Home > Pucked Over (Pucked #3)(12)

Pucked Over (Pucked #3)(12)
Author: Helena Hunting

My whole body gets hot and my toes curl at the memory of his mouth on me. Did I really let him eat me out in a bathroom? In the arena where I work? I’ll never be able to use that bathroom again without having some kind of hot flash.

I chug my water and perform another search, this time with “Randy Ballistic” and “girlfriend.” I’ve been cyber-stalking the guy since I ruined his underwear and he ruined my vagina with his fingers and his mouth.

Here are some interesting facts about Randy: he’s a serial short-term dater. From the research/stalking I’ve done, I discovered an online group for girls who have “dated” Randy and been dumped. Four of them have his name tattooed somewhere on their body. The hip seems to be popular. One girl went so far as to have his face tattooed on her boob, except it’s a bad tattoo and he looks more like a caricature of that guy from Sons of Anarchy than Randy. I’d feel bad for her, but she’s a bunny, so it’s her own damn fault.

The message is disconcertingly consistent: Randy’s awesome in bed. Ballistic is definitely a fitting last name. He has a great sense of humor. He has amazing fingers. He has incredible stamina. His dick is enormous—there could be some exaggeration here. I’m not for sure on that since I have yet to see it. Based on my stroking, it’s substantial. They seem to have missed the fact that his tongue is a weapon of sexual mass destruction.

Most interesting is this tidbit: he only has sex with the lights off.

When we were fooling around at Alex’s cottage, the light in the bathroom was on, so it wasn’t totally dark, but he pulled the covers over us. I thought it was cute because he wanted to keep me warm. In August. Now I have things to ponder, such as is that a fetish? Is he thinking about someone in particular while getting busy? If so, who? And fuck her.

There are way too many questions I don’t have answers to. Not that I need them. I’m not getting trapped in a bathroom with him again. At least my intention is to avoid that scenario in the future. My lack of self-control is humiliating.

I have two weeks to prepare for Alex and Violet’s engagement party. By then I should have gained some will power. Nothing good can come of being a bunny, so here’s hoping.

My phone buzzes again. It’s Randy.

You still pissed at me?

Silence, huh? You hold a long grudge. U gotta know the car wash was a misunderstanding. I meant 2 tell u in the bathroom, but u jumped me, so I didn’t have a chance ;)

The winky face annoys me almost as much as being called out on jumping him. And being reminded of the stupid car wash pictures that made me go berserk. I decide to be cheeky.

Who is this?

The humping dots appear right away.

The guy whose face u came on earlier.

Every muscle below my waist clenches. Blood rushes to my cheeks and then moves lower, tingles following. I chew my fingernail, unsure if I want to play this game with him. I should brush him off. The trail of emotionally crippled bunnies with his name tattooed on their bodies should be the equivalent of CAUTION tape. But those orgasms…

My phone rings, startling me. I answer it before I can appropriately weigh my options.

There’s no hello, just Randy’s deep, sexy voice low in my ear. “Still a little foggy, Lily? Having a hard time remembering? Wanna come by my hotel so I can refresh your memory?”

I bite my knuckles to stop myself from saying yes. Of all the bad ideas, going to his hotel definitely tops the list. I’m guaranteed to make all kinds of bad decisions. Including the one I want to make the most, which is letting him get inside me. I don’t know if it’s normal to be this attracted to another human being.

I go with snark, because it’s safe. “So I’m guessing you didn’t find a bunny to ride your dick?

Randy chuckles. “Nope. My dick told me he didn’t want a bunny. He’s holding out for you.”

I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “Does that line work?”

“It’s not a line. Me and my dick are tight. We had a very serious conversation.”

I laugh. “Well, you should tell him not to hold his breath. He’ll turn blue.”

“He’s already blue. You should come by my hotel and see.”

“You can send me a picture.” I’m almost hoping he does.

“It’s not the same. What if I come see you instead?”

I can’t even imagine someone like Randy in a bedroom like mine. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

“Is that you saying yes?”

I hesitate for a second, knowing full well if I agree it’s a booty call. “I can’t. I have to wash my hair.”

“Oh, man. The hair-washing excuse? And here I thought we had fun together. Well, if I can’t convince you to come to see me, I’m gonna go take care of my own problem. Night, Lily. See you in a couple weeks.”

The reminder that we’ll be seeing each other at the engagement party is yet another reason I shouldn’t keep entertaining this possibility.

“Night, Blue Balls,” I shoot back.

“So clever. Not for long. I’ll be thinking of you.”

Randy hangs up. I send him a meme of an old lady with no teeth with the caption “Let’s Make Out.”

Ten minutes later, I get one back of his middle finger on the hand with the tattoo. That finger has been inside me recently. He’s taken it while lying in his hotel bed with only a sheet covering him from the waist down. His tight abs and the deep, heavily muscled V are captured beautifully. I can see, very clearly, a lump that resembles the shape of his cock under that white cotton. I can also see his blurred reflection in the mirror. His hair is loose and messy, brushing his chin. He’s the picture of absolute relaxation.

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