Pucked: Pucked Over Part 31

"Nodules?"

"You know, like the nuts and bolts that stick out of Frankenstein's head-that kind of thing."

"There aren't any nodules. He's definitely circ.u.mcised, though."

"Hmm." Violet taps her lips. "Too bad about the foreskin; it's super fun to play with. Sunny, you should text Buck."

"Why?"

"Because him and b.a.l.l.s have known each other forever. Buck has to know what this is about."

"Why do you care?" Sunny asks. "Maybe it's personal. Maybe Randy's sensitive about it."

"He's a guy. How sensitive can he be?"

"Some of them are very." Sunny doesn't immediately pull out her phone.

Violet looks around the room, seeking support. "Seriously? I can't be the only one who's curious about this. Here you've got this smoking-hot hockey player, a legend in the bunnysphere-sorry, Lily, but it's true-and Lily's his f.u.c.k buddy, and she hasn't even seen his d.i.c.k. She hasn't wrapped her lips around it and gagged a little when he gets excited and goes too deep."

"We're not f.u.c.k buddies."

"You're boning him, yes?"

"Well, yeah-"

"Your beaver eats his wood?" At my silence she waves her hand around her crotch. "Less than three seconds after you walked through the door, he pulled you into my laundry room and did some magic voodoo to make you come fully clothed."

"We're just having fun," I say lamely.

"So you're banging, but you're not dating."

"Yes. No. But we... I-"

"That's the twenty-first-century definition of a f.u.c.k buddy. Don't feel bad about it. It doesn't make you s.l.u.tty. I mean, s.h.i.+t, you spent seven years dating that Benji douche. You deserve a f.u.c.k buddy, or seven." She thumbs over her shoulder to Charlene. "If anyone's s.l.u.tty, it's this one. She had three FBs going at once our last year of college."

Charlene shrugs. "It was a phase. I'm way past that now."

"Anyway." Violet turns back to me. "So you've only had s.e.x with the lights off, you've only ever had your hand on his d.i.c.k, and he doesn't like b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs. 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 b.a.l.l.s?" 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 d.i.c.k? 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 a.s.suming 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 s.h.i.+t. Over how many days?"

"One."

Violet puts her hands on my shoulders. "Does your beaver have super powers? Is it made out of t.i.tanium?"

"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 p.e.n.i.s," Sunny says.

"Exactly!" Violet exclaims, clapping her hands together. "So once the wood is sheathed, lights come on and covers come off. No b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs, 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 s.e.x 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 a.s.sume 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 flas.h.i.+ng so much cleavage.

"We talked about d.i.c.ks and b.l.o.w. .j.o.bs. 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 v.a.g.i.n.a 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 s.e.xiest voice, "Wanna go to prison?"

He skims my side, b.u.t.terfly-wing soft. He turns his head so his cheek brushes mine. His voice is a hoa.r.s.e 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 s.e.x 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 a.s.s. 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 s.h.i.+rt. His rough, hot hands glide heavily up my back. He gives my s.h.i.+rt 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 brus.h.i.+ng 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 relations.h.i.+ps 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 relations.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+mmy 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 s.h.i.+rt-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 b.u.t.ton on his jeans and drag the zipper down.

I look up, fingertips brus.h.i.+ng the head of his c.o.c.k 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 c.o.c.k 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 b.l.o.w. .j.o.b, 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 antic.i.p.ation 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.