Get Inked: A Pucked Series and Clipped Wings Crossover Novella (Pucked #5.5)(3)

He nods somberly, but I can tell he doesn’t buy it for a second. And he shouldn’t. “Of course not. You can wear your shorts if you want to, even if that makes it more difficult for me.”

I snicker and follow the contour of his abs down to the waistband of his pants. I take my time, because—as stated earlier—Randy’s abs are incredible. He has the most amazing six-pack in the world. I like it best when it’s flexed, either because I’m riding him or he’s riding me.

“How about if you guess right, I have to do whatever you want tonight, but if you guess wrong, you have to do whatever I want?”

He’s focused on my fingers, which are trailing back and forth along the waistband of his pants. His eyes lift, his expression devious. “If I guess right, I get whatever I want?”

“Within reason.”

I can practically see his wheels turning. “Just to be clear, we’re talking about sex, right?”

“Sex? I was talking about board games. I was thinking Monopoly would be fun. You know how that can go on forever and ever.”

Randy grabs me by the waist and flips me over so I’m sprawled on the couch. I don’t have time to get my legs closed before he gets between them and stretches out on top of me.

I put my hands on his chest and push, but he’s heavy. “Hey! We’re having a conversation, remember?”

“There will be no Monopoly tonight,” he growls.

“There will be if you guess wrong,” I threaten.

He pushes up so he’s doing a one-armed plank. Holding his tattooed hand in front of my face he wiggles his fingers. “I’m going to say this one.”

“You’re so smart.” I lift my head enough to bite one of his knuckles. “Do you know why it’s my favorite?”

“Because it’s like I have your name tattooed on my hand?” The flower is a lily. Since we started dating, I’ve come to discover it’s his mother’s favorite, and that’s why it’s there. But I like that there’s an unintentional connection to me, and that sometimes people come to the inaccurate conclusion that he had it put there because it represents me.

“If I say yes, does that make me egotistical?” I’m working really hard to keep my legs from wrapping around his waist.

Randy’s tongue peeks out to sweep across his bottom lip. “Not even a little.”

“Good to know, but that’s not the primary reason it’s my favorite.” I press my knees against his hips, but keep my feet glued to the couch.

“No?”

“Nope.”

Randy runs his hand down my side and gives my thigh a gentle squeeze. “You gonna tell me why, or are you gonna keep me guessing?”

“I like that you’re this big, badass hockey player with a pretty tattoo right on the back of your hand. It’s sexy.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mmm.” I bite my lip, being intentionally coy. “Wanna know why else I love that tattoo?”

“Why’s that?” Randy drops his hips so his amazing hard-on is now pressed against my stomach.

“’Cause it looks hot when that hand is between my thighs.”

“Is that right?”

“It is.”

“You mean like this?” Randy pushes up, folding back on his knees between my spread legs.

I’m momentarily disheartened by the lack of moody dick contact. Moody dick is my nickname for Randy’s penis. He took a skate to the groin as a kid, resulting in a pretty significant scar that makes his penis look sad when it’s soft and happy when it’s hard. He slips his fingers into the front of my shorts—thank Christ for the elastic waist—yanks them down low, and grazes my clit with his knuckle.

I suck in a sharp breath. “Just like that.”

He withdraws his hand just as fast as he shoved it down there. “I knew you weren’t wearing panties.”

“Why bother when there’s a good chance you’re going to take them off anyway?”

Randy eases his hands up the inside of my thighs, stopping too far away for anything good to happen. “I thought you wanted to play board games tonight.”

“Naked board games?”

“The board games part is where you lose me.” He’s still kneeling between my parted legs.

I open them even farther. “How about just playing naked?”

He grabs the crotch of my shorts—with his tattooed hand, of course—and makes a fist. At first I think he’s going to yank them off, which would be totally welcome at this point. Sometimes I threaten no naked time just to amp Randy up. Not that it’s necessary, he’s usually pretty amped as it is. But the sex when he’s been worried he isn’t getting any is often out of this world.

Instead of taking off my shorts, he tightens his fist. His lip curls in a sexy sneer as he rubs his knuckles over my clit again. I groan and start to lift my hips, but he’s quick to put his free palm low on my stomach, keeping me from achieving any additional friction. This is Randy’s way of punishing me for my threats, even if he knows it was all a farce.

“Why don’t you take your shirt off for me, luscious?” He adjusts his grip, his knuckles pressing right where I want them.

Grabbing the bottom, I keep my eyes on his and drag the cotton up over my abs. Like Randy, I have a six-pack—mine is far less defined, but it’s definitely there. Randy’s eyes are on my stomach, moving higher as I uncover more skin. I may arch my back a little more than necessary as I expose the swell of my breasts. I don’t have big boobs, so the arching helps make them look more ample. It also makes Randy’s knuckles slide over the right spot.