Get Inked: A Pucked Series and Clipped Wings Crossover Novella (Pucked #5.5)(2)

“I don’t know. Maybe one sleeve is enough? Maybe you only tolerate my ink because you love me.”

I snort. “Your tattoos have nothing to do with why I love you. They’re just a bonus.”

I wasn’t even really a tattoo lover until I met Randy last August. And it isn’t that I didn’t like tattoos before then; I’d just never understood the obsession with them. Then Randy had come slamming his way into a bathroom while I was shaving my legs, with his tattooed hand shoved down the front of his shorts. As enraged and embarrassed as I’d been, I’d still noticed how hot he was—especially his tattooed arm.

After being with him for the better part of a year, I have a serious appreciation for ink. Particularly his. So much so that I’ve even entertained getting a tattoo myself. Not a sleeve or anything, just something small and pretty and meaningful. At least to start.

I keep following the outline of the forest on his forearm until I reach the crook of his elbow. It’s a sensitive place on Randy, as is the inside of his arm close to his biceps. Sometimes when I’m horny and he’s distracted by game highlights, I’ll start tracing the designs there. It’s usually enough to bring his focus around to where it belongs: Me.

“Wanna guess which one’s my favorite?”

“You have a favorite?”

I nod, then tug on the bottom of his shirt.

“What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I can’t show you my favorite tattoo when half of them are covered by your shirt.” I’m full of shit. Most of his tattoos are visible, except for the ones on his shoulder. But now that we’re talking about tattoos and I’m thinking about how much I love the way his arm looks when he’s using his fingers to get me off, or holding on to my boob when he takes me from behind, I figure getting closer to naked is a good plan.

“Oh. Well, then.” He raises his arms over his head. The sudden movement startles Wiener. He barks and jumps off the couch, pacing around Randy’s feet before he trots off.

I take advantage of the newly available space and straddle Randy’s thighs. He’s already sporting a semi. It’s straining against his pajama pants. The elastic waist is super convenient. I lift his shirt, exposing the defined ridges of his abs until his man nipples come into view. I might run into those with my nails, just to watch his abs flex.

Randy’s body is insane. He’s all cut lines and lean muscle. He’s put on a little weight since it’s off-season and his workout schedule is a lot lighter, so he’s a bit bulkier right now.

I, on the other hand, am struggling to keep my weight from dropping thanks to Randy’s ultra-high sex drive. Apparently when he’s not expending energy on the ice, he needs to find a way to get rid of it. Getting freaky with me happens to be one of his preferred ways.

I pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. I’ve messed up his beard and hair on purpose so I can perform one of my favorite pre-sex activities. Before Randy can fix his face, I run my fingers through his hair, and then smooth out his beard with my fingernails.

He makes this deep sound in his throat, somewhere between a man-purr and a growl, as he runs his palms up my bare legs, stopping just before the hem of my shorts. So I keep stroking his beard a while longer.

When I stop, he grabs my wrists. “You should keep doing that.”

I lean in until I can feel his hard-on between my legs. It’s not a semi anymore. Now it’s a fully. “I thought we were talking about my favorite tattoo,” I whisper, my lips close to his.

“I thought that was a bullshit excuse to get my shirt off.”

“That’s because all you think about is sex and hockey.”

“Not true. I have other thoughts.”

“Such as?” I drop a kiss on his neck, right where his beard ends.

“Such as how long it’s going to take for you to stop pretending you’re not ogling my chest.”

“You’re pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Not as full as you’re going to be pretty f*cking soon.” He slips his hands under my shirt.

I clamp my elbows against my ribs to prevent him from getting it over my head. “Oh? You think so, eh?”

Since I’m barring his way under my shirt, he goes for my shorts instead. “Are you even wearing panties?”

“We’re not talking about my wardrobe choices right now; we’re talking about my favorite tattoo.” I don’t stop him from feeling his way around in there, but much to my vagina’s disappointment, as well as the rest of me, he doesn’t make a move to verify my lack of panties.

“You should hurry up and do that so I can tell you about all my favorite Lily parts.”

“Don’t you want to guess?” I run my fingers through his hair one more time, skimming the short sides with my pinkies. Even his hair is sexy.

“Sure. If it gets us past this part of your foreplay faster.”

“Who says this is even going to lead to sex? Maybe I just feel like talking tonight.”

Randy’s brow lifts, then furrows. “You’re kidding, right?”

I slow-blink at him and give him my best fake-confused face. “Just because I’m sitting in your lap and you have your shirt off doesn’t mean we have to get totally naked.”