Get Inked: A Pucked Series and Clipped Wings Crossover Novella (Pucked #5.5)(33)
Randy disregards my sassitude and hits the record button. “This woman right here is my number-one fantasy, and she’s all mine.” He maneuvers his hand in the limited space between my panties and tights, which are cutting into my thighs, they’re stretched so tight.
“But only for the next ten minutes,” I add.
He pushes two fingers inside and offers a low “f*ck, yeah.”
I bow up off the bench; the loud tearing sound should concern me, but he does the finger curl. Then he drops his head and suctions himself to my clit. This is fairly atypical behavior for Randy. Usually he’s a tongue-only kind of tease with the eating out, so he must be going for maximum effect. I honestly try not to come right away, but he has all the control over my body, so I freefall into orgasm heaven. I bang my head on the bench and bring my hand to my mouth, biting the side of it to muffle my moans.
Randy doesn’t stop sucking even after I’ve come. Instead he keeps going, aware he’ll be able to make me come a second time with minimal effort. Usually he gives me a short reprieve, though, allowing me to come down from the high before he sets me off again. Not so this time.
Tears pool and run down my temples at the pleasure-pain. My entire body jerks and trembles as orgasm number two bitch-slaps me. When my motor function returns, I shove my fingers in his hair and yank, disconnecting his mouth from my oversensitive clit.
He makes this low sound, kind of a growl, like he’s pissed that I’ve stopped him.
“Jesus, Randy, what’s gotten into you?” A full-body tremor—like a legitimate aftershock—makes me lose my grip on his hair.
His expression softens and then becomes panicked. “Lily? Shit.”
The fullness of his fingers inside me disappears. My muscles contract around nothing and an odd, soft sob gets caught in my throat. He reaches out as if to caress my cheek, but realizes my orgasm is still all over his fingers, so he wipes his hand on his shirt. At least it’s white.
He leans over me, sweeping shaky fingers across my temple. His eyes are wide, his thick swallow audible. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay? I didn’t mean to get carried away. I just wanted to make you feel good.”
I still his hands. “You didn’t hurt me.”
“But you’re crying. I made you cry. That’s not supposed to happen.”
“You wouldn’t let me stop coming. It was intense.” I motion to my face. “These aren’t pain tears, they’re overwhelmed-by-sensation tears.”
“Oh.” His relief leaves him on an exhale. “I didn’t know that was a thing. So you’re telling me you can come so hard you cry?”
I’m actually surprised this has never happened to him before. His orgasm missions, along with his former reputation with the bunnies, are legendary.
There’s something going on with Randy. He’s been extra needy lately. Only once this week have we not had sex multiple times a day. Maybe he’s stocking up in preparation for being on the road again once the new season starts. I’m not complaining; I just think there’s more to it than him being horny. The alarm on my phone goes off. It’s my final warning.
“Oh, God. I need to fix myself and get out there!”
“Told you I could get you off before you went on the ice.” The smug tone is there, but he’s missing the usual smirky smirk.
My legs are wobbly as I stand and adjust my panties, then my stretched-out tights. The waistband on both are shot. They’ll have to go in the garbage after this. Also, a huge snag runs from waist to thigh on my right leg. I don’t have an extra pair of tights with me, so I’ll have to deal. The crotch of my leotard is loose now, too, which definitely isn’t optimal—especially since I’m about to teach pairs. I haven’t done pairs in years, so I’m relearning a bit as I’m teaching.
Tonight I have a one-on-one session with Finlay to work on some of the lifts. Last session his partner, Giselle, twisted her ankle, so she’s taking some time to recover. I didn’t want Finlay to miss this session, though.
I look up at Randy and gesture to my outfit. “Thanks a lot; this whole thing is ruined now.”
“I’ll take you to get new ones.”
“Hell of a lot of good that’s going to do me now.”
“I’m sorry.” He jams his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I got excited thinking about the cottage and spending time with you without work getting in the way.”
I don’t want him to feel bad for making me feel good. I share his enthusiasm, even if his timing could be better. I put a hand on his chest and give him a quick kiss. “I know. Me too. I gotta go, though.”
I close my locker and head for the ice on unsteady legs in a skating outfit that fit a lot better less than ten minutes ago. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror before I push through the doors to the rink. My hair is all messed up in the back, so I quickly finger-comb it. My tights are sliding down because the waistband is so loose. My cheeks are flushed, my lips swollen, my eyes bright. I can smell Randy’s cologne all over me, and I’m pretty sure I also smell like an orgasm, but that could all be in my head.
There’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m annoyed that I look like such an unprofessional mess, but hopefully Finlay is too focused on learning the routine to notice.
He’s already out there when I hit the ice. Finlay turned nineteen recently and has been skating competitively since he was a child. He’s an incredible skater, but I know he’s worried about the lifts and the jumps. Since I know this routine, my boss called in a favor and asked if I would be willing to coach him and his partner. They’ve already made state, and now they’re looking at nationals. Those two are magic together when they’re on. It’s an honor and a big deal to be asked to do this. Summer hours mean I have the time, so I couldn’t say no.