Author's Note: WOW! You guys are so awesome. It's terrible, but the feedback definitely drives the writing, which is why I'm updating this in the time I had set for myself despite a complete lack of motivation that is taking over my life. There was a moment when I considered extending this story beyond the two parts, but I think this is the end. Hopefully it satisfies all (and you should let me know either way!). As always, thank you so much for reading (and especially to those reviewing, too)! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: It said part 2 was rated M. It did not lie. :)
Puck was used to the other guys on the team giving him shit. It came with the territory of being the best, some ragging on him because of his talent and others because of the attention he got for it. And even though they all jumped on his back whenever another girl would throw themselves at his feet, no one gave two shits about riding his coattails when said chick had a friend or two for the rest of the pack. But Rachel was by herself – dudes don't count, even gay ones – so the jawing started up pretty much immediately.
"She looks like a goody goody."
"Get your head in the game, Puckerman!"
"Have you had sex on the court before?"
Puck let comment after comment roll down his back, not willing to waste any effort defending what the team had seen or thought. It was a first, actually. Typically Puck gave just as good as he got, and definitely didn't mind laughing at himself because usually the guys were right; his standards were pretty low in terms of when and where, and he'd never really had a type before. But this time was different. He didn't care what his teammates said or thought. The only thing he cared about outside of winning tonight was meeting back up with Rachel and finishing what they had started.
What she had started, actually. He'd kind of thought after the press conference that his efforts were a lost cause. In fact, he was fully prepared to settle for picturing her face and that rocking body while giving it to some other chick. But then she'd sauntered down the arena steps and those big brown eyes honed in on him and it was like there was some gravitational pull toward her. Nothing else mattered other than talking to her, and trying to convince her he wasn't the loser that she'd clearly pegged him as being beforehand.
The loser that all the guys said he was after they'd heard her sing before the game.
"I bet she's a screamer."
"You don't got a shot in hell, Puckerman."
"Definitely worth the high maintenance."
He expected her to be good; she'd dropped out of college to pursue her career and seemed too confident for it all to be a ruse. But, legit, when she opened her mouth and just the first few words of the national anthem came out, Puck was floored. She was incredible, and he again didn't care about what the other guys said or thought because he was too caught up in his own shit. Up until the game started, he couldn't stop wondering how such a strong, powerful, huge voice could come out of someone so tiny. Then again, watching her while listening, he still hadn't figured out how her legs seemed to go on forever when she topped out at his shoulders, if that.
Then halftime came and even in the locker room hundreds of feet away, he could hear her voice. The Hofstra Pride were up at the half by five points, so they weren't getting that harsh of a lecture and he was able to half listen to the coaches and half listen to Rachel. He sort of felt bad about not being more concerned with the game, but he'd been on fire from the get go and the kid covering him still hadn't learned that he could hit the long ball. So he mostly just listened to Rachel sing, and found himself trying to figure out what she was doing during the performance; unlike the national anthem where she'd stood in one spot pointed toward the American flag, he could tell just in the inflection in her voice that she was moving around, likely trying to give everyone in the arena a chance to see her. He'd never heard the song before - that made sense considering it was supposed to be from her new show on Broadway – but it didn't matter.
Coming from her, he liked it.
And that was the really weird thing. He'd only opened his mouth to talk to her because he'd seen her from behind and between the long, chestnut hair and the short skirt and smooth olive skin … well, nothing. She was hot. Then she'd turned around and she had these big doe eyes and perfect pouty lips. He liked that he seemed to make her nervous, but somehow didn't wreck her confidence. Unlike most chicks, she wasn't hanging on his every word. She was a challenge, but not in the typical way. It was fun just shooting the shit with her, and she'd somehow turned a game of twenty (really only seven but he was ready for more) questions into the hottest thing ever.
