft your scar looks like a frown, but when you’re hard it’s a smile?”
“What?”
“The scar makes your cock look happy when it’s hard.”
I bark out a laugh.
She crawls up my body and kisses me on the cheek. “Thanks for letting me do that.”
“You’re thanking me for letting you blow my fucked-up dick?”
“It’s not fucked up.”
“It sure isn’t pretty.”
Lily cocks her head to the side. “Says who? It makes you super badass.”
“You think?”
“Mmm-hmmm.” She circles my nipple with her fingertip. “That must have been so painful.”
“It was.”
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s fine. It’s an old hockey injury. We were kids messing around on the lake. I got into it with a guy a couple years older than me. I wasn’t wearing a cup, and, well, I almost had my dick decapitated.”
Pucked Over (Pucked #3) Page 26
