Randy picks up the box I dropped when I chased after his car and tucks it under one arm. I thread my fingers through his.
He follows me to the elevator. We’re the only two people in it, so I take advantage of the situation by tongue-fucking his mouth again. Randy pulls me against him via my ass, doing what he does best: the clothed humping. We pry ourselves away from each other when the elevator dings. The door slides open, and I take his hand again, dragging him down the hall. I’m all thumbs with the key, struggling to get it in the lock.
“Let me do that,” he murmurs.
I let go, and he takes over, sliding the key in the lock and easing the door open. As soon as we’re inside I’m on him again, pulling at his jacket, trying to unzip his pants.
Randy puts his hands on my shoulders. “Lily.”
“Winter sucks for layers.”
He pushes me back. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” I yank his belt free from the clasp.
He puts his hand over mine, as if that’s going to stop me. “That.”
I don’t hear anything, so I go with snark. “It’s the sound of my * crying for your cock.”
Randy laughs, then groans as I pop the button and slide my hand inside his boxers, finding him rock hard. “There’s water running.”
I pause, still holding his dick, and listen intently. “Shit.”
“Who’s here?”
“Tim-Tom.
“Who.”
“My other boyfriend.”
Randy’s expression goes dark.
“Sorry. Sorry, that was a terrible joke. I’ll never, ever say anything like that again. It’s my mom’s boyfriend. I thought he went home last night.” Still holding Randy’s dick, I tiptoe down the hall and peek around the corner. He has no choice but to follow.
The water’s still running, so we can definitely make it to my room without Tim-Tom knowing we’re in here. I let go of Randy’s man rod and motion to the door across the hall from the bathroom. I tiptoe stealthily, and Randy clomps across the parquet floor with his boots on. It’s smart not to leave evidence of his presence behind, apart from wet boot prints, that is.
I pull him into my room by his jacket, lock the door, and frantically undress him. “What’re you doing?” he asks.
“Getting you naked. What does it look like?” Like, duh.
“Your mom’s boyfriend’s here.”
“So? They bone while I’m here all the time. We’ll be quiet. If I get loud you can put a hand over my mouth; I kinda like that.”
He stands there blinking at me like maybe I’ve gone a little crazy, so I pull my sweatshirt and tank top over my head and push my flannel moose pants down over my hips. And voila, I’m naked. It does the trick. Randy shrugs out of his jacket and takes off his hoodie and T-shirt. I shove his pants and underwear down his thighs and drop to my knees.
“Look at him! He’s so happy to see me, grinning like a fool.”
Randy laughs and inhales as I trace the scar with a gentle finger.
I don’t bother with a warm-up. It’s unnecessary and a waste of time. All I want is to lube up his cock and get it inside me. The best way to accomplish that is by slobbering all over it. Or putting as much of it in my mouth as I can and sucking, whichever sounds classier.
I lick along the shaft and engulf the head. I look up as I take more of him in. Randy’s mouth drops open, and his hands go into my hair. I hold on to his ass, and he cradles my head. I suck as if blow jobs are an Olympic event, and I’m going for the gold medal.
“Holy fuck, Lily.” Randy puts a hand on the wall to steady himself.
His knees buckle at my loud slurping noise. Guys are so funny about having their cock in a mouth, and based on Randy’s previous experiences, I’m turning into his blow-job goddess.
All my hot spots are lighting up like a Vegas slot machine when Randy fists my hair and pulls me off. A string of saliva connects the head to my bottom lip. From my perspective it’s gross, but Randy’s a guy, and for whatever reason, they seem to like all the suction sounds and bodily fluids.
He bends over me, panting, muscles straining. His cock is inches from my face. He’s still holding the wall with one hand and my hair with the other. I won’t lie. It’s superhot. I may be on my knees, but I’m definitely the one with all the power. I run my hands up his thighs and bite my bottom lip, being coy. I trace the white line across his hip, then sweep a single finger all the way down the shaft, over the smiley scar, to the tip. Randy’s eyes roll up, and he shudders.
“Are you going to fuck me now?” I’m saccharine sweet about it.