Puck didn't believe in love at first sight, but he'd never really liked a girl before, either. He'd had girlfriends in the past – obviously; look at him – but they were all kind of bitches. He'd only stayed with them longer than one night because they'd been really great in bed or another shallow reason. It wasn't ever because he actually enjoyed their company – or even visa versa. That's why he hated the player label because he wasn't doing it on purpose. Those broads threw themselves at him and, fuck. He's a dude. He's not going to say no. But he also didn't lead anyone on. He'd tell them right up front what he wanted and if they still came after him or thought they could change his mind, that shit was their fault.
He was an asshole, not a player.
But, it was strange. With Rachel, he felt like he could be something different. He'd always be an asshole, but he'd already told her more truths about himself than almost anyone else knew, and he was kind of interested in hearing more about her, too. She'd already surprised him once by revealing her nonstudent standing, and the sex kitten routine before the game sure shocked the hell out of him. If she honestly was some cool chick who was dynamite in the sack, too, then why would he just let her go?
"Let's go win this thing!" The coach finally shouted, re-energizing the group of players before they all ran out of the locker room and back toward the court.
The halftime contest between two little kids was just wrapping up, so the guys grabbed a few basketballs and waited by their bench on the sidelines. The other team hadn't come out of the locker room yet, so some of the guys were joking about how they'd scared them away. Others were talking about a few parties that the team had been invited to for later, and some were actually talking strategy for the last half. Puck, however, wanted to know if Rachel was still on the lower level or if she'd returned to the suite he knew the club gave to presenters. And when he'd turned to look at the seats behind the bench, his answer was a mere five feet away.
"Hey." He stepped over the bench seat and then up one row of chairs; she was standing on the stair of the next row up, but this way they were actually eye level. "You're fuckin' incredible."
She smiled graciously, her eyes shifting to her left and right in recognition that this conversation wasn't as private as their last one. "Thank you." She bit the side of her lip. "You aren't so bad yourself."
"I got game," he answered coolly, earning a melodic giggle from her. "You stickin' around or …" He swallowed a little more thickly than he would have liked, not willing to admit that he might actually be nervous. "Where should we meet up?" She hesitated for a moment too long and he blew out a heavy breath. "Ya said you weren't gonna bail."
"I'm not." Her smile turned lopsided, her head tilting a little too as she looked at him. "I'm just not sure I have an answer to the question." She shrugged one shoulder emptily. "I've never done this sort of thing before, and I certainly don't know the protocol. I can't very well tell my agent to leave without me without him knowing what is going on, and if you're expecting to keep this a secret then that poses an issue. Moreover, I don't know the area so I can't give a location that would be suitable for this type of interaction, nor do I have the means to find my way home … afterward. Plus, I …"
If someone asked, he'd say it was because he'd just wanted her to shut up, but Puck couldn't have stopped himself from kissing her even if she hadn't been talking a mile a minute. There was something sexy about the way she spoke, how she didn't care if what she said might be embarrassing or egotistical or even insulting. And, sure, he'd been watching her lips more than listening to begin with, which might have had something to do with it.
Not that he regretted the decision. Her lips were soft and perfect, tasting like some kind of berry, which was a total mind fuck. She'd been surprised by the embrace at the beginning, too, but then she'd been really responsive. Like, really.Typically Puck hated it when chicks tried to take control in this type of situation. Either the broad thought she was a better kisser than she actually was, or she didn't know how to handle being the dominate one. Rachel had neither issue. In fact, she was really good at being in charge and it was probably the best kiss Puck had ever had.
And they were in public.
"Oh," she breathed once they split, Rachel's hand moving to her lips as her eyes lifted up to his, searching him. "That was …"
"S-shit," he stuttered sometime between her two thoughts, his hands falling from where they'd moved to her hips and then lifting again just to run over his face in frustration. When he finally dropped them once more and opened his eyes to look at her face, he couldn't help but crack a smile at the worried expression that was staring back at him. "Ya know how hard it is to play ball with a boner?"
Rachel's face broke into a wide smile, then an incredulous bubble of laughter spilled out of her. "What do you think?"
He laughed, too, nodding his head in realization. "You're right." He winked, moving one step down just to keep himself from reaching out for her again. When had he ever had that urge when it came to someone fully clothed? "Jersey aside, you don't look like much of a ball player."
"I'll let you move my jersey aside later," she said just loud enough for him to hear, giving him a seductive wink of her own before she leaned forward and ran the pad of her thumb over his lips to presumably swipe away the color left from her lip gloss. "First, you must win the game."
"Is that a condition, babe?"
Rachel smiled widely, her eyes following Puck as he slowly made his way toward the bench. "I don't associate myself with losers, Mr. Puckerman."
Her words were like a spark to the flame that had already been burning inside of him. It fired him up for the last half, but it also made his confidence soar to new levels. Every shot he took sank into the basket, each one eliminating any doubt that his teammates and his past might have put in his mind about what was going on between him and Rachel. Unlike everyone else, he didn't have to prove to her that he wasn't a loser; she already thought he was worth it (completely sober), willing to take a chance on him when she'd obviously never done the same sort of thing before. And didn't that sort of make her worth it to him to do something he'd never done before either?
Tit for tat (pun definitely intended).
"Can you hurry it up?" Puck asked impatiently. The game had ended more than fifteen minutes ago and he still needed to shower and pack up his shit before he could leave. The coach had prepared a quick, good-game speech and told them all to bask in the win – responsibly, of course. The trainer, however, had a different idea in mind for Puck. "I got shit to do."
"Yeah," the young woman scoffed. "What's her name?"
Puck snorted in detest, remembering why it was such good advice when people said not to shit where you ate. The trainer was a student at Hofstra, working on her medicine degree or whatever. She was blonde and really kind of beautiful, if you liked that bitchy angel routine. She was the epitome of a good girl seeking the bad boy, and it didn't take long for Puck to move their working relationship to the bedroom when she started interning for the team. They'd actually messed around for a couple of months, but they'd ended things a little before Christmas break when she'd gone all psycho on him, expecting him to meet her family or some shit.
"No," she interrupted quickly, continuing to work on his wrapped ankle. "That's my name. How soon you forget."
"Don't be such a bitch, Quinn." Puck sighed, feeling the last of the medical tape give way, the skin around his ankle figuratively breathing in deep. "Just sign the report and whatever." He leaned back on the raised chair, resting most of his weight on his two hands while his eyes watched hers massage his ankle. "I don't got time for this."
"She must be special if you're this worked up," she remarked lightly, inspecting the minor injury to be sure he didn't aggravate it during the game. "I'm surprised you didn't plow her during halftime."
"I thought about it. Believe me."
Puck grinned at the look of disgust that took over Quinn's face, any more conversation between the two of them ending then and there. After all, Puck wasn't lying and Quinn knew that. It was taking everything in him not to find Rachel and check off screwing her brains out and showering at the same time. The only thing stopping him was the idea that a quickie wasn't going to be enough with her, and he also had some deep-buried feeling of chivalry; like he knew she deserved better and it was his job to provide such. Unfortunately, even after another ten minutes before he was all but sprinting out of the locker room with his bag flailing behind him, Puck wasn't sure how he was going to accomplish such.
Especially not when Rachel looked the way she did.
"Hey," he greeted coolly, slowing his stride and really taking in her appearance. Her hands were crossed behind her back (on her lower back, which drew his eyes to her perfect ass) and her shoulders rested on the cool brick of the underground hallway that was meant only for players and arena personnel. Her hair was tumbling over the shoulder furthest away from him in soft waves, and her eyes were bright and smoky at the same time. She had a nervous smile perched on her face, part of her bottom lip wrestled between two rows of perfectly white, straight teeth. "Sorry 'bout the wait."
She shrugged softly. "I anticipated such after your team's stunning performance. Congratulations, by the way." Her eyes fell for a moment. "I overheard many of your teammates as they departed speaking of an allegedly epic party in the basketball team's honor." She looked back up at him, the doubt in her expression concealed but not entirely hidden by her long eyelashes. "I'd understand if you'd rather …"
"Fuck," he breathed, throwing his bag down at her feet and ticking her chin up when she followed the path of the discarded equipment instead of looking at him. "You don't even know how hot you are, do ya?" He pressed himself against her, smirking at the way her eyes widened and her tongue swept across her lips. "Lemme show ya."
Wordlessly, Rachel nodded and the two began walking out of the arena. They'd never decided on where this was all going down, but he followed her onto the subway without question. It was packed and gave the two an excuse to stand close, though it probably wasn't enough of a reason to justify the way the tips of his fingers found their way to the tops of her bare thighs, just below her dangerously short skirt. She wasn't complaining, though – she actually peeked up at him with this come hither look that made the whole thing a lot worse – and he ended up pulling her out of the subway car without having any clue as to where they were going.
"Noah!" She giggled. And, by the way, not helping. "Where are you taking me?"
"Anywhere," he growled, moving through the throngs of people lining the city streets. He was super busy with finishing school and the season, but Puck loved the city. There was this insane energy that penetrated your soul, working through your veins and into your bloodline the longer you stayed. Plus, after growing up in such a piss-ant town, Puck liked the anonymity that came with being in New York. He liked not everyone knowing his business, and it was certainly a plus that he could bang a random chick and know the possibility of seeing her again was pretty slim.
"My apartment is this way." Rachel created just enough tension in his hold to stop them, using her opposite hand to point down the road. "And it's a lot cheaper than the Plaza."
He rolled his eyes at her smug smile, switching the position of his arm so it slung over her shoulders instead as they walked. It was sort of insane how perfectly she fit nestled against his side, and he wondered if it would have been like that with any other broad; he'd never bothered to check before Rachel, always more concerned about how they felt inside. Not that he wasn't thinking about being inside Rachel, but he was also really distracted. He'd been way too inside his own head all night, plus there was this crazy awesome smell surrounding him that he hadn't noticed before.
Rachel lifted her head up, their lips inches apart when he tilted his head down. "It's my shampoo. Peaches and cream." She giggled when he closed his eyes, a quiet groan escaping from low in his throat. "I thought I was the one asking the questions?"
"I've got a couple of tattoos." She cocked one eyebrow up in intrigue, and he smirked in response. "One's growin' right now, actually."
"You're disgusting," she claimed even through her laughter, shaking her head slightly before focusing her attention back ahead of them. "No question."
He chuckled, tightening his hold around her shoulders just as her steps slowed in front of a tall building. She used three keys to get inside and then climbed seven flights of stairs before using four more keys on a door marked 7M. The place wasn't a hole, but when she opened the door he was actually surprised by how nice everything looked. Rachel was put together and all, but for a young woman who was really just starting her professional career, her place looked far more upscale than he imagined it would be. Intimidating, even.
"Thanks." She smiled appreciatively, placing her purse and keys on a table by the door as her eyes scanned the apartment. "My roommate will tell you he is incredibly talented in several different aspects of his life, decorating being one." Then she turned toward him slowly, the toe of one of her heels dancing on the floor as she sheepishly added, "He'll be out for the evening."
"Lookin' around, I'd say he's been out for a long-ass time." He knew what she meant, but he couldn't help screwing with her. The little huff she let out and the tiny, punctuated stomps toward what he guessed was her bedroom was actually hilarious and oddly arousing. She had a knack for mixing cute and sexy in a way that didn't just work, but fucking worked. "Is it the bodyguard or someone else?"
"His name is Derek and he's my agent, not my bodyguard." Rachel turned around in front of her bed, looking like she just realized she had no other place to go. "My roommate's name is Kurt and he happens to be my best friend from high school."
"How do ya know he ain't comin' back tonight?"
She squinted at him, but he kept a neutral expression even as he rested his shoulder against the frame of her door. "He's spending the night at his boyfriend's apartment. He sent me a text during the game telling me Finn was spending the night at his girlfriend's place, so he wouldn't need to come back to the apartment."
"Who's Finn?" He asked, noticing that questions seemed to defuse her anger. He liked her riled up, but he also wanted to do it in a different way. The forty-minute ride home would suck if he left with just getting a knee to the groin.
"Kurt's brother." She blinked, the hands that had been stuck angrily on her hips falling to her sides. "Kurt's boyfriend roommate." She shrugged absently. "My ex-boyfriend. My good friend Santana's boyfriend."
"That's a fucked up web, babe."
For some reason, he knew he'd ask more about her relationship with her ex-boyfriend afterward. He wasn't jealous (fuck off; he wasn't), but he did want to know if he had to kick anyone's ass later. Now, though, it was time to get back to their earlier game of cat and mouse. He reached behind his back and lifted his shirt over his head before tossing it carelessly to the ground. Maybe he flexed a little, but he couldn't help it when she stared at him the way she did.
"Oh." Her eyes remained wide, only blinking once. "I …" She stopped when he turned, showing her the tattoo on his right shoulder blade. "That's lovely."
Her voice had sounded so far away, just a quiet whisper. So the shock of her touch on his skin forced him to turn back to face her, his eyes boring into hers. She'd traced the outline of the small angel's wing with the pad of her index finger, the digit staying put during his direction change so it now rested on his right pectoral. Without breaking eye contact, Rachel trailed the finger down the center of his chest and over the contours of his abs. They tensed involuntarily but she just watched the way his eyes dilated, and he suddenly needed her wearing less clothes like, yesterday.
She must have agreed, because the next thing he knew she was pulling her jersey over her head, holding it shyly in front of her as her eyes fell down to the area right above her heart. Shockingly enough, he completely bypassed the sexy-as-all-hell-on-her cotton bra with lacey trim, his hand rising to first push the wayward hair back behind her shoulder and then gently caressing the newly revealed tattoo. He was again surprised at how smooth the skin felt even though it had clearly been tampered with. In his short experience with knowing her, he knew it was like a metaphor for Rachel entirely; she was this tough city girl who used harsh words to beat out the competition or exert her power, but she was actually super sweet and cool.
"Mine is for my mother," she whispered. "She was a surrogate for my two fathers, and died a few moments after giving birth to me." Slowly, her head tilted back up to look him in the eye. "Who's yours for?"
"My grandmother. Nana Connie." He pulled the jersey out of her grip, letting it fall at their feet. "She died a couple of years ago. My mom was always workin' 'cause my dad left, so Nana practically raised us."
"You sound close to your family," she remarked. "Why are you going to school in New York instead of Texas or somewhere closer?"
"I don't have the best rep back home." He shrugged noncommittally. This wasn't exactly the kind of conversation that normally preceded his conquests, but for some reason it felt right with Rachel. He wasn't just saying and doing whatever it took to get her into bed, and in a way it was setting the mood; it was just a different mood than Puck had ever experienced before. This one was more sensual, intimate. "I just wanted to go someplace where I could start new and Hofstra gave me a football scholarship."
"You play football?" She asked, moving her arms up so her hands rested on his shoulders.
The tiny movement made a small tattoo on her left hipbone of two lovebirds in flight visible. And without even knowing he'd done it, Puck found his hands gripping her hips, eventually forcing her closer and her arms around his neck. He was mesmerized by the feel of her mostly bare torso pressed against his, and how he'd never taken the time before to notice this feeling with any other girl either. He'd had some crazy nights filled with hot, passionate embraces, but whatever was happening with Rachel was hitting a level that he'd never felt before – and they were still half-clothed for fuck's sake.
He shook himself out of his thoughts, looking up from where his eyes were theoretically honed in on her tattoo and into her deep chocolate gaze. "I think ya owe me a tat before I answer."
She rolled her eyes and started to push him away, which, okay. No. But then she spun in front of him and revealed another small tattoo right above the waistband of her skirt on the right side. It was nice and all, but he couldn't help but trail his eyes over the perfectly toned skin of her back, moving closer so again they were pressed against one another. This time, though, his hands did not stay in a neutral territory for long, instead moving from her waist to cup the breasts he'd painfully ignored earlier. Rachel let out this little breathy sigh before her head rested back against his shoulder, and his lips immediately found their way to the column of her throat that was so perfectly exposed.
"I started in football," he explained while moving his lips over her neck, his hands finding the front clasp of the bra and unsnapping it effortlessly. "Hofstra dropped the program, though, and I ended up in basketball." His tongue swept up, moving to the sensitive skin behind her earlobe and then over the shell of her ear while he also pushed down the straps of her bra and let the garment pool at her feet. "And I'm awesome."
Rachel shuddered, weakening in his hold enough that he tightened his arms back around her waist. The way she leaned into him, trusted him to support her, it was a little nerve-racking. She felt so tiny in his arms, but increasingly heavy in his heart. When they moved, it was less like the predator-prey scenario Puck was used to and much more like a dance; they were connected in almost every way, their bodies touching as much as possible and their lips once again fused together. He never wanted to stop making out with her, which is why he was legit pissed when she pulled away.
For all of about four seconds, anyway.
After that, he'd realized she'd stopped because they'd meandered to the edge of her bed. She'd quickly taken a seat on the plush mattress and unhooked the belt barely holding up his jeans. Then, without a moment of hesitation or even the clichéd seductive glance up, her tiny hands managed to free his junk from his boxers and shove him into her mouth in record time. Hopefully not too hard, Puck had reached out in surprise and gripped her shoulders tightly while a soft curse stuttered out of him.
"S-shit." His eyes fell back in his head for a moment, but he forced himself to open them and look at her. "You're fuckin' perfect."
She hummed in reply and his eyes slammed shut again. He'd been blown before, obviously, but yet again Rachel was taking it to the next level. If he had half a mind to focus on anything but the feel of her wet mouth surrounding his package, he'd wonder if her skills had something to do with her profession – lung capacity or some odd shit. But then he felt his tip hit the back of her throat and what little thought he could have managed was forced to push her away from him, an actual gasp from him echoing in the small room.
Once he pried his eyes open, he saw the question in hers and didn't even dignify it with a response. Not a verbal one, anyway. He simply mauled her lips for as long as it took him to kick away his discarded jeans and boxers, a task made a little more difficult considering he had to remove his shoes and socks beforehand. Nevertheless, once complete, he immediately sank to his knees, flipping up the pleading of her skirt and throwing her panties somewhere near the matching bra he'd removed earlier. As he undid the clasps of her high heels, he again saw the tattoos she'd revealed earlier and he couldn't help but press a light kiss to the two on her right foot and then continue his journey upward.
"Noah," she sighed, her head falling back after she'd attempt to lift it just to look at him.
He liked the sound of his name coming off her lips, and if he wasn't already hard as a rock he'd definitely be sprouting wood wondering how she'd sound once she came. Chick had a set of lungs on her and a range unmatched by many. It could go down a lot of different ways and the anticipation was almost as hot as he knew finding the answer would no doubt be. He'd already been rewarded a multitude of different sounds based on different areas he touched, the best so far being the drawn out moan Rachel had released when he'd swiped his tongue across the back of her knee; that one was definitely being jotted down in his memory for future reference.
"Noah, please," she pleaded after he nibbled on the inside of her thigh lightly. "Oh!"
He smirked even as he buried his face between her thighs, his tongue swiping over her center one more time before he reached up to steady her hips. He made her legs droop over his shoulders while he paid her private area the same generous attention she'd paid his, his hands eventually sloping down to grip her ass once she'd stopped squirming. Much like Rachel wasn't the first chick to blow him, she wasn't the first he'd gone down on, and yet again there was something new and exciting about it with her. She was like an instrument, a different sound escaping from her depending on what he did. If he drove his tongue deep into her, he heard a long, satisfied groan. If he teased her clit, the sound was much more high-pitched. And when he managed the perfect combination of everything, she let out a happy gasp followed by his name stretched out in a breathy sound that would forever remain in his spank bank.
"Ya ready, babe?" He asked even while pulling a condom from his jeans. He'd legit kill himself if she said no, but she'd got this dazed look in her eye after she came that made him pretty sure she was still game.
"I want you, Noah."
The strength in her voice surprised him, as did the way she pushed him onto his back as soon as he'd gotten the condom on. She sank onto his dick with such conviction, both of them moaning at the feeling of their bodies connecting. His hands immediately moved to her hips while hers fell to his chest, both of them moving perfectly in sync instead of either trying to dominate the situation. Then again, he was getting off just watching her throw her head back and enjoy the ride, so he didn't necessarily feel like he had to steer – physically, anyway.
"Ya like that, baby?" He tightened his grip when she hummed in reply. "You're so fuckin' tight." Her movements were turning frantic, her head almost thrashing from side to side. "Tell me what ya want."
She'd said it more like a reflex than an answer that Puck couldn't help the pride and the testosterone that overcame him at that moment. This beautiful, sexy, intelligent, successful woman who was so brutally honest with her emotions didn't want anything or anyone but him. And he couldn't (quite literally) lay back and let this shit go down any longer without showing her just how good it could be between them. He had to touch more of her, kiss more of her.
So he did.
He hinged off the floor and swallowed Rachel's cry of pleasure at the new angle, driving his tongue inside the moist cavern of her mouth while his hands moved to the small of her back. Her olive skin was slick with a sheen of sweat; just sliding his hands over the gentle slope of her spine caused an unprecedented urge to taste it on her, and he removed his tongue from her mouth just long enough to lick from her collarbone all the way up her neck and then her ear. Rachel whimpered and tried to keep him as close as possible as her nails dug into his back, but he couldn't help but pull back a little. His sight was hazy at best, but through half-hooded lids Puck saw Rachel's last tattoo hiding below her hairline.
"I'll owe ya," he grunted, biting the area where her shoulder met her neck before finishing his task of switching their positions. With Rachel now on her back, he was able to pound into her without abandon, only slowing up to watch the way her face contorted in pleasure. Her touch at his sides was light, the complete opposite of the desperate hold her legs had wrapped around his waist. After what was basically hours of mental foreplay paired with actual foreplay, Puck was seconds away from blowing his wad and couldn't have been happier to hear the telltale sounds of Rachel's impending orgasm than he was at the first high-pitched gasp.
Puck's forehead dropped to Rachel's shoulder as the feel of her walls clamping around him sent him over the edge, too. He could feel her heart beat pulsating under her skin, the blood rushing through the veins until her whole body relaxed. Struggling to keep his weight off of her as he came down from his own high, Puck managed to collapse to her side, his breathing harsh and uneven. Slowly, he turned his head just to see her mimicking the motion, their eyes meeting and holding the other's gaze.
"So," she began, her breath regulating a little quicker than his own. "I only have one more question?"
He nodded in agreement, knowing that had been the deal and appreciating the excuse not to get up and get out. It was his typical move, but even on the floor in her small bedroom Puck couldn't help but feel extremely comfortable. He didn't even brush her off when Rachel moved to her side, her leg tangling with his while her hand moved up and down his torso methodically. He encouraged it, actually, turning so he was on his side, too, his right hand grazing up and down her back.
"Would you like to do that again?"
Puck's gaze shot back up to Rachel's eyes, a slow, satisfied smile crossing his face once he saw the twinkle in hers shine back at him. She let a lopsided smile slip when she got her answer in a much less verbal way, feeling him respond to her question before he could answer it. And while he didn't have all the answers – like whether or not they might work past one night – he did have one to her last question.
"Game on, Berry."